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Bad Thing | F.W

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Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you and Fred have spent years at each other's throats, trading insults and glares across the pitch and in every corridor of Hogwarts. But when a careless moment in Potions earns you two a detention that threatens your places in the upcoming quidditch match, you're forced to do the one thing you've always avoided: work together.

inspired by the song: bad thing (bunny hop) by Ariana Grande. “have you been this fine? the whole damn time. this is a bad thing.”

Warnings/content: enemies to lovers, anyhouse!reader works (hufflepuff for this story), injured!reader, detention together, quidditch player!reader, protective!fred, he bandages your injury, fighting, physical fights, teasing, common room party, mentions of alcohol, slowburn, angst (ish), fluff, late night library sessions, kissing, bullying (not you), banter, tension, professor snape being harsh, crying, fred is actually a sweetie, arguments, mentions of blood (injury) Wordcount: 13.5k

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Dewdrops from this morning's rain clung to the glistening quidditch pitch under the late afternoon sun. You had sprinted across the castle grounds, robes billowing behind you like a golden banner, your broom clutched tightly in your hand. Practice was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, and you were never late, never. The one time you had allowed yourself to linger in the library, pouring over Advanced Potion-Making for an upcoming examination, and now you were paying for it with the frantic heartbeat against your ribs.

But as you rounded the final corner, breathless and flushed, your steps faltered. The pitch was empty of yellow and black. Instead, a sea of crimson and gold dominated the field, players already mid-drill, their brooms cutting through the air with practiced precision. You recognised Oliver Wood's commanding voice echoing across the pitch above, barking instructions to his teammates like a general rallying his troops.

Your furrowed your brows, confused as to why you heard his voice instead of your own captain's.

Cedric Diggory, ever the picture of composure, stood at the bottom of the pitch with the rest of your team, their brooms beside them, expressions ranging from mild annoyance to resigned acceptance. Susan Bones caught sight of you first, her face softening with sympathy as she waved you over.

"What happened? Where is everyone?" you asked, still catching your breath, your eyes darting between your teammates and the Gryffindors occupying the field with infuriating nonchalance. "Practice isn't cancelled, is it? We were meant to be here, I know we were—"

"Gryffindor booked the pitch," Cedric explained, his tone gentle, as if he were delivering news of a minor inconvenience rather than a complete upheaval of your carefully planned schedule. "Professor McGonagall approved it this morning, I think Wood wanted to urgently test a new formation before the match next week, extra training or something."

"Extra training?" you repeated, your voice climbing an octave. "But we were here first, we've had this slot reserved for weeks. They can't just—"

"Apparently, they can," Hannah Abbott interjected with a shrug, though her eyes flickered with the same frustration you felt. "Cedric already spoke to Professor Sprout about it, we've got the pitch tomorrow instead though."

You opened your mouth to protest further, every argument you could conjure dying on your tongue as the Gryffindor team began their descent from the sky. Broom after broom touched down with practiced ease and you watched as they dismounted, their laughter and chatter carrying across the grass like taunts wrapped in merriment. Oliver Wood approached first, his expression apologetic as he addressed Cedric.

"Diggory, I really am sorry about this," Wood said, running a hand through his already windswept hair. "McGonagall approved it at the last minute. We wouldn't have—"

"Don't worry about it, Wood," Cedric replied with practiced diplomacy, extending a hand that the Gryffindor captain shook firmly. "We'll take tomorrow. Gives us a chance to study their weaknesses anyway."

A ripple of laughter passed between both teams, the shared camaraderie of players who understood the sacred rituals of the game. You watched the exchange with growing irritation, not at Cedric, you could never truly be angry at Cedric, whose patience seemed as infinite as the castle's library—but at the sheer injustice of it all. You had woken early for this, had forgone breakfast to ensure you arrived on time and had spent the entire morning mentally preparing your plays.

"Don't worry, Y/N, we've got tomorrow," Ernie Macmillan offered, clapping you on the shoulder with perhaps more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. "Besides, think of all the extra practice time you'll have to work on that new maneuver you've been perfecting."

"Right," you muttered, though your tone lacked conviction. "Extra practice time, wonderful."

It was then, that you saw a familiar figure.

Fred Weasley was sauntering past your group, beater's bat swung carelessly over one shoulder, and his broom in the other hand, his red hair catching the sunlight like a flame. He walked with a particular confidence that seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth that you had grown to despise over the years. But it was the way he looked at you, that infuriating glint in his warm hazel eyes that told you he knew precisely what you were thinking.

"Lovely weather for a fly, isn't it?" he remarked, stopping just beside you, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of broom polish and his natural scent, though you'd sooner die than admit you had catalogued such details. "Shame you won't be enjoying it, then again, I suppose tomorrow will have to do. Though I hear the weather's supposed to be dreadful. Fog, rain, maybe a bit of hail if we're lucky."

"Your concern for my practice schedule is touching, Weasley," you replied, your voice dripping with saccharine sweetness that fooled no one. "But I'll manage. We Hufflepuffs are remarkably resilient, it takes more than a stolen practice slot and some bad weather to rattle us."

"Stolen?" Fred pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, though his eyes danced with amusement. "I'd hardly call it stolen. We simply... appropriated. There's a difference, Wood asked and McGonagall approved. The rest, as they say, is history."

"Convenient history," you shot back, stepping closer to him without quite meaning to. The move was instinctive, a gravitational pull toward conflict that had become second nature between you. "You obviously had something to do with this. Probably bribed McGonagall with some of those ghastly prank products you and Georgie are always peddling."

Fred's grin widened, an expression that made you want to simultaneously hex him and—no. You stopped that thought before it could fully form. There was no and, there was only irritation, frustration, and the satisfying fantasy of watching him get drenched by a particularly well-aimed water-making spell.

"I don't know what you're implying, Y/N," he said, drawing out your name in a way that made it sound like an inside joke you weren't privy to. "But if you're suggesting I would abuse my privileged access to the Hogwarts administration for personal gain, well, you know me so well."

"Ugh.", the sound escaped you before you could stop it, a guttural expression of pure exasperation. "Sometimes, Weasley, I want to—"

"Strangle that smug face?" he supplied helpfully, "Yes, I believe you've mentioned that before. Multiple times, in fact...you're remarkably consistent in your threats."

"Consistency is a virtue," you retorted, crossing your arms. "Though I suppose you wouldn't know much about that, given your attention span seems to rival that of a particularly distracted flobberworm."

He opened his mouth to reply but George appeared at his brother's side, clapping a hand on Fred's shoulder with enough force to make him stumble slightly, "Alright you two, as entertaining as this is, the rest of us would like to get back to the common room before dinner. We're starving, and I'm fairly certain Ron has already eaten half the snacks in our dorm."

"This isn't over Fred." you said, fixing Fred with what you hoped was a sufficiently intimidating glare.

"It's never over between us, is it?" he replied, his voice softer now, though the teasing glint remained in his eyes. "Wouldn't have it any other way, it would be terribly boring if it were." "Sorry 'bout that Y/N, just ignore him, all the best for practice tomorrow." George, ever the mediator, attempted to defuse this conversation.

"Don't worry about it George, thanks anyhow." The corner of your lips curled up into a smile.

You watched him walk away, his laughter echoing across the pitch as George said something that made him throw his head back. The sound was surprisingly melodic, you realised, the kind of laugh that made people want to join in regardless of whether they knew what was funny.

Stop it, you told yourself firmly. You hate him, you've always disliked him. Ever since that one quidditch match that started it all back in third year, two years had passed your feelings were still mutual. You've been at odds ever since that match, and you might just have to always be. Back in third year, the quidditch pitch bathed in the honeyed glow of a summer afternoon, and you had been so singularly focused on the quaffle soaring toward the hoops that you hadn't registered the whistle of the bludger until Fred Weasley's broom collided with yours in a sickening crunch of wood and fabric, sending you both spiralling toward the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs and sharp curses. You hit the ground with a jarring thud, the wind knocked clean from your lungs, and when you opened your eyes, you found yourself sprawled across Fred's chest, his face inches from yours, his hazel eyes wide with shock and close to amusement despite the obvious pain contorting his features. For one suspended, breathless moment, you both simply stared at each other, your bodies pressed together in a way that was entirely too intimate, his hands having instinctively found your waist to steady you even as you pushed yourself off him with more force than necessary, scrambling to your feet and ignoring the way your cheeks had flushed a furious pink. "I almost had that!" Fred huffed, scrambling upright and brushing grass from his robes with an air of exasperation that bordered on petulance. You folded your arms across your chest, your jaw dropping in disbelief, he had just collided with you, sent you tumbling from the sky and he couldn't even be bothered to ask if you were alright? "Excuse me?" you shot back. "Well, if you weren't in the way, I would've hit the bludger!" he retorted, gesturing wildly at the sky as if the evidence of his near-triumph still hung in the air. "In the way?" you repeated, "I was trying to catch the quaffle, you came out of nowhere!" "I was looking out for the bludger, which is my job, in case you've forgotten how quidditch works! And by the way, I almost saved you from one!" Fred snapped, stepping closer, his chest nearly brushing yours as he squared up to you. "Your job is to not crash into other players, Weasley!" you shot back, "Maybe you should try actually looking where you're going!" "Maybe you should try staying out of the way of people who actually know what they're doing!" he countered, his voice rising to match yours, and you opened your mouth to deliver a scathing retort when Cedric and Oliver descended upon you both, their brooms kicking up clouds of grass as they landed between you like exasperated parents separating squabbling children. The captains' voices overlapped in a symphony of stern reprimands about teamwork, discipline, and the importance of not killing each other during the match, but you barely heard them, too focused on the way Fred's jaw was clenched and the way his eyes never quite left yours even as he nodded along to Oliver's lecture. "Well, if you could stay out of my way, that would be great, Fred," you finally snapped, your voice cutting through the captains' scolding like a blade, and the way his name fell from your lips felt sharper than any hex you could have thrown. He smiled then, a tight, forced expression that didn't quite reach his eyes, almost like satisfaction, like he'd been waiting for you to say something, anything, that would keep this fire burning between you. "And I will happily do that," he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned in just slightly, just enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, "Wouldn't want to be anywhere near you." Since then, you had somehow managed to get along with everyone, except him.

As your friends gathered around you, their voices a comforting hum of reassurances and plans for tomorrow, you found your gaze drifting back to the retreating figure of Fred Weasley. He had his arm slung around George's shoulders, and they were laughing at something, their heads close together in that way twins had of communicating without words.

He looked back.

Just this once, just for a moment, his eyes met yours across the distance.

George tugged him forward, and the moment was gone, leaving you with nothing but the echo of his gaze and an uncomfortable flutter in your chest that you refused to acknowledge. It was probably from all that running earlier. ___ Timeskip:

Hogwarts' corridors' were blessedly quiet the next morning after your Hufflepuff quidditch training, most students either still in the Great Hall finishing breakfast or already in their classes. You had chosen to walk a more circuitous route to potions, partly to enjoy the solitude and partly because you had heard that the bullies who occasionally lurked near the Charms corridor had been particularly active lately, and you wanted to stop them.

Three fifth-year slytherins, their robes pristine and their expressions cruel, had cornered a small first-year slytherin against the stone wall near the staircase to the dungeons. The slytherin girl was clutching a battered copy of A History of Magic to her chest like a shield, her eyes wide with unshed tears as the tallest of the boys snatched her wand from her trembling fingers.

"Let her go," you said, your voice sharp enough to cut through the corridor's silence. The three boys turned, their sneers faltering as they recognised you. You weren't particularly intimidating, your hufflepuff badge seemed to negate any reputation for toughness before you could even establish one, but there was something in your voice that made them pause.

"This doesn't concern you," the tallest one said, his lip curling. He was broad-shouldered and clearly used to getting his way through brute force. "Run along to your little badger friends, why don't you?"

"I said let her go." You stepped forward, placing yourself between the bullies and the first-year. "Now."

"Or what?" the second boy sneered, crossing his arms. "You'll tell a professor? We'll just deny it, whose word do you think they'll believe, ours, or some first-year's?"

"Funny," you said, your voice calm but your eyes blazing. "I was just thinking the same thing. Except I was wondering whose word they'd believe, three known troublemakers with disciplinary records a mile long, or two students, one of whom has a perfect academic record and enough prefect friends to make your lives thoroughly miserable." You paused, letting the threat sink in. "The answer seems fairly obvious to me. Now give her back her wand and we'll pretend this never happened."

The boys exchanged glances, clearly weighing their options. The tallest one's jaw tightened, and for a moment you thought he might try to push past you. But then he huffed, tossed the wand at the first-year's feet, and stalked off with his friends in tow.

"You're lucky," he muttered as he passed you. "Next time, your little friend won't have you around as bodyguard."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," you called after him, your voice steady. "And if I catch you bothering anyone else, there won't be a 'next time.' I promise you that."

When they were gone, you turned to the first-year, whose trembling had subsided to a mere shake. Her eyes were still shiny, but the tears had begun to recede, replaced by a tentative relief. You crouched down to her level, retrieving her wand from the floor and pressing it gently into her hands.

"They're just jealous, you know," you said, your voice warm and steady. "When people pick on you for no reason, it's because they feel small inside. They see something in you that they lack, bravery, perhaps, or kindness, or intelligence. And rather than working to build those qualities in themselves, they try to tear you down instead."

The girl blinked at you. "Really? But I'm just...I'm nobody. I'm not brave, I'm not smart, I'm not—"

"You are brave," you interrupted, not unkindly. "You attempted to stand up to them, didn't you? It takes courage to face people like that, even when you're scared. And you're kind, I can see that. You didn't fight back or try to hurt them, even though you could have. And I'd bet you're smarter than you give yourself credit for." You gestured to the book she was clutching. "You're already reading ahead. That's not something a 'nobody' does."

The girl's cheeks flushed with color, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips now. "You really think so?"

"I know so," you said firmly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Now, off you go. I think you've got a Charms class to get to, don't you?"

The girl nodded, clutching her wand and book to her chest. She hesitated for just a moment, then threw her arms around you in a quick, fierce hug before darting away down the corridor.

You watched her go, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. It was a small thing, helping her, but small things had a way of adding up. Someone had done the same for you once, back when you were a first-year, new to Hogwarts and terrified of everything. You still remembered her face, the way she had smiled and said, "Don't worry, it gets easier." Her name was—

"Aw, look at that. The great Y/N Y/L/N, terror of the quidditch pitch, reduced to a puddle of maternal feelings."

The voice came from behind you, and you felt your body tense involuntarily before you even turned around. Of course, of course it was him. Fred stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk firmly in place. He must have come from the corridor behind you, which meant he'd been watching the entire exchange.

"What did you tell her?" he asked, pushing off from the wall and strolling toward you. "Some snide remark to scare her away from you? Did you threaten to hex her if she didn't start doing your homework?"

"I told her that Fred Weasley is an arse," you replied without missing a beat, turning to face him fully. "I thought it was best she learned the truth early, so she'd know who to avoid."

Fred's eyebrows shot up, and then he laughed. It was the same laugh you'd heard on the pitch, the one that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest and make you want to join in despite every logical reason not to.

"Ouch," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. "And after I was just starting to think you might actually have a heart under all that quidditch-obsessed exterior. I saw you with that first-year, you know. The whole 'you're brave and kind and smart' speech, very touching, almost made me tear up."

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Weasley?" you asked, your voice flat even as your cheeks flushed slightly. "Class, perhaps? Or are you planning to spend the whole morning lurking in corridors, eavesdropping on private conversations?"

"Lurking is such a grotesque word," Fred said, falling into step beside you as you began walking toward the Potions classroom. "I prefer 'strategically positioned observation.', it sounds more professional."

"You're irritating."

"Irritating?" He considered this. "I've been called worse. Usually by you, actually. 'Insufferable,' 'infuriating,' 'the most annoying person I've ever met', those are favourites of yours, if I recall correctly."

"Only because they're accurate."

"See, this is what I love about our conversations," Fred continued, seemingly unbothered by your hostility. "You never hold back, it's refreshing, really. Most people just agree with me because they're intimidated by my charm."

Your steps faltered. "Intimidated? By you? Weasley, the only thing about you that's intimidating is your inability to stop talking."

"Ah, but you always listen, don't you?" He grinned, and it was such an infuriatingly confident expression that you had to actively resist the urge to hex him. "You could have walked away at any point but you're still here, having this conversation with me. Fascinating, isn't it?"

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it again. Because he was right. You hadn't walked away, though you could have, should have, but instead you were walking side by side with Fred toward a classroom you both had to be in, exchanging insults like they were part of some elaborate dance.

"I'm only still here because we have the same class," you said finally, your voice clipped. "It has nothing to do with you or your supposed charm."

"Whatever you say, Y/N." His voice was light, almost teasing. "Whatever you say."

When you reached the Potions classroom, Fred swept ahead of you and held the door open with an elaborate flourish. "Ladies first," he said, his tone dripping with exaggerated gallantry.

"After you," you replied, your smile just as fake as his. "I wouldn't want you to miss a single moment of Snape's delightful lecture."

"I insist." He gestured you forward, his eyes dancing with mirth. "I was raised to be a gentleman, after all. My mother would never forgive me if I let a lady walk into the metaphorical lion's den without me."

You stepped past him, your shoulder brushing against his chest in a way that was probably accidental but felt strangely intentional. The contact lasted only a moment, but you felt the warmth of him even through the thick fabric of your robes.

"Thank you," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It was a reflex, the ingrained politeness your mother had drilled into you since childhood. And yet, as you took your seat at the potions table, you found that you meant it.

Fred slid into his seat across from you, "Anytime," he said, voice softer.

George dropped into the seat beside his brother, followed by Lee Jordan at another table, and the moment was gone.

"For today's lesson," Professor Snape announced, his voice cutting through the room like a blade, "we will be examining the properties of the Draught of Living Death. Can anyone tell me the primary ingredient?"

Katie's hand shot up immediately, but Snape's gaze swept past her, as she had been answering all the questions lately. "Anyone who is not Miss Bell?"

Fred's hand went up. You blinked, genuinely surprised. Fred Weasley, volunteering to answer a question in Potions? It seemed as unlikely as a Malfoy being nice to a Weasley.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Snape's tone was skeptical.

"Powdered root of asphodel," Fred replied confidently. "The trick is the sequence of the stirring, counter-clockwise for the first six minutes, then clockwise for two, then the root has to be added at exactly the right moment or the whole thing turns into a mess." He paused, a grin spreading across his face. "It's a bit like Quidditch, actually. You have to time everything perfectly. One wrong move and—"

"Indeed," Snape cut him off, his expression souring at the mention of the sport. "While Mr. Weasley's analogy is... creative, I would remind you all that Potions is a precise art, not a children's game played on brooms."

The class erupted into whispers and snickers. George and Lee were leaning forward, already building on Fred's comparison with wild gestures and suppressed laughter. "See, the stirring is like the seekers," George was saying, "always circling, waiting for the right moment. And the cauldron—"

"Is the quaffle," Lee added, slapping the table in glee. "Because it's round and your success depends on—"

"Alright, that's enough." Snape's voice thundered over them, and the laughter died instantly. "If you have quite finished, perhaps we can return to the matter at hand. The Draught of Living Death is not a game, it is a notoriously difficult potion that requires patience, precision, and an understanding of magical properties, qualities that are clearly in short supply in this room."

You watched the exchange with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement. The Weasley twins had a talent for turning even the most serious lessons into spectacles, and Snape's obvious irritation only seemed to fuel their enthusiasm. It was impossible not to be drawn into their orbit, even when you wanted nothing more than to focus on the lesson.

A crumpled piece of parchment then landed on your desk.

You glanced up sharply, Fred was looking at Snape with an expression of exaggerated attention, but you caught the subtle wiggle of his eyebrows, the barely suppressed grin. You glared at him, then looked down at the note.

"Spoiler alert: Gryffindor wins the match next week. ;)"

The note was written in a looping, messy hand that you'd seen on too many prank products to mistake. You felt a flush of irritation, or something like irritation, creep up your neck. He had no right to be this confident, especially not after what had happened at practice two days ago. Your hand moved automatically, writing a response before your brain could catch up.

"You wish. ;)"

The note sailed back across the table, landing neatly in front of Fred just as Snape turned to write instructions on the blackboard. You saw Fred glance down, read the message, and produce a grin so wide it seemed to split his face. Then he was scribbling again, and another piece of parchment was making its way toward you.

"You know, people might start to think you enjoy this. All this note-passing, very romantic."

Your eyes widened. Romantic? You nearly crumpled the note on the spot, but something stopped you. Something about the way the words seemed to shimmer with teasing energy, the way you could practically hear his voice in your head. Instead, you uncapped your quill and wrote: "In your dreams, Weasley. I'd rather date a Bludger."

"That can be arranged, I know a few that would be very interested."

"I'm sure you do, you seem to have a talent for attracting things that hit you in the head."

"Mr. Weasley. Miss Y/L/N."

Snape's voice cut through the classroom like a whip, and your blood went cold. The entire class seemed to turn in unison, all eyes fixed on you and Fred. You could feel the heat rising up your neck, staining your cheeks with an unmistakable blush.

"Yes, Professor?" Fred asked, his voice perfectly innocent.

"I asked you to identify the next step in the creation of the Draught of Living Death," Snape said, his tone dangerously quiet. "I assume you were too occupied with your...correspondence...to pay attention."

Snape swooped down on your table in a swish of black robes, and before either of you could react, he had snatched the parchment note from your desk. His eyes scanned it rapidly, and his expression grew even more forbidding.

"How delightful," he hissed. "Sending love letters around my classroom, are we? I suppose I should be flattered that you find my lessons so romantically inspiring."

The class snickered. Someone, you suspected Lee Jordan, let out a low whistle. You and Fred both opened your mouths to protest simultaneously.

"It's not like that, Professor!" you said, your voice a little too high. "It's just—"

"We weren't—" Fred started.

"Silence!" Snape's voice cracked through the air. "I have heard enough. You will both stay after class."

"But Professor—" you began.

"After class, Miss Y/L/N," Snape repeated, his tone brooking no argument. "Unless you would prefer to see your Head of House."

You closed your mouth, swallowing the protest that was already forming on your tongue. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint Professor Sprout, who had been nothing but supportive of your studies and your Quidditch ambitions. You glared at Fred across the table, silently blaming him for the entire situation.

He had the audacity to shrug, his expression an infuriating mix of apology and amusement.

When the rest of the class had filed out—Gabriella, one of your ravenclaw friends, shooting you a sympathetic look as she passed, George winking at his brother with obvious curiosity. You and Fred stood before Snape's desk like miscreants awaiting judgment.

"You find this amusing, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked, his gaze fixed on Fred's still-smirking face.

"Not at all, Professor," Fred replied, though the grin hadn't quite left his eyes. "I assure you, this is a grave situation."

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Indeed. The two of you appear to have forgotten that Hogwarts is an institution of learning, not a...a courtship display. And now I find myself in the position of having to decide how to handle your enthusiasm."

"We weren't—" you started, but Snape raised a hand, cutting you off.

"I have a solution," he continued, his voice clipped. "You are both due to play in the upcoming Quidditch match, I believe?"

Your heart sank, you knew where this was going. "Professor, please—"

"I will give you a choice," Snape said, his eyes glinting with a mixture of malice and satisfaction. "You may either forfeit your place in the match, or you may write a ten-thousand-word essay on the history and importance of Potions in magical theory. That will be due by the day of the match."

"You can't do that!" The words burst out of you before you could stop them. "The match, we've been training for weeks, the whole team is counting on—"

"Then I suggest you choose wisely, Miss Y/L/N." Snape's tone was utterly unsympathetic. "A forfeit, or an essay. Those are your options."

Fred opened his mouth, and you could see the arguments forming on his tongue. But then he looked at you and closed his mouth again.

"We'll take the essay," you said, surprising yourself as much as anyone else. "The ten-thousand-word one."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "An unexpected choice, I had assumed you both would opt out of writing an essay."

"We don't want to let our teammates down," you said quietly. "If I can't play, that's one thing, but I won't be the reason the Hufflepuff team is short a player."

Beside you, Fred nodded slowly. "Same for me. The essay's not ideal, but at least George and the others can still play."

Snape surveyed the two of you with an unreadable expression. "Very well, the essay is due by next Friday. And if either of you attempts to pass off work that is anything less than thorough, I will know."

"Yes professor," you and Fred said in unison.

The moment you stepped out of the classroom, you rounded on him. "This is your fault, Weasley, you and your stupid notes."

"My stupid notes?" Fred turned to you, "You were the one who kept responding, you could have just ignored me."

"Like I could ignore a bludger to the head," you shot back. "Your notes are about as subtle as one."

"You seemed to enjoy it well enough." He fell into step beside you as you marched through the corridor, his long legs easily matching your pace. "You certainly wrote back quickly, I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you." The words came out automatically, but there was something hollow in them, something that didn't quite ring true. "I hate you and your jokes and your stupid notes that are going to take me the rest of the week to write."

Fred grinned. "We could write them together, you know. Two heads are better than one, as they say. Imagine the time we'd save."

"I'd rather write the whole thing myself than have you ruining my work with your opinions."

"You underestimate me." But he was still smiling. "Although...speaking of opinions, I should probably get started on that essay. If I'm going to have to actually write something educational, I might need to borrow some books from the library." He paused, tilting his head at you. "Unless you want to join me?"

For a moment, you considered it. The thought of spending more time in Fred Weasley's company was equal parts appealing and terrifying, a combination you couldn't quite make sense of. But you had your own essay to write, and the idea of having someone to work with, even someone as irritating as Fred, was strangely appealing.

"Maybe...I'll think about it," you said finally. "But you better not send any more notes."

"Wouldn't dream of it." His grin was impossible to trust. ---

The next week passed in a blur of late nights in the library and increasingly desperate attempts to research the history of potions. You had taken Fred up on his offer to work together, though you'd insisted on meeting in the library rather than the Gryffindor common room. The library had rules, silence and a complete lack of Fred's brothers, all of which seemed conducive to actually getting work done.

But the library was also crowded, and finding a quiet corner was nearly impossible. And so, three days before the essay was due, you found yourself sitting at a table in the library's back corner, surrounded by stacks of books and parchment, while Fred sat opposite you in a similarly disheveled state.

It was late, well past midnight, and the library was empty except for the two of you and Madam Pince, who had given up on shooing you out hours ago. The candles flickered low, casting shadows across the pages of the books you'd been staring at for what felt like years.

You'd barely written three thousand words.

"Why did we agree to this again?" you muttered, your head dropping to the table with a soft thunk. "Snape is a monster, a brilliant, terrifying, essay-demanding monster."

Fred's laughter was low and tired, "You really want to know? Because I could have sworn you'd say 'I told you so' if I tried to suggest we avoid it."

"Always," you said into the table. "I would absolutely say I told you so. Because I did tell you so, I told you so many times."

"And yet, here you are," Fred said, and when you lifted your head, he was looking at you with something that might have been fondness in his eyes. "Having a tea break with your sworn enemy."

"Not my sworn enemy," you corrected automatically. "Just...the person I dislike most at this school."

"I'm touched." He rolled his eyes. "To be your least favourite person in a school full of people is quite an honour."

"I'm glad you appreciate it," you said dryly, sitting up straight and stretching your arms over your head. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find a book on the history of potion-making. I can't keep citing the same three sources over and over again."

You pushed back from the table and made your way to the stacks, your footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The library had always been your sanctuary, a place where you could escape from the pressures of school and the chaos of the common room. Tonight, though, it felt different and restless, especially with the essay due soon.

You found the book you were looking for on the top shelf, far out of reach. You stretched, but your fingers barely grazed the spine. For a moment, you considered using a Summoning Charm, but you'd had a long day and your concentration was shot. You could barely manage a simple Levitation Charm right now.

"Need a hand?" Fred's voice came from behind you, and you jumped, nearly knocking over a stack of books. He was standing much closer than you'd expected, his tall frame blocking the dim light from the corridor.

"I can manage," you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you knew they weren't true. The book was stubbornly out of reach, and every time you stretched for it, your muscles screamed in protest.

Fred smiled, then reached up and pulled the book down with ease. He was so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Here," he said softly, placing the book in your hands. "Is there anything else you need given your lack of height?"

You scoffed then looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. He was so close, close enough that you could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw. You had hated him for so long, had convinced yourself that he was everything you despised, arrogant, loud, infuriating. But right now, in the soft candlelight of the library, with his hand barely brushing yours, he didn't seem like any of those things.

He seemed like someone entirely different, someone you hadn't let yourself see before.

"Thank you, Fred," you said softly, and the words felt different on your tongue.

His eyes widened slightly at your tone, head tilting, awaiting another jab or retort from you, but nothing came. Then he stepped back, and the moment was over, but you couldn't shake the feeling that there had been a shift in the space between you.

By the time you returned to the table, your hands were trembling slightly, and you couldn't meet his eyes. You sat down opposite him, the book in your lap, and tried to focus on the words.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

You were so tired that your thoughts were becoming hazy, and you felt your eyelids drooping. The words on the page blurred together, and you caught yourself nodding off more than once. Beside you, Fred was similarly exhausted, his head bobbing as he tried to stay awake.

"Maybe we should call it a night," he said finally, his voice slurred with sleep. "We won't be much good to anyone if we can't keep our eyes open."

"Just a few more minutes," you said, but even as you spoke, your head was already dropping toward the table.

When you next opened your eyes, it was to the soft sound of someone breathing deeply beside you. The library was dark, the candles had burned low, leaving only the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows, and Fred was asleep.

He was hunched over the table, his face half-hidden in the crook of his elbow. His hair was mussed, his robes rumpled, and there was a smudge of ink on his cheek. He looked younger somehow, less like the arrogant prankster you'd always despised and more like a tired student trying to get through a difficult week.

Your chest softened, your lips subconsiously curving up into a smile.

You had a blanket in your bag, you'd brought it on a whim, knowing the library could get cold at night. Without thinking, you draped it gently over his shoulders, careful not to wake him. He stirred slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, then settled back into sleep.

"Sleep tight, Fred," you whispered, and the words came out softer than you'd intended.

It was only when you turned to gather your own things that you realised you'd made it halfway through the book without even reading a word. You'd been too focused on him, on the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, on the way his eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks.

This was a problem, you weren't supposed to notice things like that or even pay attention to him.

As you slipped out of the library, leaving Fred to his dreams and your blanket draped over his shoulders, you felt an energy change between the two of you. ___

You found him the next afternoon in the corridor outside the Great Hall, and for the first time, he didn't immediately launch into a joke or a sly remark. Instead, he grinned, free of mockery, and fell into step beside you.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, his voice oddly sincere. "For the blanket. It was surprisingly...thoughtful of you. I didn't realise you had enough kindness left for me."

"I don't," you said quickly, trying to brush it off. "It was just...you looked cold. It was an impulse."

"Impulsive kindness?" He raised an eyebrow, and there was a hint of his usual teasing in the gesture. "That sounds like something a hufflepuff would say."

"You say that like it's an insult."

"Not at all." He was smiling again, the expression surprisingly warm. "I was just wondering...I mean, I know you've got the team to consider, and I know we're supposed to be rivals... but I was thinking, since we're almost done, maybe we could properly finish the essay together. After class, we could meet in the Gryffindor common room, if you wanted. There's plenty of space, and we'd be able to concentrate better than in the library."

You hesitated, the Gryffindor common room, with Fred. It was one thing to work together in a neutral space like the library, it was quite another to go into his territory, surrounded by his friends and the echoes of his laughter. But you were tired, and the essay was due soon, and you figured that two heads of ideas were better than one.

"Fine," you said. "But I'm bringing my own quill, I don't trust anything you've touched."

Fred chuckled, "Whatever floats your boat." ___

You'd expected the gryffindor common room to be crowded, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open to reveal a warm, bustling space filled with plush armchairs and roaring fires. You hadn't anticipated the sheer volume of people who seemed to fill every available inch of floor space. Students were sprawled across sofas, lounging on cushions, and perched on tables, their voices rising in a cacophony of laughter and arguments.

And then they saw you.

"Y/N?" George's voice cut through the noise, his expression one of pure shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Fred said, stepping past you with an air of deliberate casualness. "She's here for the essay, we're working on it together."

"You're...you're actually working together?" Ron, who had been sitting in one of the armchairs with Harry, nearly dropped the chocolate frog he was holding. "Since when?"

"Since we realised it would be faster if we collaborated on this detention task," you said, your voice steady even as every eye in the room seemed to fix on you. "We're both capable of putting aside our differences for the sake of not failing Potions."

Ron and George exchanged a look that was far too knowing for your comfort. "Differences," George repeated slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Is that what you call it?"

"Shut it, George," Fred said, but there was no heat in his voice. "Y/N's our guest, try to behave like civilised human beings for once."

"Civilised?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "We're talking about you, Fred."

"Not in front of the guest, please." Fred put a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I have a reputation to maintain."

The room dissolved into laughter, and you found yourself smiling despite everything. It was impossible not to, surrounded by the easy warmth of the Gryffindors. Hermione, who had been curled up in a chair by the fire, waved you over with a welcoming smile and Ginny moved to make space for you on the sofa.

"You'll have to excuse them," Ginny said, rolling her eyes in the direction of her brothers. "They've never quite learned how to behave around new people."

"We're not new," you pointed out. "I've known them for years."

"Ah, but you've never been a guest before." Ginny's grin was knowing. "There's a difference, and I think that's what's making them all a bit... confused."

"Confused?" You couldn't help but ask.

"They can't figure out if they're supposed to be teasing you or welcoming you," Ginny explained. "Normally they'd just tease you, but since Fred brought you here, it's changed the dynamic."

You felt your cheeks flush at the implication. "It's just for the essay," you said quickly. "Fred and I are still..."

"Sworn enemies?" Ginny finished, her expression unreadable. "Sure, that's why you're sitting here, in our common room, surrounded by gryffindors, talking to me about your mysterious rivalry."

"I'm not—" you started, but Ginny cut you off with a wave of her hand.

"Relax," she said. "I'm just teasing, it's nice to see you two not at each other's throats for once. Honestly, it was exhausting watching the two of you bicker all the time."

"You're not the only one," you muttered, but there was no real heat in it. "It's always been that way, though. Since that quidditch match."

"Ah, the infamous quidditch match." Ginny leaned forward, a glint in her eyes. "You know, Fred never told me exactly what happened. Just that you accused each other and it escalated from there."

"It wasn't exactly a proud moment," you admitted. "We clashed at wrong times, and I guess...both too proud to admit our faults." Now realising how petty this whole thing sounded, and how easily it could have been avoided.

Ginny's eyebrows rose, trying to hold back laughter. "That's it? That's the whole reason you've been at war with each other for years?"

"It's not the whole reason," you said, though you weren't quite sure what else there was. "It's just...we got used to hating each other, it became a habit."

"Interesting." Ginny's expression shifted, becoming thoughtful. "You know, I've never heard Fred talk about anyone as much as he talks about you. Always complaining about how annoying you are, how you never back down, how you're too stubborn for your own good... but he never stops talking about you."

You blinked. "That's...that's not exactly a compliment."

"Maybe not the way you're hearing it," Ginny said. "But trust me, for Fred? It is." ___

The next few hours passed quickly, buried in research and writing. Though the common room was chaotic, you and Fred somehow managed to carve out a corner of the space for yourselves, spreading books and parchment across a low table near the fire. The others respected your need for quiet, mostly, though you caught more than a few curious glances in your direction.

"We should work on the section about the importance of potions in magical history," Fred said, his quill scratching across the parchment. "I found a reference to a hundred-year-old potion that was essential to the defense of some magical community in the sixteenth century, it might give us a good foundation."

You glanced up from your own research, surprised. "That's actually a good idea, I was going to focus on the evolution of potion-making techniques, but I hadn't thought of connecting it to historical examples."

Fred grinned. "See? Two heads are better than one, I told you we'd be a good team."

"Don't get too comfortable," you warned, but your voice was softer than you'd intended. "We still have another two thousand words to go, and I'm not carrying you through the whole thing."

"Right, cause I'll be carrying you through it instead," Fred teased, and his eyes met yours across the table. In the flickering firelight, his expression seemed less adverse.

George appeared, snapping you out of your gaze, dropping a plate of sandwiches onto the table with a loud clatter. "Figured you two might be hungry," he said, his grin far too knowing. "Can't write an essay on an empty stomach, right?"

"Thanks, George," you said, tearing your gaze away from Fred. "That's very thoughtful."

"Of course it is." George winked. "I'm always thoughtful, especially when my brother seems to have finally found someone who can match his level of stubbornness."

"We're not—" you started.

"It's just for the essay," Fred finished, his voice slightly strained. "We're not anything."

"Of course you're not." George's grin widened, before remaining neutral. "Not anything at all, that's why you've been staring at each other for the last five minutes without saying a word."

"We weren't!"

"Staring?" George repeated. "No, of course not, you were just looking intently at each other, in a completely platonic way."

"George, I swear to Merlin—"

"Fine, fine." George held up his hands in surrender, but he was still grinning. "I'll leave you two to your 'completely platonic' essay-writing. Just don't forget that the common room has eyes, and ears, and a very healthy appetite for gossip."

When he had retreated to the other side of the room, you and Fred exchanged a glance that was equal parts embarrassment and reluctant amusement.

"Your brother is entertaining," you said.

"He really is," Fred agreed. "But he also usually has the tendency to be right, about...about a lot of things." Fred trailed off, not wanting to imply anything.

You felt your cheeks flush again. "Right about what, exactly?"

Fred hesitated, his eyes searching yours. "I don't know," he said slowly. "You'll have to ask him. ___

After what felt like eons, you and Fred walked side by side toward Snape's office the day of the quidditch match, the completed essay clutched in your hands like a trophy, your steps light with the giddiness of having finally conquered the impossible. "I can't believe we actually did it," you said, your voice tinged with disbelief and no small amount of pride, "Ten thousand words, ten thousand words about potions." "I still can't believe I managed to write ten thousand words about anything that wasn't a prank," Fred grinned, nudging your shoulder with his, "My mother would be so proud, or horrified, probably both." You laughed, the sound bright and easy, and for a moment you allowed yourself to forget about the match, about the rivalry, about everything except the simple pleasure of having finished something monumental together. Neither of you noticed the small first-year boy who scurried past, his wand pointed downward, his lips moving in a whispered incantation he'd found in a dusty book somewhere. His aim was far less precise than his enthusiasm, and his spell bounced onto the corner of your essays, a faint shimmer of light that faded almost instantly, leaving no trace behind. You kept walking, your conversation flowing as naturally as the breeze through the open window, the parchment still clutched in your hands, still proudly clutched, still, except the ink had begun to dissolve, the words bleeding away like watercolours in rain, vanishing into the fibers of the paper as if they'd never been written at all.  The boy disappeared around a corner, already forgotten, and you and Fred strolled on, utterly unaware that the essay you were so proud of had become nothing more than blank parchment, the evidence of your hard work erased in a single careless moment. "I think Snape might actually be impressed," Fred mused, his voice warm with optimism, "I know, I know, it's a long shot. But we actually put effort into this." "Let's just get this over with before he changes his mind and makes us write another one." Fred knocked with exaggerated confidence, his grin wide as Snape's voice called for entry, and when you stepped inside the dim, potion-scented office, you couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph, this was it, the moment you'd been working toward all week. "Professor Snape," you announced, holding out the essay with both hands like an offering, "We've completed the essay, ten thousand words, as requested."

Snape took the parchment from you with a curt nod, his eyes scanning you two.

"Well done," he said, his voice flat and unimpressed.

"Thank you." you and Fred exchanged a look of barely contained glee, he'd said well done, well done, the words that meant you were free, that you'd actually managed to impress the most unimpressible professor in Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Professor," you said, already turning to leave, already planning how you'd celebrate, how you'd finally get to play in the match after all this—

"Wait." Snape's voice cut through the air and you froze mid-step, your heart lurching as you turned back to face him, "What is the meaning of this, Weasley? Y/L/N? Some kind of joke?"

"I'm sorry, Professor?" you said, your voice suddenly small, confusion knitting your brow as you watched him hold up the blank parchments, his expression dark with barely contained fury. "Where is the real essay?" he demanded, his voice rising, and he turned the paper around to face you, blank, utterly blank, the parchment as empty as the day you'd first pulled it from the shelf.

"That's...that's impossible," you stammered, stepping forward, your hands trembling as you reached for the paper, "We wrote it, we spent all week on it, I swear, Professor, it was there—"

"You expect me to believe that?" Snape's voice was cold, dismissive, his eyes boring into you with the kind of contempt that made your stomach drop, "You think you can waltz in here with a blank piece of parchment and claim it was a ten-thousand-word essay?"

"But it was," Fred interjected, his voice tight with frustration, "We spent hours on it, we researched, we wrote, we—"

"I know what a completed essay looks like, Weasley," Snape interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain, "And this is not it."

"This is a pathetic attempt at avoiding the consequences of your actions." He continued.

You stared at the blank parchment, your mind racing, and then it hit you, the first-year, the boy who had scurried past with his wand, the murmured incantation you'd barely registered in your excitement!

"Wait- er, there was a student," you said, your voice gaining urgency, "A first-year, he was casting something, some kind of spell, he must have hit our essay—"

"A first-year," Snape repeated flatly, and you could hear the disbelief in his voice, the utter dismissal of what you were saying, "You expect me to believe that a first-year managed to cast a spell powerful enough to erase an entire essay without you noticing?"

"He was trying to do a dissipation charm," Fred said, his voice desperate now, "I heard him, he was practicing, he must have gotten the incantation right somehow."

"Enough." Snape's voice cut through the air like a whip, and you flinched, your heart sinking as he fixed you both with a look of pure disappointment, "I expected better from you, Miss Y/L/N. I know Weasley is not academically...reliable, that's hardly new, but you? You have always been a diligent student. And yet here you are, standing before me with a blank piece of parchment, concocting stories about first-years and accidental spells."

"Please, Professor," you said, your voice cracking slightly, the tears you'd been fighting pricking at the corners of your eyes, "We're telling the truth."

"I'm sorry," Snape said, and his voice was almost gentle now, which somehow made it worse, "But without the essay, there's no proof that you completed the assignment."

"And without the assignment..." He paused, letting the words hang in the air, "I'm afraid it'll have to be no Quidditch for either of you."

"What?" The word burst out of you two, desperate, "No, Professor, please, the match is in a few hours—"

"I'm sorry," Snape repeated, and this time there was no gentleness in his voice, only finality, "You may leave."

You walked out of Snape's office in a daze, the blank parchment still clutched in your hands like a death sentence, and you didn't realise you were crying until Fred's hand found your shoulder, comforting you in a gesture that felt more like an anchor than anything else.

"It's not fair," you whispered, your voice breaking, "We did the work. We did everything right."

"I know," Fred said, and his voice was tight with barely suppressed anger, "I know. But there's nothing we can do now. He's made up his mind."

"But the match—"

"I know." He then squeezed your hand, and you felt the warmth of him through the fog of your despair, "We'll just have to watch from the sidelines, like we planned, missing one game won't be the end of the world."

"It feels like it is," you said, and Fred pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that surprised you, and you buried your face in his chest, letting yourself be held. You didn't even care that he was hugging you, it barely registered, you were too focused on your current disaster.

"At least we went down together," he murmured into your hair, his voice barely a whisper, "That's got to count for something."

___

You stood in the Gryffindor tent with Fred, watching the game unfold through the canvas flaps. The sky was clear, sun warm on your skin, but you couldn't feel any of it. All you could think about was the essay, the blank pages, the lost words, the chance that had been taken from you.

"We should be out there," you said, your voice hollow. "We should be playing."

"I know." Fred's voice was equally subdued. "But at least we get to watch."

"It's not the same," you said, and you hated the bitterness in your voice. "We trained for weeks, we worked so hard and now..."

"But that doesn't mean we can't still enjoy it. Right?" Fred softly comforted, "Chocolate frog?" He offered, taking one out of his bag. "Ron bought heaps." "No thanks, maybe next time." You managed a smile, looking at him.

He was trying so hard to be positive, to make the best of a bad situation. And despite everything, you found yourself grinning.

"You're right Fred," you said. "I'm glad we could at least be here to support your friends." just then, his chocolate frog jumped on you and you laughed. "Hey, I think he likes you." Fred complimented, holding the box in his hands still. "Would be hard not to." You teased, grabbing the chocolate frog off your shoulder and onto your hands.

___

The match ended in a tie. The golden snitch had escaped capture all afternoon, and when the sun began to set, and the players were too exhausted to continue, the captains called a draw.

It was the best possible outcome.

Both teams decided that a celebration was due, taking place in the Hufflepuff common room later this evening, where there was more space and easier access to the kitchens. A pile of discarded robes scattered across your bed like fallen leaves. You held up a deep burgundy dress robe, then discarded it in favour of a soft cream-colored tunic with delicate embroidery along the sleeves, then immediately second-guessed that choice and reached for the first one again, your reflection staring back at you with an expression of pure frustration. "You've been standing there for twenty minutes," Hannah observed from her perch on the edge of your bed, her voice laced with barely concealed amusement as she watched you hold the burgundy dress up to your chin for the fourth time, "The party's in an hour, and you've got certain look on your face that screams you have someone in mind to impress." "I do not have a look," you protested, but you caught your own reflection again and had to admit—yes, the slight furrow between your brows, the anxious bite to your lower lip, the way you kept smoothing down the front of your robes as if you were preparing for something far more significant than a common room party, "I'm just trying to figure out what to wear. Is that a crime?" "It's not a crime," Angelina said from where she'd claimed the window seat, her voice lilting with a knowing edge that made your stomach flip, "But it does raise certain questions." "Like what?" You kept your voice carefully neutral. "Like what kind of party this is," Gabriella chimed in, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned forward from her spot on the floor, "Because usually, when someone's trying to decide between three different outfits for a casual common room party, it means there's someone they're trying to impress." "I'm not trying to impress anyone," you said quickly, maybe too quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush that made Hannah raise an eyebrow, "I just...I want to look nice. Is that so terrible?" "For you?" Angelina said, her grin widening, "You, who usually wears whatever's at the top of your trunk without a second glance? Who once showed up to breakfast with your robes inside out and didn't notice until third period? Yes. That's absolutely suspicious." You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but no words came, because she was right, you'd never cared about what you wore before and yet here you were, agonising over a simple tunic. "I just—" you started, then stopped, the burgundy robe hanging limply from your fingers as you stared at your reflection, "I don't know. I guess I just want to feel...different tonight." "Orrr," Hannah said slowly, drawing out the word with deliberate emphasis, "You want to look good for a certain redheaded gryffindor who spent the entire quidditch match in a tent with you, looking like he was having the time of his life despite not playing." 

You felt the heat crawl up your neck, staining your cheeks a shade that matched the robe you were still holding, and you hastily dropped it onto the bed as if it had burned you. "I don't know what you're talking about," you said, but your voice came out smaller than you'd intended, less certain, "Fred and I were just…we were just working things out. We had to write the essay together, and we got to know each other, and—"

"And you seemed pretty cozy with him in that tent," Gabriella interrupted, her voice sing-song with teasing, "We saw you, you know. Through the flap, you were sitting so close to each other, and he was laughing at something you said, and you had this look on your face like—"

"Like what?" you demanded.

"Like you enjoyed being there with him," Angelina said softly, and there was no mockery in her voice now, only genuine curiosity, "Like you didn't mind that you weren't playing, like being in that tent with him was better than being on the pitch."

You opened your mouth to deny it, to insist that you'd been furious about missing the match, that you'd only tolerated Fred because you'd had no choice, but the words wouldn't come, because she was right, wasn't she?

You had enjoyed it, the quiet moments in the tent with Fred, his voice warm and teasing, his shoulder brushing against yours, the way he'd made you laugh even when everything felt hopeless. "He caused me to not be able to play," you said finally, though even as the words left your mouth, they felt hollow, insufficient, "Well…we both did, really, it was both our faults. We both let Snape catch us."

"But it was alright in the end, wasn't it?" Hannah pressed, her voice gentle, "You and him. All those years of hating each other, and it just was alright." 

"So," Gabriella said, bouncing to her feet and grabbing the cream tunic from your hands, holding it up to you with an approving nod, "Wear this, and wear that necklace you got for your birthday, the one with the little charm. It brings out your eyes."

"I'm not trying to impress him," you insisted, but you were already reaching for the tunic, already running your fingers over the soft fabric with a fondness that surprised you.

"Of course you're not," Angelina said, her grin wide and knowing, "And the fact that you keep saying that absolutely proves it." You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you were laughing too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere inside you—because they weren't wrong, were they?

___ Students from both teams mixed together, and the tension that had been building for weeks finally dissipated. Cedric Diggory and Oliver Wood were laughing together now, and even the slytherins and ravenclaws seemed to be enjoying themselves. Warm golden light from the enchanted candles casted dancing shadows across the walls as music swelled through the crowded space, and you found yourself lost in the rhythm of the music your body moving to the beat as Angelina spun you around with a laugh echoing over the chatter. Katie had joined you and Angelina, her grin wide as she pulled Hannah and Gabriella into the circle, and for a few blissful moments, you forgot about everything - the essay, the match, the chaos of the week and simply let yourself be carried away by the joy of the celebration. "I can't believe the match ended in a tie," Katie shouted over the music, her eyes bright with amusement, "Wood was absolutely livid, I thought he was going to hex the Snitch for not cooperating." "Cedric wasn't much better," you laughed, shaking your head at the memory of your captain's frustrated pacing, "He kept muttering about 'next time' and 'strategic adjustments' like he was planning a military campaign." Angelina leaned in, "At least the party's good. I heard someone smuggled in firewhisky from somewhere, like, a significant amount." "Who?" Gabriella asked, her eyes widening with a mixture of horror and delight. "Don't ask, don't tell, but maybe we could sneak some, if we're lucky." Hannah said with a wink, and you all dissolved into laughter, the sound mingling with the music in a way that felt like pure freedom. The common room was growing increasingly crowded, bodies pressing together as more students poured in from the other houses, and the music seemed to get louder with each passing moment. "I'm parched," you announced, your throat dry from laughing and shouting over the noise, "I'm going to get some punch. Anyone want anything?" Gabriella started to move with you, her hand reaching for your arm, "I'll come with—" "No, no, it's okay," you said, waving her off with a smile, "I'll be right back. Save my spot." You wove through the crowd, your steps light as you made your way toward the refreshment table at the far end of the room, and despite yourself, your eyes began to scan the crowd, looking for a flash of red hair, a familiar grin, the tall frame of the boy who had occupied your thoughts all week. There was no sign of him yet, and you felt slightly disappointed, but you quickly pushed that aside, telling yourself it didn't matter, that you were here to have fun with your friends, not to pine over Fred like some lovesick schoolgirl. You reached the punch bowl, the sweet scent of fruit and juice wafting up from the deep ceramic bowl, and you were just reaching for a cup when a figure appeared at your side, tall, lanky, with the distinctive blue-and-bronze robes of a ravenclaw. 

"Well, well," the voice drawled, and you turned to find Jack leaning against the table, his eyes glassy and unfocused, a half-empty cup dangling from his fingers, "If it isn't the girl who got kicked off the team today."

You stiffened, your hand pausing mid-reach for the cup as you forced a polite smile onto your face, "Kicked off? No, it was just temporary. I'm not off the Hufflepuff team. It was just—"

"Oh yeah?" Jack interrupted, his voice dripping with mockery, "Well, you're better off standing in the stands anyway. A pretty face like yours shouldn't be getting all sweaty and bruised on a quidditch pitch. You should let the real players handle it."

Your smile faltered, a flicker of anger sparking in your chest, "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"I'm just saying," Jack continued, leaning closer, his breath sour with firewhisky, "You're too pretty for Quidditch, you should be cheering from the sidelines, wearing something nice, letting the men do the heavy lifting. That's where girls like you belong."

"Girls like me?" you repeated, your voice dangerously quiet, your hands clenching at your sides.

"Yeah, you know." He gestured vaguely at you with his cup, sloshing some of the contents onto the floor, "The kind of girl who's better off being looked at than actually doing anything."

You opened your mouth to deliver a scathing retort, something about misogyny and outdated thinking and how he was clearly compensating for something, but you stopped yourself, remembering that he was drunk, that arguing with him would only make things worse, that the best thing you could do was walk away.

"Excuse me," you said, your voice tight but polite, "I think I should get back to my friends."

You turned to leave, but Jack's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength, "Hey, I wasn't done talking to you. Where are you going?"

"Let go of me," you said, your voice firm as you tried to pull away, "Now."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that," Jack slurred, his grip tightening, "I was just trying to give you a compliment. You hufflepuffs are so sensitive—" The glass flew from his other hand, propelled by a careless gesture as he tried to keep you from leaving, and you saw it arc through the air in slow motion, saw the way the light caught the edges, the way it spun toward you, the way you couldn't move fast enough to avoid it. Shattering against the edge of the table, you felt the sharp sting of shards slicing across your arm, the pain blooming bright and hot as blood welled up from the gash, dripping onto the stone floor in dark crimson droplets. You yelped, clutching your arm to your chest, your breath coming in sharp gasps as the pain registered, as the shock of it settled over you like a cold blanket. "What the hell—" you started, but the words died in your throat as a blur of red hair and fury pushed through the crowd, and before you could fully process what was happening. Fred was there, his eyes blazing as he shoved Jack backward with enough force to send him stumbling into the table. "Oi! Shove off, Jack!" Fred's voice was a low snarl, his body positioned between you and the ravenclaw like a shield, "What the hell is your problem?!" Jack recovered his balance, his face contorting with drunken anger as he shoved back, "Try controlling this girl's mouth, that's the problem! She's your girlfriend now, or what? Got you wrapped around her little finger like a good little—" "Stay away from her." Fred's voice was ice, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and you could see the barely contained rage in every line of his body, "I'm warning you, Jack. Don't come near her again." "Or what?" Jack sneered, taking a stumbling step forward, "You'll fight me? You think you can take me, Weasley?" The first punch was thrown before anyone could intervene, Jack's fist swinging wildly, catching Fred across the jaw with a sickening crack. You heard yourself scream as Fred retaliated, his own punch landing squarely in Jack's stomach, and then they were both on the ground, rolling and grappling in a blur of fists and anger. 

"Stop it!" you cried, trying to pull them apart, but your injured hand was throbbing, and you couldn't get a grip on either of them.

"Fred! Jack! Blood hell, stop this!" George appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his strong arms wrapping around his brother and hauling him backward, and Harry was there too, pulling Jack off the ground with more strength than his slender frame suggested.

Cedric materialised between them, his voice cutting through the chaos with captain's authority, "That's enough! Both of you, stand down!" Jack was still struggling, his face flushed and ugly with anger, but Harry's grip held firm, and after a moment, he sagged, his fight draining out of him.

Fred was breathing hard, his lip split and bleeding, his knuckles raw, but his eyes were fixed on you, on your hand, on the blood that was still seeping through your fingers. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice rough, and you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, the adrenaline still surging through your veins.

"Get him out of here," Cedric ordered, and Harry and George dragged Jack away, his protests fading into the noise of the party, which had barely paused in its revelry.

You realised you were shaking, your whole body trembling as the shock began to wear off and the pain in your hand grew sharper, more insistent. "I need…I need to go," you said, your voice unsteady, "I'll be back in a bit. Just- I need space."

Angelina reached for you, her face creased with concern, "Let me come with—"

"No, it's fine," you said, pulling away, "I'll be fine, I just need a moment. I'll come find you guys later." You pushed through the crowd, your vision swimming, and you knew exactly where you were going, the spare room off the main corridor, the one with the bed and the medical supplies, the one that had become your sanctuary during the chaos of the week.

The room was quiet, the door muffling the music and chatter from the common room, and you sank onto the edge of the bed, grabbing a tissue from the nearby desk and pressing it to your wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Your hand was still shaking, the tissue quickly turning crimson and you bit your lip to keep from crying, from letting the exhaustion and pain and frustration overwhelm you. A slow creak from the door, snapped you from your thoughts and you looked up to see Fred standing in the doorway, his expression soft with concern, a bruise already forming on his jaw and a thin line of blood still trickling from his split lip. "Hey," he said gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, the latch clicking softly into place, "Hey, you okay?" "I'm fine," you said automatically, but your voice wavered, and your hand was still shaking, and the tissue was soaked through with blood that just kept coming. "It's nothing." Fred's eyes darted to your hand, and his expression shifted, all the softness replaced by focused urgency, "Shit. Your hand- that's not nothing, Y/N. Let me see." "Fred, it's fine," you protested, but he was already crossing the room, already kneeling in front of you, his hands gentle as he reached for yours. "You're bleeding," he said, his voice soft but firm, "It's not nothing, please let me help." You hesitated, your chest ached at the way he said it, at the concern in his eyes, and slowly, reluctantly, you let him take your hand. "I've had my fair share of injuries," Fred murmured, his eyes focused on your wound as he reached for the medical kit he'd spotted on the shelf, "Ginny's always getting banged up during practice, and George and I have patched each other up more times than I can count. You learn to be quick about it." He worked with practiced efficiency, cleaning the wound with a gentle touch that belied his usual chaotic energy, his fingers careful and precise as they applied antiseptic and wrapped bandages around your palm. You watched the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his tongue poked out slightly when he was focused, the way his lashes cast shadows across his cheeks in the dim lamplight. Have you been this fine? The whole damn time? The thought came unbidden. You watched him and you noticed things you'd never allowed yourself to notice before, the freckles scattered across his nose like constellations, the way his jaw was stronger than you'd realised, the softness in his eyes when he thought no one was looking at him. His hair was a mess from the fight, a bruise darkening along his jaw, a small cut on his lip that he'd barely seemed to notice, and yet all of his attention was on you, on your wound, on making sure you were okay. "All done," he said softly, his thumb brushing over the bandage with a tenderness that made your breath catch, "There, good as new." "Thank you, Fred." The words came out softer than you'd intended, your voice barely above a whisper, and you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. His gaze was warm, searching, and you felt yourself leaning toward him without quite meaning to. "And I'm sorry," you added, the apology slipping out before you could stop it. "For what?" He tilted his head, genuinely confused, "The fight wasn't your fault, Y/N. Jack's an idiot, he's always been an idiot." "No," you said, shaking your head, "Not that...for everything. Through the years." You paused, gathering your thoughts, your fingers twisting in your lap, "I should never have...I was so angry at you, and I didn't even know why. I just assumed the worst, and I let that assumption color everything. I thought you were arrogant and careless and—" "Y/N, stop." 

Fred's voice was gentle, his hand reaching out to cover yours, "I was an arse too. The match back then, third year- it was my fault. I was showing off, trying to prove something and I crashed into you because I wasn't paying attention and instead of apologising, I blamed you. I've been blaming you ever since because I was too proud to admit I was wrong."

"No, it was my fault too," you insisted, shaking your head, "I was so focused on the quaffle, I didn't even see you coming when I should have—"

"We were both idiots, me a little bit more though," Fred interrupted, a rueful smile tugging at his lips, "We were both too stubborn to admit we might have been wrong and we wasted years hating each other because of one stupid accident."

"Years," you repeated, the word feeling strange, "All that time, and we could have just…talked, like this."

"Like this," he agreed, his thumb still resting over your knuckles, warm and steady, "I think we were both too scared to talk or to admit that maybe—"

"Maybe what?" you breathed, slowly blinking.

"Maybe it was never really hate," Fred said softly, his eyes searching yours, "Maybe it was… something else."

You could feel the heat radiating from him and the way his eyes flickered down to your lips and back up, you could feel the pull of him like a magnet drawing you closer. "I don't want to be your 'enemy' anymore, Fred," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the muffled music from the common room.

"Me too," he confessed, "I want to be—" He didn't finish the sentence.

Instead, he leaned in, and you met him halfway, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, a question more than an answer. His hand came up to cup your cheek, and you melted into him, all the years of hatred and rivalry dissolving like morning mist, leaving behind only warmth, only possibility, only him. He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, and you could see the smile spreading across his face. "I think I've been waiting to do that for a very long time," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion, "I just didn't know it." "Me too," you admitted, your fingers finding his, intertwining, "I didn't know it either but I think- I think I'm glad we finally figured it out." "Glad is an understatement," Fred said, and he kissed you again, longer this time, and when you pulled apart, you were both breathless and laughing, the joy of it bubbling up from deep inside you. "I suppose this means I have to tell my friends you're not my 'sworn enemy' anymore," you said, your voice teasing, "They're going to be so disappointed, Gabriella had a whole betting pool going about when we'd finally get along." "A betting pool?" Fred's eyebrows shot up, "How much did she win?" "I'm not telling you that," you said primly, but you were grinning, "You'll get a big head." "My head is already appropriately sized, thank you very much," he shot back, and you chuckled. "Is it a bad thing," you asked softly, suddenly serious, "Falling in love with your once-enemy? I mean, everyone always says-" "I don't think it is," Fred interrupted, his voice firm and sure, "I think it's the best thing that could have happened. I think we were always meant to end up here, we just took the long way around." "The very, very long way," you agreed, and he kissed you again. You let yourself be carried away by it, the warmth of his lips, the steadiness of his hands around you, ever so hopeful of everything that was yet to come. Outside, the party raged on, the music thrumming through the walls, but in that small, quiet room, you and Fred had found something far more precious than any celebration, you had found each other.

[mssorceressupreme]

I’ll Always Catch You | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley (spiderman) x reader

Summary: a new mysterious hero at hogwarts had piqued your interest, inspiring you to write articles about him. Fred Weasley happens to be just as interested in the new hero as you are, so you both try to uncover the masked hero. This inspires new friendship, new villains, and new...feelings.

Warnings/content: spiderman!Fred, journalist!reader, Harry potter universe x spiderverse crossover, acquaintances to friends to lovers, violence, injuries, fluff, reader falls(?) off building at the end (but she's okay), yearning, mutual pining, protective!fred, features green goblin & venom, hufflepuff!reader, reader is in Ron’s year Wordcount: 8.7k a/n: hope you guys enjoy the few references to Andrew's spiderman and Tobey's spiderman (incl the upside down kiss etc.) hehehe <3

———

It was a louder day than usual, the Great Hall with its morning symphony, the clatter of spoons against bowls, the murmur of conversations weaving between tables, the occasional explosion from the Gryffindor table when someone's porridge decided to stage a rebellion.

But today, there was something else in the air, a new talk of the school.

You sat at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by a crowd of students who'd abandoned their own breakfasts to cluster around you. Your latest article lay spread across the worn wooden surface, freshly printed, still warm from the Muggle printer you'd charmed to work in the castle.

"SPIDERMAN STRIKES AGAIN: The Venom Indicent"

The headline was bold, the ink still drying in places. Below it, your sketches captured the chaos of the fight, the black, oozing monster that had terrorised the castle, the red-and-blue blur that had saved the day.

"Another article, Y/N?" Hannah Abbott leaned over your shoulder, her eyes scanning the pages. "This one's about that gooey monster guy?"

You grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Cedric actually gave me the idea to call him Venom. Fits, doesn't it? All that black ooze everywhere."

"Your articles are getting so popular!" Susan Bones bounced in her seat, nearly knocking over her pumpkin juice. "I even saw Professor Snape reading one during his morning tea. Snape!"

"He's probably just trying to figure out who's behind all the 'unauthorised publications,'" Cedric said, settling into the seat across from you. He was all golden charm and easy smiles, the kind of person who made everyone feel welcome. "But honestly, Y/N, you've got a gift. This is real journalism."

"Imagine if you ever found out who Spiderman really was," Cho Chang added, her dark eyes thoughtful. "That would be the story of the century."

"It's already the story of the century," Luna Lovegood said dreamily, floating into the seat beside Cho. Her radish earrings dangled as she tilted her head. "A mysterious hero who appears when danger strikes and disappears without a trace. He's like a Nargle, really. You know he's there, but you can't quite catch him."

"I don't think Nargles wear spandex," Neville murmured, earning a round of giggles.

"Maybe he's a professor," Ginny Weasley suggested, squeezing in between Luna and Neville. "That would explain why he's so skilled at fighting. He's had years of practice."

"Or maybe he's a student," you countered, your fingers already itching for your notebook. "Someone who's been training in secret, who knows the castle inside and out."

"Someone who probably doesn't get enough sleep," Cedric added wryly. "Based on how often he's spotted at odd hours."

You laughed, jotting that down. "Good point! I'll add that to my profile."

The conversation swirled around you, theories, sightings, wild guesses. Some students thought Spiderman was a professor in disguise. Others were convinced he was a ghost or some kind of magical guardian. A few even thought he might be an animagus.

You soaked it all in, your quill flying across the page.

The people want to know who he is, you thought. And I'm going to find out.

Across the Great Hall, the Gryffindor table was a study in chaos, the usual state of affairs.

Fred Weasley stumbled in late, his hair a disaster of red tangles, his tie hanging loose around his neck, his robes rumpled and misbuttoned. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he moved like a man who hadn't slept in a week.

"Merlin, what happened to you, Freddie?" George was the first to notice, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

"Couldn't sleep a wink last night," Fred groaned, collapsing onto the bench beside his twin. He grabbed an apple from the nearest platter and bit into it with more aggression than the fruit deserved.

"Looks like it," Ron observed, not looking up from his toast. "You look like you went three rounds with a Bludger."

"Felt like it too."

"What kept you up?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing with characteristic suspicion. "You've been looking exhausted all week."

Fred waved a dismissive hand. "Just...restless. You know how it is."

He didn't elaborate, he couldn't. Not when the truth was so much stranger, the webs he'd been swinging through the night, the villains he'd been fighting, the constant weight of a secret he could never share.

His eyes drifted across the hall, scanning the familiar faces and then they landed on the Hufflepuff table, which was vibrating with energy. Students were packed around one spot, their heads bent together like they were sharing some great secret. In the centre of it all was you, laughing, talking, your hands gesturing animatedly as you explained something to the crowd around you.

"What's going on over there?" Fred jerked his chin toward the commotion.

"Oh, that." George squinted. "Something about Y/N's new article, I think. I read a snippet of it this morning, actually quite interesting."

"Brilliant journalist, honestly," Harry added, leaning forward. "She should work for the Daily Prophet. Her coverage of the Spiderman attacks has been incredible."

"Spider-Man?" Fred's voice came out higher than intended. He cleared his throat. "Who?"

"Spiderman," Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. "That's what Y/N's been calling him, the mystery hero who keeps saving Hogwarts. Her articles have me completely hooked! The way she describes the fights, the theories about his identity..." She shook her head in admiration. "It's wonderful, really, having a proper hero here at Hogwarts."

"Yeah." Fred's voice was flat. "Wonderful."

He wasn't sure how he felt about this. On one hand, someone was finally writing about his work, acknowledging the fights he'd been fighting, the people he'd been saving. It was validation he hadn't known he needed.

On the other hand, every article was a risk. Every theory, every observation, every sketch brought someone closer to the truth. And the truth could get people hurt.

I hope you don't get yourself in danger, Y/N, he thought, watching you laugh at something Cedric said. I hope you know what you're doing.

___

The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet that afternoon, the calm before the chaos of evening classes.

You were walking with your nose buried in your notebook, your quill scratching furiously as you added to your ever-growing mind map of Spiderman sightings. The sketches were messy but passionate: web patterns, costume details, a rough approximation of how his mask might look up close.

Height: Tall. Build: Athletic. Voice: Not identifiable-possibly altered.

Theory 1: Professor. Theory 2: Older student. Theory 3: Outsider with access to the castle.

Motive: ???

You were so engrossed that you didn't see the tall figure rounding the corner until you collided with him.

"Whoops! So sorry—my bad—"

Books and parchments scattered across the stone floor like startled birds. Your notebook landed open, its pages splayed wide for the world to see.

And the world, apparently, was Fred Weasley.

He towered over you, all long limbs and red hair and the kind of easy amusement that made you want to both thank him and punch him. His eyes dropped to the floor, to the sketches, the theories, the obsessive notes about a certain web-slinging hero.

"Here, let me—" He crouched down, gathering your scattered belongings with surprising gentleness. His fingers brushed against a drawing of Spiderman swinging through the castle, and he paused, his lips quirking.

"I see you've taken an interest in Spiderman. I've been meaning to find you actually."

You felt heat creep up your neck. "It's like a new hero emerged at Hogwarts. All the students want to find out more and I'm here to deliver."

"Deliver." He chuckled, inspecting your notes briefly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes." You crouched beside him, gathering the last of your parchments. "Why did you want to find me?"

"Right." He stood, offering you a hand as you stood up. You took it—his palm was warm, calloused, surprisingly steady. "I happen to also be interested in Spiderman."

You blinked. "You?"

It came out more incredulous than you'd intended. But really, Fred Weasley? The same Fred who barely seemed to pay attention in class, who was always either at Quidditch or plotting some elaborate prank, who seemed to have half a dozen projects going at any given moment?

"Why is that so surprising?" He was already walking beside you, effortlessly falling into step. "I can have interests outside of general mischief, you know."

"I never said—"

"You were thinking it."

"I was not—"

"You definitely were." He grinned, and it was the kind of grin that made you forget what you were about to say. "I read your article this morning. The one about Venom, very impressive."

"You read it?"

"Cover to cover. Twice."

A warm feeling settled in your chest, flattery perhaps? "Why?"

"Because I—" He paused, looking suddenly uncertain. "I thought it was interesting. The way you described the fight, the details you included...you must have been watching pretty closely."

"I was," you admitted. "I've been tracking him for weeks. Trying to figure out who he is."

"Any luck?"

"Not yet." You sighed, stopping at the entrance to the library. "But I have my theories. I think he's a student, actually. Someone who knows the castle, someone who doesn't want attention."

"Or a professor," Fred offered.

"Maybe." You tilted your head, studying him. "Why do you want to help me with this? I thought you'd be more interested in, I don't know, setting off dungbombs or something."

"I can multitask." He shrugged, but there was a flicker of earnestness beneath the usual mischief. "Besides, you need help. And I'm... curious."

"Curious about what?"

"About the hero." His voice had gone quieter. "About what makes someone risk everything to save people who don't even know his name."

You felt the words land somewhere deep. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful of you."

"I have hidden depths."

"I'm sure you do."

The library was warm and quiet, students with their noses in books, a serene scene that could calm your loud mind. You settled at your usual table in the far corner, your notebooks spread out like a map of your obsession.

Fred sat across from you, his long legs stretched out beneath the table, his eyes scanning the pages you'd laid out.

"Alright then," he said, leaning forward. "What do we have?"

"Well, I was thinking, he's been kinda M.I.A recently. Not that I'm complaining, it means Hogwarts has been safe." You lowered your voice, leaning in conspiratorially. "But everyone's been asking me to..."

"To?"

"Uncover his identity." You smiled, a little sheepish. "I know it's a long shot but someone has to know who he is."

Fred's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Then he recovered, his expression smoothing into careful neutrality.

"His?" he said. "What if she's a lady?"

"Hannah doesn't seem to think so." You shrugged. "Based on his... anatomy."

You let your eyes drop briefly to his trousers before meeting his again. Fred choked on air.

Note to self, he thought, his face flushing. Redesign the suit.

"Right," he managed. "Well, that's...that's one way to look at it."

"I've been thinking about possible suspects." You pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, your quill poised. "What about Goyle?"

"Goyle?" Fred blinked. "You're joking."

"He's been missing from class a lot lately—"

"Ron told me Goyle nearly cried when a fake spider landed on him in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Cried, Y/N. He's not exactly hero material."

"Fair point." You crossed out the name, recalling that episode he had in class. "What about Dean Thomas?"

"Are you just naming random students?"

"I'm being thorough! He's rather tall?"

Fred's laughter erupted from the depths of his stomach, like he hadn't expected to find anything funny today. "What if he's a professor? That would explain why he's so skilled at fighting."

"Maybe." You tapped your quill against your chin. "What if he's Harry?"

"Harry?" Fred snorted. "Not likely. He's got enough on his plate without adding vigilante work."

"So maybe a professor is more likely." You began sketching a new mind map. "Alright, let's go with that for now."

"Definitely a professor."

"I still think he gives off student vibes."

"Then you clearly haven't been paying enough attention to your professors."

You looked up, catching his eye. "You seem very invested in this theory."

"I'm invested in keeping you from chasing dead ends." He smiled, but there was something softer behind it. "That's what partners do, right?"

"Partners?"

"Like it or not, you're stuck with me now." He leaned back, his arms crossing behind his head. "I'm your official Spiderman consultant."

"Your qualifications?"

"I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Something about the way he said it made you pause. But then he was grinning again, all mischief and charm, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Alright," you said. "Welcome to the investigation, I'll welcome all the help I can get."

___

The weeks that followed were strange.

Fred Weasley, of all people, had become a fixture in your daily routine. He'd appear at your elbow during breakfast, sliding into the seat beside you with a plate piled high with toast. He'd find you in the library, claiming he needed help with his Charms essay (which you later discovered he'd already completed with top marks). He'd walk you to class, offering theories about Spiderman that were either surprisingly insightful or hilariously off-base.

"You can't just keep naming random people," you said one afternoon, as you both sat in the Gryffindor common room. George had let you in after Fred had given him a look you couldn't quite interpret.

"I'm not naming random people. I'm being thorough."

"You just suggested Professor Flitwick."

"He's nimble! And he wears a lot of red!"

"He's also four feet tall and has a voice like a squeaky toy. I don't think anyone's mistaking him for a masked vigilante."

Fred threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. What about Professor McGonagall?"

"You're not helping!"

"You're the one who wanted my help."

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it, laughing, and somehow it didn't feel like a loss.

Slowly, inexorably, you found yourself looking forward to these moments. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he'd lean close when you showed him a new sketch, his shoulder brushing yours. The way he remembered details you'd forgotten, the name of a suspect you'd dismissed, the date of a sighting you'd thought was irrelevant.

"Wow, you're actually paying attention," you said one evening, as you reviewed your notes together.

"Of course I'm paying attention." He didn't look up from the parchment. "This is important to you. It's...important to me too."

"Why?"

He finally met your eyes. "Because you're important."

The words hung between you, me? Important?

At first, Fred had aimed to stir any suspicion away from him, that's why he helped you in the first place, however as time went on, he found himself enjoying these meetups, and seeing the way your eyes lit up every time you thought of a suspect.

"I don't—" You swallowed. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let me help you more." His voice was soft. "That you won't do anything reckless without telling me first."

"I'm always reckless."

"I know." He smiled, and it was different from his usual grin, tender, almost vulnerable. "That's what scares me."

You noticed things about him too.

The way he'd disappear at odd hours, always with some excuse that never quite held up. The way he'd sometimes wince when he moved, like he was nursing an injury he didn't want to explain. The way his eyes would flick to the door whenever someone mentioned Spiderman.

He's hiding something, you thought, but you couldn't figure out what.

And then there were the other things. The way he'd show up at the Hufflepuff common room with tea when you were up late studying. The way he'd remember your favourite snack and bring it to you without being asked. The way he'd listen when you talked about your articles, his attention so focused that you felt like you were the only person in the room.

"You're very thorough in your note-taking," he said one day, flipping through your latest sketches. "Down to the webbing pattern on his suit."

"Details matter."

"They do." He paused at a drawing of Spiderman mid-swing. "You really captured his—" He stopped himself.

"His what?"

"His...dedication." He closed the notebook gently. "You can see it in the way you draw him. The determination, the care."

"I'm just trying to be accurate."

"Accurate." He smiled. "Right."

You had no idea why he suddenly seemed so quiet.

____

A new rumour spread through the castle like wildfire over the next few days.

Spiderman's been spotted in Hogsmeade!

You nearly knocked over your pumpkin juice when you heard the news. Hannah had burst into the common room, her eyes wide with excitement, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet that had just arrived by owl.

"Y/N! Y/N, they're saying he was seen in the Three Broomsticks! Stopping some kind of fight!"

"Wait—he was fighting again?"

"Or someone in a costume," Cedric added, appearing behind Hannah. "Hard to tell."

You didn't wait to hear more. You grabbed your notebook and bolted for the Great Hall, your mind already racing with questions.

Fred was at the Gryffindor table, mid-bite into a sausage, when you crashed into the seat beside him.

"Fred! People say he's been sighted!"

He blinked, chewing slowly. "Sighted? Where?"

"Hogsmeade! Apparently there was a fight and he stopped it."

Fred set down his sausage. "It could've been anyone," he said carefully. "Maybe a bloke in a costume."

"Isn't Spiderman a bloke in a costume regardless?" Ron asked, looking up from his breakfast.

"Not the point," you said, waving a hand. "I need to go see for myself. I can't write an article based on rumours."

"Go?" Hermione's eyes widened. "To Hogsmeade? On a weekday?"

"Of course not." You smiled innocently. "I'm going to the library...for research."

The sneak-out was easier than you'd expected, everyone was rooting for you to collect more information.

Later that evening, you'd asked Cedric to cover for you if any professor asked about your whereabouts, and he'd agreed with that easy smile that made everyone trust him. You'd slipped past the school gates with your notebook tucked under your arm, your heart pounding with excitement.

Hogsmeade was quiet, the kind of sleepy village that seemed to exist outside of time. You wandered from shop to shop, asking questions that got you nowhere.

"Heard about Spiderman in the Three Broomsticks, love?" The barmaid shook her head. "Bit of a commotion earlier, but it was just a bloke in a costume, not the real thing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, saw him up close myself. Bad costume, that—boots were falling apart."

Your heart sank, Fred had been right. It was just another false sighting.

You were about to head back when you heard a loud crash, followed by the shatter of glass. The sound came from near the end of the street, and before you could think, you bolted toward it, eager to collect any information you could.

The scene that met you was chaos, your eyes scanned the scattered chaotic scene.

A figure in a green costume was gliding through the air on what looked like a metal glider, cackling as he threw explosive pumpkins at the terrified villagers. The shopfronts were already in ruins, glass glittering on the cobblestones like diamonds.

And then—

There.

A familiar red-and-blue blur, swinging through the air, landing in the middle of the chaos.

Spider-Man.

You were so busy watching that you didn't notice the small green bomb rolling toward your feet.

"Oh shoot—"

Strong arms wrapped around you, and suddenly you were being swung through the air, the wind whipping past your face, the villager screaming fading into the distance.

"I've got you!" The voice was muffled by the mask, but warm. "You alright, miss?"

"S-Spiderman?" You gaped at him. "You're—you're real!"

"Last time I checked." He deposited you on a rooftop, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You really shouldn't be here, you know. This is dangerous. Shouldn't you be in school?"

"How did you—" You looked down at your uniform. "Oh. Right."

"You need to get to safety. Now."

"I can't—I'm a journalist—I need to see—"

He sighed, a sound that seemed almost fond. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"Definitely not."

"You're stubborn."

"I've been told that before."

He shook his head, but she could have sworn she heard a chuckle beneath the mask. "Stay behind me. And if I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"

"Understood."

The fight was brutal.

The Green Goblin, that's what you'd call him later, was fast and relentless, cackling as he threw pumpkin bombs and dodged Spiderman's attacks. You stayed hidden, your quill flying across the page, every detail burned into your memory.

But then Spiderman stumbled.

He'd taken a hit, a pumpkin bomb that had exploded too close, and he crashed onto the rooftop beside you, clutching his side.

"Oh merlin—" You rushed to his side. "How do I help? What do you need?"

"Nothing, it's just—" He groaned. "My arm—"

You didn't hesitate, you'd been studying healing spells for your NEWTs, and you cast a bandage spell over the gash in his left arm. He sucked in a breath, his hand covering yours.

"Thank you..uh," he said, his voice strained. "...what's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Y/N." He repeated it like he was memorising it. "Look, Y/N, I know we just met but I'm going to need your help with something, and you can't tell anyone about this. I need you to be my eyes and ears."

"Of course. What is it?"

He reached into his suit, pulling out two small blue vials. "This is the antidote for Green Goblin, I need it kept somewhere safe, somewhere unassuming."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because I don't know who else to trust." His eyes met yours through the mask. "You're the only one who stayed, the only one who helped. And you seem like someone who keeps their promises."

"Are you—are you serious? You're trusting me with this?"

"I'm counting on you." His hand closed around yours, warm even through the glove. "He's going to come for these, he's been meaning to destroy them. But I want to help him—to give him a choice, to heal him. So keep them safe and don't tell anyone."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good girl." His voice was soft, almost intimate. "Now get out of here, I'll cover for you."

"Spiderman—"

"Run!"

You sprinted as fast as you could, back to the safe and secure walls of Hogwarts. You collapsed onto your bed, your heart still pounding, the two blue vials clutched against your chest.

He trusted me, you thought, staring at the ceiling. He actually trusted me.

You hid the vials in your secret compartment, one you'd carved into the wood beside your bed, hidden beneath a loose floorboard. No one knew about it. It was safe.

That night, you couldn't sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the fight, heard his voice, felt the warmth of his hand over yours.

Exhaling, you rose from bed and stayed up late to write the article about this incident while it was fresh in your mind. Every detail, every encounter, you had to write down before it became a blur.

___

The next morning, the Great Hall was chaos, no quieter than the previous day, students scrambling around you to milk every piece of information out of you, "Y/N! Your new article!".

"Did you really see Spiderman again?" A voice called out, among the crowd of students suffocating you.

"Was the goblin scary?"

"Did you get hurt?" Voices were throwing questions at you whenever they had the chance.

Hannah and Hermione had to form a human shield to get you through the crowd before pulling you to a corner, their faces etched with worry.

"Merlin, Y/N, are you alright?" Hannah demanded. "We heard there was an attack!"

"I'm fine," you assured them. "Really, Spiderman saved me."

"Spiderman again?" Hermione's eyes went wide. "You've got to be the luckiest person in Hogwarts."

"Or the most reckless," you muttered, though you were smiling.

You found yourself at the Gryffindor table later, scanning the crowd for a familiar head of red hair.

"Where's Fred?" you asked George, as you sat down beside him.

He shrugged, passing a plate of cookies to you. "Not sure, probably still sleeping—he was out late last night."

"Late?"

"Yeah, something about exploring with Lee." George turned to Lee, "Right, mate?"

Lee blinked, setting down his utensils, "Exploring? I asked him if he was free and he said he was doing homework with you."

George's eyebrows shot up, "Homework? Fred?"

"Maybe he's planning another prank," Ron offered, "you know how passionate he can get about these pranks."

But you weren't so sure. You'd noticed how Fred had looked tired lately, how he'd been disappearing at odd hours. You'd noticed the way he'd winced when he moved, like he was nursing an injury.

No, you told yourself. It's impossible.

But when Fred finally stumbled into the Great Hall, long sleeves covering his arms despite the heat, you couldn't help but furrow your brows.

He was wearing a jumper, in summer.

"Morning, sleepyhead." George eyed his twin before pausing to inspect his unusual fashion choice, "Long sleeves in this weather?"

"Nothing wrong with what I wear," Fred shot back, his voice defensive as he clutched his left arm instinctively. "Didn't realise there was a dress code this weekend."

And you remembered, Spiderman's wounded side. The gash you'd bandaged, the same side. No, you told yourself again. It can't be.

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

___

The Black Lake was calm that afternoon, its surface a mirror of the overcast sky.

You sat on a blanket Fred had brought, your notebooks spread around you like a nest. He'd found you after breakfast, insisting that you needed fresh air after all the excitement.

"And then the Green Goblin came out of nowhere," you said, gesturing dramatically. "It was insane, Fred. He had these pumpkin bombs that just kept exploding—"

"Wait." Fred held up a hand, "How did he fly? I mean, like, actually fly? What was he using?"

You paused, "I didn't mention he was flying."

Fred's eyes went wide, "You...you did. In the article."

"I didn't say anything about flying in the article, I said he had a glider."

"You said he was airborne."

"Airborne could mean anything."

"Airborne usually means flying."

You studied him, his expression was carefully neutral, but there was a tension in his shoulders that you couldn't brush off.

"Fred," you said slowly. "How did you know he was flying?"

"I—" He swallowed. "Ron must have mentioned it, or George. Someone—"

"Ron wasn't there, George wasn't there. No one was there except me and Spiderman."

Silence stretched between you.

"Fred." Your voice was soft, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

He looked away, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fred—"

"I just want you to be safe, okay?" He turned back, his eyes suddenly intense. "You could have gotten hurt, you almost got hurt. Is it really worth it? All this—" He gestured at the notebooks. "—the danger, the risks?"

"It's important to me."

"More important than your safety?"

"I—" You hesitated. "I don't know."

"I do." He reached out, his fingers brushing your wrist. "I need you to be careful, I need you to promise me that."

His touch was warm, steady. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingers, racing just a little too fast.

"I promise," you said softly.

___

You should have known it was too good to be true. Hogwarts had been peaceful for the past week since the attack, and for a second, you thought that peace had finally been achieved. But that thought was soon dismissed.

The explosion came without warning, a deafening blast that shook the castle to its foundations. Students screamed, scrambling for cover as the building shook. The Green Goblin's cackle echoed through the halls, louder than the chaos.

"Everyone run!" Harry was shouting, "Get to safety!"

Using magic against Green Goblin was useless, he seemed to have some sort of magic protection spell, none of our wands could conjure a spell powerful enough to attack him.

You ran with the crowd, your heart rapidly fluttering. Fred was beside you, his hand wrapped around yours.

"You need to go to the lake," he said. "Everyone's going to the lake."

"What about you?"

"I—" He looked conflicted. "I need to...grab something!"

"Now?"

"Just—" He squeezed your hand. "Just go, I'll find you guys later."

"Fred—"

"Go! And don't forget to bring the two vials with you!" He swiftly instructed, and he was gone before you could argue, disappearing into the chaos. You nodded, without thinking twice, you bolted to your room and grabbed the vials, before joining the rest of the students.

The lake was crowded with students, their faces pale with fear. You found Hermione and Ginny, their arms wrapped around each other, and you clung to them as the explosions continued in the distance.

But you couldn't stay there, not while the fight was happening. Not while people were in danger.

"I'm going back," you said.

"What?" Ginny grabbed your arm. "Y/N, you can't—"

"I need to see, I need to know what's happening." You were adamant, determined to get material for your next article.

"You're going to get yourself killed!"

"I'll be careful!" You were already running towards the disaster.

The Great Hall was a disaster, tables overturned, windows shattered, flames licking at the tapestries. Green Goblin was cackling as he threw pumpkin bomb after pumpkin bomb. "Can the spider come out to play?" He laughed menacingly, and you watched from a distance, taking in the details of his suit.

You quickly looked at the two vials in your hand, before shoving it back into your pockets, safely hidden. 'I need to get this to Spiderman,' you thought.

And there—there—was Spiderman, swinging in to block the attacks.

"About time you showed up!" the Goblin taunted. "I was starting to think you'd abandoned these pathetic students!"

"You're not getting away with this!" Spiderman shot back, his voice strained. "I won't let you hurt them!"

You ducked behind an overturned table, your quill already in hand. The fight was brutal, Spiderman was clearly exhausted, his movements slower than before.

And then the Goblin spotted you, immediately flying towards you.

"Well, well." He grinned, his teeth too sharp. "The little journalist returns. Come to get the story of the century?"

You scrambled backward, but he was too fast. His glider swooped down, and rough hands grabbed you, pulling you into the air.

"PUT ME DOWN!" You shrieked, grabbing onto him out of fear.

"NO!" Spiderman was shouting, "LET HER GO! This fight is between you and me, leave her out of it! Put her down!"

"Alright," the Goblin said, his voice sickly sweet. "You want me to put her down? I'll put her down."

He released you from the highest point outside the castle, leaving you to fall. "Whoopsie." He sneered.

The wind screamed past your ears as you fell, the ground rushing up to meet you, you gasped, shutting your eyes tightly—

And then there were arms around you, strong and sure, and you were being swung to safety. "I've got you," Spiderman said, his voice hoarse. "I've got you."

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest. His heart was pounding, you could feel it.

"The vials," you gasped, "I have them with me—I never left them behind—"

"Good." He set you down on a balcony, his hands gentle on your shoulders. "Listen to me, I'll distract him. You get the vials ready...." "Using this, shoot them at him." He gave you a small sort of lab dart gun, a technical item you had never seen in your life.

"Shoot them?"

"Just trust me, okay? All you have to do, is press this button and the vials will release." He instructed softly, gently, with his hands on your shoulders, reassuring you.

You nodded, pulling the vials from your pocket and he inserted them into the gun. Your hands were shaking, but you were ready.

"Hey!" Spiderman shouted, stepping forward. "Over here!"

The Green Goblin turned, he was flying toward Spiderman, his teeth bared—

And Spiderman pounced, attacking with no mercy, webbing the Goblin up as fast as he could. The fight was short but brutal. Spiderman landed blow after blow, driving the Goblin back. And when the moment was right, you shot the vials, "Here it goes," you whispered, aiming then releasing right at him.

They hit the Goblin square in the chest, the blue liquid spreading across his body like water. He screamed, a terrible sound, and then he was falling, his glider crashing to the ground below. He crashed to the ground and collapsed.

You exhaled, relieved that Spiderman's plan worked. The chaos was over.

Everyone was cheering, rushing back up to school. Students and professors were celebrating, clapping, and chanting in your honour.

Dumbledore and Snape were quick to arrest the Goblin, who now appeared to look like a common man beneath his goblin mask, the vials must've turned him back to normal.

You stood in the middle of the courtyard outside, surrounded by students, your hands still shaking, dust and dirt covering your clothes but you didn't mind. Spiderman was gone, he'd slipped away the moment the fight was over, disappearing into the shadows.

But now that your mind was clearer, you paused briefly, thinking back to earlier.

How did Fred, of all people, know about the vials? Not one, but two vials?

Not a single soul knew about the two vials, you had promised Spiderman and kept your secret. You caught a glimpse of his red and blue figure before he vanished. 'Fred?....' you thought as you glanced up.

Prior to that, you'd slipped a note into his pocket—just a small one, asking Spiderman to meet you in Hogsmeade at 7 this weekend on Saturday. You'd wanted to thank him properly, to ask him a few questions.

Your mind was racing as the crowd pressed around you, congratulating you, thanking you. Hermione and Ginny were crying, hugging you tightly. George, Harry and Ron were grinning, clapping you on the back.

And then Fred appeared.

He was in the crowd, his hair mussed, his shirt untucked. He looked exhausted, but he was smiling. "Y/N," he said, pushing through the crowd, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you said. "Fred, where were you?"

"I told you—I had to get something, I was with the others—"

"Oh there you are Freddie, merlin! Thought something had happened to you!" George remarked, playfully shoving his brother.

"What do you mean? I was with you guys the whole time!" Fred retorted. "I was just at the back...couldn't bring myself to watch the fight, it was too dangerous!" He added on.

"Right, well, at least we're all safe now." Hermione hugged you again, "Don't ever run away like that again Y/N, you gave us a fright!"

"No promises!" You chuckled, as all of you made your way inside.

Professors conjured a 'rebuilding' spell that would slowly piece the Great Hall, the courtyard, and some areas of the school back together. They gave students time off next week, no classes, just relaxation at school, to recover from the recent incident.

Over the next few days, students clustered in the corridors, their voices hushed and excited, replaying the events of the previous night over and over. Professors moved through the crowds with stern expressions, trying to restore some semblance of order. The Great Hall had been repaired by magic, the shattered windows gleaming like new, but the memory of chaos lingered in the air like smoke.

You'd barely slept.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the Goblin's sneer, felt the wind rushing past as you fell, remembered the strong arms that had caught you.

If Fred really is Spiderman...

The thought sent you into a blushing mess. You'd already liked Fred—annoying at times, yet surprisingly sweet Fred Weasley. But if he was also the hero who'd saved you twice? Who'd trusted you with his secret vials and his life?

You'd be a goner, completely and utterly done for.

___

Weekend arrived, and you recalled the note you slipped in Spiderman's pocket.

"Hogsmeade. This Saturday. 8pm sharp. Backlane behind the Three Broomsticks. Don't be late. :)" — Y/N

You'd hoped he'd find it, you'd hoped he'd come.

Now, standing in the narrow backlane as the sun dipped below the horizon, you weren't so sure.

The alley was dark and quiet, you chose the most obscure location, hoping no one would catch you two, allowing for some privacy. No one passed by—most villagers had all gone home, some shops were closing, and the only sound was the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

You checked your watch. 8:05.

He's not coming, you thought, your heart sinking. He probably thinks I'm crazy. Or he's busy. Or he's—

A soft thud behind you made you spin around.

Spiderman was hanging upside down from a web, his mask obscuring his expression, but the tilt of his head suggested amusement.

"Am I too late?"

You blinked, "Thought you weren't coming."

"Sorry." He swung lightly, his voice warm. "Got caught up in something. Didn't want to keep a pretty girl waiting alone."

Your face flushed, "No, not at all—wait, you think I'm pretty?"

"Who wouldn't?" He teased, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"I—you—" You sputtered, and he laughed, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flutter further.

"You're adorable when you're flustered."

"I'm not flustered!"

"You're definitely flustered."

"I'm—" You threw your hands up. "Fine, maybe a little but only because you're being silly."

"Silly? I'm being complimentary."

"Same thing."

"I don't think that's how words work."

"I don't think you know how words work."

He laughed again, and the sound was so genuine, so Fred, that your heart ached.

You talked for what felt like hours.

He hung from his web the entire time, swinging gently in the evening breeze like he had nowhere else to be. You leaned against the wall across from him, your notebook forgotten in your bag, all your carefully planned questions abandoned.

"So," you said, "do you always hang around like this? Or is this a special occasion?"

"Only for pretty journalists who leave me mysterious notes."

"I wasn't being mysterious, I was being practical."

"Practical," he repeated. "Right, because slipping a note into a stranger's pocket is very practical."

"I didn't know you were a stranger."

"Technically, you still don't know who I am."

You paused at that, "True. But I have my theories."

"Oh yeah? And what theories are those?"

"You'd laugh."

"Probably, but I want to hear them anyway."

You hesitated. Then, slowly, "I think you're someone I know...someone from Hogwarts, a student."

"Interesting."

"And I think—" You bit your lip. "I think you might be someone I've gotten to know recently, someone who's been helping me with my investigation."

He went very still. "Oh?"

"I think," you said carefully, "you might be Fred Weasley."

Silence.

"I'm flattered, but no." He said flatly.

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm an excellent liar."

"Then why did you just tense up?" You tilted your head.

"I didn't tense up."

"You definitely tensed up."

"I—" He stopped. "Okay, that's fair, but I'm still not Fred Weasley."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not!"

"Prove it."

"How am I supposed to prove a negative?"

"You could take off the mask."

"I could, but then I'd be ruining the mystery. And where's the fun in that?"

You weren't sure what came over you.

One moment you were laughing at one of his jokes, he was going on about a pigeon and a pumpkin bomb—and the next, you were stepping forward, reaching up, your fingers brushing against the edge of his mask.

"Y/N?" His voice was suddenly uncertain.

"Hold still," you whispered, a bold idea washing over you.

You lifted the mask—just enough to reveal his lips, his jaw.

And then you kissed him, while he still hung upside down.

It was just a peck—soft, brief, barely a brush of lips against lips. But the feel of him, the warmth of his mouth, the way he inhaled sharply in surprise—

Oh.

You pulled back, your cheeks burning. "That was—I just—thank you. For saving me, for trusting me, for—" You gestured vaguely, "—everything."

He stared at you for a long moment, and then, softly, "You're welcome."

"I know that was probably too forward—"

"It wasn't."

"—and I shouldn't have just—"

"Y/N."

"—but I wanted to—"

"Y/N."

You stopped rambling, "What?"

He was still hanging upside down, but his eyes, through the mask, were fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"I'm glad you did that," he said quietly. "I've been wanting to do it myself."

"You have?"

"Since the first Goblin fight, since you stayed." He paused, "Actually, probably before that when I saw you...." He stopped, pausing before he revealed anything too detailed, "ever since I first saw you."

"Come here." He reached out, his hand finding yours. "I can't kiss you upside down, it's too complicated."

"Are you going to—"

"Just come here."

You stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. He swung down gracefully, landing on his feet in front of you.

And then he cupped your face in both hands, tilting your head up, and kissed you properly.

Oh.

It was different from the first time, deeper, slower, more intentional. His lips moved against yours like he'd been thinking about this for weeks, like he'd memorised the shape of you in his dreams.

When he pulled back, he was smiling, then he pulled down the bottom of his mask. "Sorry," he murmured. "I couldn't resist."

"I don't mind."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're an incredible girl."

"So I've been told."

He laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm going to need to stop calling you incredible before it goes to your head."

"Too late, already adopted it."

You stood there for a long moment, just breathing each other in. The alley was dark, the stars were out, and nothing else mattered.

"I should go," he finally said. "It's getting late."

"I know."

"Walk you back?"

"You'd do that?"

"Of course I'd do that." He kissed your forehead. "I'd do anything for you, Y/N. I think you know that by now."

___

You were still floating when you got back to Hogwarts. The castle was quiet, the corridors empty, everyone tucked into their beds. You moved on autopilot, your mind still replaying the kiss, the feel of his lips against yours, the way he'd said I'd do anything for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Y/N?"

You spun around, startled.

Fred Weasley was standing in the middle of the corridor, his hair messy, his pajamas rumpled. Black-and-red checkered pants and a red hoodie. He looked like he'd just woken up, but his eyes were sharp, scanning you, curious as to why you were awake.

"Fred?" You blinked, "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep." He stepped closer, "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked first."

"Since when do you care about asking first?" You folded your arms.

"Since I ran into a girl in the middle of the night who looks suspiciously happy." His gaze was curious, "What's got you so smiley?"

You looked around, ensuring the corridor was empty so that no one was watching, no one would see.

And then you grabbed his arm, dragging him into the nearest alcove, a tiny crevice between two suits of armour that was just big enough for two people to stand pressed together.

"Y/N, what are you—"

"I know," you whispered, "I know it was you."

Fred's expression went carefully blank, "Know what?"

"Don't play dumb, Mr Weasley." You poked his chest, "you're Spiderman."

His eyes widened before he laughed, a short, disbelieving sound. "Have you gone mental? Me? Spiderman?" he whisper-yelled.

"Yes. You."

"Y/N, I appreciate the guess, but—"

"Freddie."

"—it's not me, I'm not him."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"Then why did you tell me to bring the vials? I never told anyone about those. No one."

"I don't know what you're talking about." His eyes roamed the area before finally landing on yours.

"You do." You stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his heartbeat. "I kissed you tonight, Fred. In the backlane, I lifted your mask and I kissed you."

"You kissed—" He stopped, "You kissed Spiderman?"

"Yes."

"And you think that was me?"

"I know it was you."

"Y/N—"

"Walk with me." You ushered him, grabbing his arm and leading him down the hall.

"Where?"

"The astronomy tower."

___

The astronomy tower was cold and dark, the wind whipping through the open arches. You stood at the edge of the balcony, looking down at the grounds below. Hogwarts was a shadow, the lake a silver mirror, the Forbidden Forest a dark smudge on the horizon.

Fred stood behind you, his hands in his pockets, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Alright," he said, "We're here, now what?"

You turned to face him, "If I jump, will you catch me?"

His eyes went wide. "What?"

"If I jump from this tower," you repeated, "will you catch me?"

"Y/N, that's insane. You're not seriously—"

"I'm very serious."

"Everyone's asleep, it's late. You're probably tired after everything that's happened—"

"Exactly." You stepped closer to the edge. "Everyone's asleep, no one will see."

"Y/N—"

"Fred." You held his gaze. "I'm going to jump. And I need you to catch me."

"I can't—you're crazy—"

"Am I?" You smiled. "Or do I just know something you don't want me to know?"

"Y/N, please—"

"Ready?"

"No!"

But you'd already turned, already braced yourself, already jumped.

The wind was cold against your face, rushing past your ears, stealing your breath. You glanced below at the ground rushing towards you, closer and closer—

And then there were arms around you.

Strong arms, wrapped tight, pulling you against a warm chest. The wind howled past as you swung through the air, soaring over the grounds, the castle a blur below.

"I'll always catch you," Fred murmured against your hair. "Always."

You buried your face in his neck, laughing and crying at the same time. He was swinging. He was swinging without a mask, without his suit, just Fred Weasley in his pajamas, webs shooting from his bare hands.

"You're spidey!" you shrieked. "I knew it! I knew it!"

He landed on a balcony a few floors down, setting you gently on your feet. His chest was heaving, eyes wild, hair messy from the winds when swinging.

"You're insane," he breathed. "Completely, utterly insane."

"I'm a bloody good detective, is what I am."

"Pretty damn good," he admitted. "Terrifying, but pretty damn good."

"Terrifying?"

"Terrifyingly good."

You laughed, punching his arm. "You're a terrible liar." He chuckled softly, the both of you leaning over the balcony while the rest of Hogwarts was asleep.

"Why didn't you say anything?..." You slowly started, "I know it must've been hard, scary when you discovered you had these powers...but we could've helped."

"Because I couldn't." He stepped closer. "If anyone found out, it would put them in danger. My family, my friends, you. Not even George knows." He took a breath, "I tried to help you with the investigation because I thought I could steer you away from the truth. Keep you safe."

"By lying to me?"

"By protecting you."

"Fred—"

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked. "I know I should have told you. But every time I thought about it, I just—....how long have you known?"

"Since the vials. I didn't tell anyone about them, Fred, no one. And then you told me to bring them, and I—" You shook your head. "You're terrible at keeping secrets."

"I'm usually excellent at keeping secrets."

"You're usually terrible at pretending not to care."

He paused. "Okay, that's fair."

"You can't tell anyone," Fred continued. "I know you want to, the article would be huge—but if anyone found out—"

"Fred." You reached up, touching his cheek. "I'm not going to tell anyone, your secret is safe with me."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." You smiled, "Besides, who would believe me? Everyone thinks Spiderman is a professor."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never."

He laughed, and you observed him, the way his eyes crinkled with joy, his messy hair blowing loosely.

"So," he said, his voice dropping. "Now that you know, now that you've got the biggest scoop in Hogwarts history..."

"Don't say it."

"...what are you going to do with me?"

"Absolutely nothing." You stepped closer to him, "I'm going to keep your secret. And I'm going to keep writing articles about you—but only the good stuff."

"How kind."

"I'm very kind."

He was looking at you differently now, eyes softening as your eyes met his, as though you were something he'd been afraid to reach for.

"Y/N," he said, "I—"

"You were my hero before I knew it was you," you interrupted, "I liked you, Fred. I liked you when you were just the annoying redhead who kept stealing my notes. And now I know you're something more, and I—" You laughed, "I don't even know what I'm trying to say."

"I do."

"What?"

He leaned in slowly, before his lips met yours, warm and gentle and everything you'd never known you'd been waiting for. The world fell away, the castle, the stars, the shared secrets and heroes.

It was just Fred.

"You're amazing," he murmured against your lips.

"I'm amazing?"

"Amazingly reckless, incredibly brave, incredibly—" He kissed you again, "—you."

"I thought I was insane."

"Insane and incredible, they're not mutually exclusive." He laughed, pulling you closer. "I love you."

The words came out before he could stop them. You froze, your eyes widening.

Fred pulled back, "I didn't mean to—"

"I love you too."

"You what?"

"I love you." Your smile was slow, spreading across your face like sunrise.

"I've been in love with you since you walked into the library with your nose in a notebook and told me that Goyle was your prime suspect." He continued, resting his forehead against yours.

"That was a bad theory." You grinned sheepishly, embarrassed at how you even suspected Goyle in the first place.

"It was a terrible theory." He kissed your forehead,"But you were so passionate about it. How could I not fall in love with you?"

"You're so annoying." You playfully rolled your eyes.

"I'm yours, is what I am."

You kissed him again, and there was no more talking. The stars watched overhead, silent witnesses to the secret you shared.

___

The next morning, Fred Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table, looking suspiciously happy. "Why are you smiling like that?" George asked, eyeing his twin. "You look like you just discovered a new kind of prank."

"I discovered something better."

"What?"

"Nothing." Fred's grin was infuriating, "Just...nothing."

Across the hall, you were surrounded by your usual crowd, your notebook open in front of you. "Y/N," Hannah asked, "are you still working on the new Spiderman article?"

"Actually," you said, glancing across the hall to where Fred was watching you, "I think I might take a break. I need to...focus on other things."

"Other things?"

"Other people." You smiled, "Lots of other people."

You caught Fred's eye across the hall. He raised an eyebrow, questioning.

You nodded. Soon, you mouthed. I'll tell you everything. And you would. But for now, you were content to watch him laugh with his family, to know that your hero was also the boy who'd been stealing your heart.

Some secrets were worth keeping.

Some heroes were worth loving.

And some loves were worth everything.

___

a/n: guys I'm so hyped for spider-man brand new day and avengers doomsday oh my daysss!! just watched the trailer for doomsday and i can feel my marvel phase slowly returning.

[mssorceressupreme]

The Cynic & Lover | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: you haven’t heard from your long distance ‘boyfriend’ Blaise Zabini for 3 months, so you fly halfway across the world to surprise him. however, your journey isn’t easy: getting drenched in rain, broken cars and no booked hotel.

That’s when you met Fred Weasley, an irritable but charming guy who agrees to help you get to the Blaise manor, and on your journey there, you find yourself falling for someone who you once deemed annoying.

Warnings/content: subtle enemies to lovers, grumpy x sunshine (kinda), fake dating for one night trope, enemies sharing one bed, capture the flag at the Burrow, George being their no.1 shipper, fluff, arguments

Wordcount: 8.8k (got carried away lols but enjoyy)

———

You could’ve sworn someone cursed your whole ‘surprise’ trip. It felt like the rain had teeth and gnawed through your traveling cloak, seeped into the wool and found the spaces between your ribs like it was searching for something warm to latch onto.

Your luggage, the one with the broken wheel that kept catching on cobblestones, sputtered behind you like a dying animal.

Twelve hours, you thought, dragging the miserable thing through another puddle. Twelve hours of Portkey, broom, and that godforsaken train, and this is my welcome.

Diagon Alley was a ghost town. Half the people cozied up indoors, the other half away with their families these holidays, not a single person on the street. Except you.

The holiday wreaths hung on every door, windows were dark, the shops shuttered, the festive lights dimmed by the rain.

Your breath came in white puffs that mingled with the fog rolling off the cobblestones. Somewhere, a sign creaked on rusted hinges, ‘The Leaky Cauldron, Fully Booked’, and you wanted to scream.

Three nights at the Seven Stars Inn, that was the plan. A cheap room, a hot bath, three days of rest before the two-hour driving journey to Zabini Manor. You'd booked it in advance, you'd confirmed it.

You decided to rest three days since you had quite the tedious journey, and you wanted to explore Diagon Alley.

"Sorry, love." The innkeeper's face was a mask of practiced sympathy. "No record of your booking. And even if there was..." She gestured at the lobby behind her, packed with travelers sprawled across every available surface. "We're full up. Holiday rush."

"But I—" Your voice cracked. "I have the confirmation. I can show you—"

"Doesn't matter what you've got, sweetheart. We have no evidence or record of your booking and we're full. Try the Leaky Cauldron."

"Full. I've tried."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, maybe you could try—” She was about to speak but another staff had called for her, “What is it Susan? I’ll be there in a sec!…” she then turned back to you, “Sorry love, try somewhere else perhaps.”

The door had closed in your face. Polite, but final.

And now here you were, soaking wet, exhausted.

Standing in the middle of a deserted alley with no room, no plan, and no boyfriend to call because you'd wanted to surprise him, because you were an impulsive fool who'd let your heart do the thinking instead of your head.

Where are you, Blaise?

Heck, he wasn’t even your ‘boyfriend’ officially, more like someone you were dating or ‘pen pals’ with, who were on the road to becoming a couple.

You pulled his last letter from your pocket, the one you'd read a hundred times on the journey. His handwriting was elegant, slanted, every loop deliberate.

"I miss you more than words can say. The gardens here are blooming, but they're nothing compared to the way you smiled at me in Paris. Write soon. I'm counting the days."

That was three months ago.

And then nothing, no trace of him whatsoever.

You'd told yourself he was busy. The Zabini estate was vast, his mother's demands endless. He'd sent you a letter saying he'd been called home, that family matters required his attention. You'd understood, you'd waited.

And then you'd stopped waiting.

Something's wrong, your heart had whispered. He needs you, maybe something dire happened to him.

So you'd come.

"Stupid," you muttered to yourself, dragging your trunk through another puddle. "So incredibly, monumentally stupid."

The rain fell harder.

You ducked under an awning, pressing your back against a cold storefront. Your cloak was ruined, hair was plastered to your skull and your trunk was probably waterlogged beyond saving.

And then you looked up.

A single light burned in the darkness. Warm. Golden. A sign stating ‘We are Open’.

The sign above the door read: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

You didn't think twice, body bolting towards the shop.

———

Inside, it was chaos, but a beautiful kind. Shelves upon shelves of bright boxes, jars of swirling purple liquid, displays of things that popped and whirred and winked at you as you passed.

A stuffed dragon hung from the ceiling, its mechanical wings flapping lazily. The shop smelled like sugar and a sweet bubblegum-like scent of bubbles.

The door chimed as you entered.

"Hello?" Your voice echoed through the empty store. "I know it’s almost closing time, but I just—I need some help—"

No answer.

You wandered further in, dripping rain onto the polished floor. Your fingers traced a box labeled Puking Pastilles.

"Very handy if you need a good puke."

The voice came from behind you, low, amused, with a warmth that curled around the edges like smoke.

You spun in the direction of the hoarse voice.

He was tall, that was the first thing you noticed. The second was the hair, a shock of brilliant red that seemed to glow even in the dim light. The third was the suit, deep brown with rust-orange undertones, a loosened tie, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with freckles.

He leaned against a shelf with an ease that suggested he owned every inch of space he occupied.

His eyes were the color of whiskey held up to candlelight. And he wore a name tag, ‘Fred’.

"Believe me," you groaned, "after the day I've had, puking would be the cherry on top."

His lips twitched. "Rough journey?"

"Rough everything." You gestured vaguely at your soaked, pathetic self. "I flew in from—well, it doesn't matter. My accommodations fell through. It's raining. My boyfriend, well, talking stage, partner, my date?—" The word caught in your throat. "—I'm trying to surprise him. But I haven’t heard from him and now I have nowhere to stay."

The man's expression shifted, a flicker in those amber eyes—curiosity, maybe or judgment. It was hard to tell.

"Long-distance boyfriend?" he asked.

"How did you—"

"Lucky guess." He pushed off the shelf, moving closer. His presence was bold, crackling with restless energy. "Let me ask you something." He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted. "How long since you've actually seen him?"

"A year."

"A year?"

"We've been writing letters—"

"Letters." He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Right. And recently those letters stopped coming, didn't they?"

Your jaw tightened. "How did you—"

"Long-distance doesn't work." He said it like he was stating a fact. Like he'd read it in a textbook. "People drift, they forget. They find someone closer, someone easier." His eyes held yours. "You're standing in my shop, soaking wet, because the man who supposedly loves you didn't bother to make sure you had a place to stay."

"That's not—" You shook your head. "He doesn't know I'm coming. It's a surprise."

"A surprise." He laughed again. "Where is he now, then? If he's so wonderful, where's the boyfriend who's supposed to pick you up from the station? Where's the boyfriend who's supposed to keep you dry?"

"Please," you said, your voice sharp. "What do you know about love?"

The question hung between you.

His expression shifted slightly, the smugness dropped, just for a moment.

"Enough," he said softly, "to make sure I'd never let my girl get soaking wet."

You blinked.

He glanced away. "From the rain. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"But I don't waste my time on that nonsense." He straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his suit. "Love. All that—" He gestured vaguely. "Couples dancing in the rain, writing poetry, making grand gestures. It's a farce, a performance."

"You're cynical."

"I'm realistic." He countered.

"You don't even know me.”

"I know you showed up in a foreign country with no backup plan." His smile was sharp. "I know you're desperate enough to wander into a joke shop after hours and pour your heart out to a stranger.”

“Well you don’t know anything about Blaise.” You remarked, Blaise’s name slipping from your mouth.

“Zabini? You’re dating Zabini?”

“Well, talking to him, on the way to becoming official, yes.” You were confident, or were you.

“In that case, I know—" He paused. "You're not going to find what you're looking for in that fancy manor of his. Best turn around now and fly home.”

"Thank you for the advice," you said flatly. "I'll treasure it."

"Sarcasm. Lovely." He huffed.

"You're lovely." You forced a smile.

"Now who's being sarcastic?"

The argument bubbled up between you like a pot about to boil. You wanted to strangle him, you wanted to laugh. You wanted—well, you wanted to punch that smug, freckled face, but you were too exhausted to follow through.

He sighed suddenly, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I've got to close up. My brother's sick, George. He was supposed to help me tonight, but he's upstairs with a fever, and Angelina's with him, so it's just me."

"Angelina?"

"George's girlfriend. Wife, probably soon. They're disgustingly happy." He wrinkled his nose. "Makes you want to vomit. Oh—" He gestured to the Puking Pastilles. "Hence these."

You stared at him. "Did you just—"

"I'm hilarious. I know."

The rain hammered against the windows, you both looked at it then at each other. You looked back at the rain.

"This is the part where you tell me you have a plan," he said.

"I don't have a plan."

"You don't—" He stared at you. "You didn't think ahead? In this season? Every inn within fifty miles is full. Every hotel. Every—" He broke off. "Do you not think ahead?"

"I was impulsive!" you burst out. "I thought he needed me! I thought—" Your voice cracked. "I thought he'd be happy to see me, well he better be in three days time.”

Your admission hung in the air, raw and embarrassing.

"You really love him," Fred said slowly. "Don't you?"

"I don't know." You looked away. "I thought I did. Now I'm not sure."

You turned to your belongings, grabbed them and slowly strolled towards the door, ready to head out into the rain again, onto the next location you’d seek out for accomodation.

Fred was quiet for a long moment, watching as you despondently stared into the abyss.

Then he groaned, the sound of a man who knew he was about to do something he'd regret.

"There’s a spare bedroom upstairs," he said. "Used to belong to our old assistant, Lee. He moved on, got a job at the Quidditch supply shop, lucky sod. It's small. Cozy, maybe, if you're generous but it's warm and dry."

You turned to stare at him. "You're offering me a room?"

"I'm offering you a choice." He held up a finger. "Option one: you stay out there, catch pneumonia, and haunt my shop forever. Option two: you come upstairs, sleep in Lee's old room, and—" He grimaced. "And I try not to strangle you while you're under my roof."

"Why would you—"

"No time for questions, just say yes before I come to my senses."

You opened your mouth. Closed it then opened it again, “Yes?”

"Excellent." He was already walking toward the back of the shop, grabbing a set of keys from behind the counter. "Follow me, don't touch anything. And if you break anything, I'm adding it to your tab."

"You're soo funny." You deadpanned.

"I'm generous, you mean." He shrugged, smiling cheekily.

He led you up a narrow staircase, through a cozy living area cluttered with half-finished experiments, past a closed door that must have been his brother's room, and down a short hallway to a tiny bedroom.

It was small, bare. But there was a bed with clean sheets, a window that looked out over the alley, and a warmth that chased the chill from your bones. Beside it was a small wooden nightstand with a lamp, and a picture of who you guessed was Lee and George, with Fred.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," he said. "Towels in the closet. Hot water, but not for long—the pipes are temperamental."

"Thank you," you said, and meant it.

He nodded, already turning away.

"Fred," you called.

He paused and looked back.

"I'm Y/N," you said. "In case you wanted to know."

"I already knew." He smirked. "Your luggage’s got a tag on it. Really, you should be more careful with your personal information. Anyone could be tracking you."

"Are you always this irritating?"

"Well, it is part of my charm." He clicked his tongue.

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in a stranger's spare room with nothing but the rain and your tangled thoughts.

———

You'd woken to the smell of bacon and sausage and the distant sound of Fred's voice arguing with someone.

"No, George, I'm not taking her to Knockturn Alley. What kind of tour guide do you think I am?"

A pause.

"She's not a guest. She's a, she's a situation."

Another pause.

"I'm not explaining myself to you. Go back to bed, you’re still sick."

You'd dressed quickly, braided your damp hair, and emerged to find Fred leaning against the counter with a cup of tea, his tie loosened, his sleeves already rolled up.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he'd said. "Ready for a grand tour?"

"Ready to be underwhelmed," you'd replied.

———

Two hours later, you were still underwhelmed.

"This is Flourish and Blotts," Fred announced, gesturing at a tidy storefront. "Books, boring. Don't waste your time."

"You're supposed to be showing me the sights."

"I am showing you the sights, my sights. The ones that matter." He pointed down the street. "That's the Leaky Cauldron, overpriced. That's Ollivanders—just sticks, really. That's Eeylops Owl Emporium, if you like birds that poop on your shoulder. Best point out these shops so you don’t fall for tourist scams, knowing how naive you can be about certain things."

He was pushing your buttons. Every comment was a barb, every observation a jibe.

You stopped in the middle of the street, hands on your hips. "You know, when someone says 'tour,' they usually expect enthusiasm, charm, maybe a little bit of history."

Fred turned, his eyebrows rising. "History? You want history?"

"Yes!"

"Alright." He swept an arm wide. "This alley was built in—"

"Don't say it."

"—in the 1500s, give or take a century—"

"You're aggravating."

"—and it's been a hub for wizarding commerce ever since. Of course, none of that matters, because people still manage to get lost, buy terrible gifts, and fall in love with the wrong people."

There it was, the barb you'd been waiting for.

"Let me guess," you said, resuming your walk. "Long-distance relationships are doomed, love is a myth and commitment is a trap."

"See? You're catching on."

"I'm observing."

He fell into step beside you, his long legs matching your pace. "Look, I'm not saying it's impossible. I'm saying it's unlikely. You met this bloke in Paris—"

"On holiday."

"Exactly, holiday romance. Different city, different vibe. Everything feels magical when you're on holiday. But real life—" He gestured at the rainy alley, the mud on your boots. "Real life is this, cold, unpredictable, full of puddles."

"You're so cynical."

"I'm realistic."

"There's a difference?"

"Of course there's a difference." He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. "Cynical means I don't believe in anything. Realistic means I believe in the things that actually exist. Like hot chocolate and warm beds. And—" He paused, his eyes scanning your face. "And the way your nose scrunches up when you're annoyed."

"My nose does not—"

"It's doing it right now."

You shoved past him. "You are so irritating at times."

"You love it."

"I don't."

He caught up easily. "So tell me about this Blaise. What's he like? Handsome? Wealthy? Does he write flowery poetry about your eyes?"

"His letters were—" You stopped yourself. "They were good."

"Good." Fred's tone was dry. "High praise."

"He's elegant, sophisticated. He knows how to treat a woman."

"Oh, I'm sure he does. Probably sends you roses and chocolates and declarations of undying devotion."

"Actually, yes."

Fred laughed, "And how long did that last?"

"Longer than your relationships, I'm sure."

"Ouch." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Right in the heart."

"Good."

"You're vicious, I like it.” He paused then continued, “Come on, there’s a shop I want to show you.”

You hated how that made you feel. Though he was aggravating, you noticed certain things about him.

The way he held doors open for you even while rolling his eyes. The way he bought you a hot chocolate from the café without asking, just slid it across the table while you were complaining about the cold. The way he kept glancing at you, checking to see if you were keeping up or comfortable.

But still annoying nonetheless, being the cynic he was.

He took you to a tiny store tucked between two larger ones, a place that sold nothing but fireworks.

"These are proper fireworks," Fred said, his eyes lighting up. "Not the Muggle kind. These ones—" He picked up a box labeled Dragon's Breath. "These ones actually breathe."

"That's dangerous."

"That's the point."

He was different here, more animated, alive. His hands moved as he talked, gesturing at the displays, explaining the intricacies of each firework with genuine excitement.

"This one—" He held up a tube. "—creates an actual phoenix. Flies through the air, bursts into flames, reforms. It's beautiful."

"Have you ever set one off?" You leaned in with curiosity.

"Only once. Nearly burned down the shop, George was furious."

"And you did it anyway."

"Of course I did. That's the point." He grinned. "Life's too short for safe choices."

His eyes caught yours, and you felt a jolt, the one that made your stomach flip and your heart stutter for a few seconds.

“You so sure Blaise is waiting for you?” He asked, snapping out of the moment you shared.

“Yes, why would he not? It felt like love at first sight, you know?” You hummed.

“No, I don’t know.” He replied dryly, “Love at first sight is, a myth.”

“No it’s not. Not when you both feel it.”

“Are you well? I think I’ve got a diagnosis for you, love sick.” He quipped and you scoffed.

———

The afternoon stretched into evening, Fred bought you a pastry from a bakery, something flaky and filled with honey, and you ate it while you talked about your childhoods.

"The Burrow," he said, his voice fond. "It's chaos, absolute chaos. Seven children, all of them loud, all of them opinionated. Mum running around with a wooden spoon, Dad tinkering with Muggle artifacts in the shed."

"That sounds lovely."

"It's insane. But it's—" He paused. "It's home."

"What's it like? Being part of something like that?"

He looked at you. "You don't have a big family?"

"I don't have any family." You said it lightly, like it didn't matter. "Grew up in the system, moved around a lot."

"I didn't—" He stopped walking. "Y/N, I didn't know."

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

You looked at him. The shop lights flickered, casting shadows across his face. For a moment, you saw past the cynicism, past the jokes, past the irritating charm.

"I'm here," you said. "That's enough. Survived on my own this long, don’t really need anyone, mostly.”

"You sure?"

You should have said yes. Instead, you said, "Maybe."

Something shifted between you, he listened intently, with no hint of judgement, just someone who really wanted to hear you out.

Then Fred cleared his throat.

"Anyway," he said, his voice deliberately light. "I should get you back. George will have the shop locked up by now, and if you're not there to argue with, I'll have no entertainment for the evening.”

"You're—"

"Aggravating, I know." He grinned. "You keep telling me."

"Because it's true."

"True and beautiful."

"That's not what I said."

"You didn't have to."

———

The walk back was quiet, but not uncomfortable. You were aware of him beside you, his warmth, his scent, the way his hand kept brushing yours as you walked.

"Fred," you said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you, for today. Even though your tour guide skills could use a bit of improvement." You chuckled.

He glanced at you, a slight smile growing on his lips.

"You're welcome," he said. "Well it could improve with a few more tours, you’ll just have to come visit again.” He said casually, as you both arrived home.

He opened the shop door, letting you pass. As you brushed past him, you caught his eye, and for a second, neither of you moved.

Then he stepped back, and the spell broke.

"Right well I’m going to help George sort some things out and you should probably get some rest before dinner, Angelina is cooking.”

"Sounds like a plan, I’ll see what I can do to help her out” You chimed, walking towards the stairs while he stayed at the shop.

You climbed the stairs, your heart pounding. In your room, you collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

What are you doing? you asked yourself. You came here for Blaise, for your boyfriend.

But the thought felt hollow, distant. Like it belonged to someone else.

All you could think about was red hair and whiskey eyes and the way Fred's hand had almost, almost taken yours.

You had a shower and changed into some casual clothes, making your way to the kitchen to help Angelina prepare dinner.

———

George and Angelina were the opposite of Fred. Ever so warm, welcoming, bundle of joys.

"Ah, so you're the mysterious Y/N!" George beamed from behind the counter, his face still flushed with the remnants of fever but his eyes bright. "Fred hasn't shut up about you."

"I haven't—he's lying," Fred said flatly.

"Am I?" George winked at you. "He said—"

"I will hex you."

"You can't hex me. You're terrible at hexes."

"I invented half the products in this shop."

"And I invented the other half. Your point?"

They bickered like schoolboys, and you found yourself chortling, amused at their duality, so mature and serious when they needed to be, but so carefree and fun with each other.

Angelina was warm and sharp, her eyes missing nothing. She watched you and Fred like she was watching a particularly entertaining Quidditch match.

"Don't mind them," she said, linking her arm through yours. "They've been like this since birth. It's how they show affection."

“They’ve got an interesting way of showing it.” You chuckled.

“How about you then? What’s your story Y/N?” Angelina smiled eagerly.

“My story?”

“Yeah, what brings you here?”

“Was supposed to visit my long distance boyfr- well, my date, and yeah, I’ll be seeing him in a few days.”

“You sure this date of yours, is the one?” She raised a brow, “Does he know you’re coming?”

You looked down slowly, knowing damn well that your response was both no and no.

“Don’t worry, if this one doesn’t work out. There’s plenty of better people out there.” She hummed, dropping a hint. “The Weasley’s are a lovely family and-”

You choked on air, “Oh no, you don’t mean-” Fred?

She burst out laughing, “I didn’t even finish my sentence, you formed the thought yourself.” Her smile was knowing.

“How about we start of as friends, instead of sister in laws.” You teased, knowing you’d never get with Fred.

“I thought we were already friends.” She smiled warmly, a hand on your back.

“Wow you two have outdone yourselves.” George complimented, stuffing his face with roast beef.

“I wouldn’t mind cooking again tomorrow, it’s the least I can do to help.” You offered, well, alongside paying some token cash to Fred, who refused it at first, you also offered to help out because you wanted to give back.

“Fred, you didn’t tell her?” George reminded, scooping some mashed potatoes for himself.

“What’s tomorrow?” You asked while pouring some juice into your glass.

“Oh yeah, we’re going home to the Burrow tomorrow for the holidays, just for two days.” Fred mentioned before turning to George, “What was there to mention? I thought she would’ve wanted to stay here while we went and—”

“Leave Y/N here by herself while everyone is back with their families for the holidays?” Angelina said, “I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Well let’s not pressure her now.” Fred said, looking to you to gauge how you were feeling.

“Actually I don’t mind, but I don’t want to intrude on your family gathering.” You smiled shyly. “I don’t mind staying here to, I’ll take good care of the apartment.”

“Nonsense, we won’t have you staying here by yourself while we’re gone. Come join us!” George chirped, “Besides, Freddie hasn’t brought a girl home in ages.”

You and Fred simultaneously choked on whatever you were eating.

“Molly will be elated!” Angelina grinned.

“She’s already seeing someone!” Fred defended, “Let’s not put pressure on our guest shall we?”

“We’d love to have you there Y/N, I’ll let mum know. You can join the girls in their room with Ginny and Hermione too.” George reassured, “Don’t stay here by yourself aye.”

“Alright I’ll join you guys, if it’s no trouble.” You beamed.

———

At the Weasley house, you felt as though you encountered a glorious disaster, crooked walls, creaking floors, and a warmth that seemed to seep into your bones the moment you crossed the threshold. Molly Weasley descended upon you like a benevolent hurricane.

"You must be Y/N, so lovely to meet you dear! Do come in, make yourself at home. Freddie must’ve been taking good care of you eh?"

"Mother, we're not—she's not—"

"Nonsense! Any friend of Fred's is family!"

"Not in that way. We're not—"

"Don't worry about it, dear. Come, come.”

Fred shot you a look of pure desperation. You shrugged, helpless while giggling.

———

The morning blurred into a whirlwind of introductions: Ginny, fierce and funny, Hermione, warm and clever, Ron, awkward and sweet, Harry, quiet but observant, Percy, who Fred openly called a "prat" but who seemed genuinely trying to make conversation. Bill and Fleur who were a sweet couple.

Molly fed you breakfast until you thought you'd burst.

"More eggs, dear?"

"I couldn't possibly—"

"Nonsense! Fred, pass her the bread."

"Mother, she's not—"

"Fred, be kind to our guest will you?”

He passed you the bread, his face apologising for his mother’s hospitality and you chuckled.

While everyone was laughing at a joke Ron made, you caught Fred’s eye across the table. Something shared between you, amusement, maybe, awe. You felt at home here, the love, the warmth and you mouthed “Thank you” to Fred, who nodded in response.

And then the games began.

———

"Capture the flag!" Ginny announced, her eyes alight. "Y/N, you're with me, George and Harry. We're team red. Fred, you're team blue along with Ron, Hermione and Angelina."

“Alright the rules are simple, each team has two flags. The goal of the game is to capture the flags of the other team, whoever loses both flags first, well, loses.” Fred explained.

Everyone split up. The Burrow's property became a battlefield, hedges, gardens, sheds, the nearby woods. You ran and laughed and scrambled through the undergrowth, your heart pounding with the joy of it.

You were elated.

When had you last felt this? The relentless pressure of missing Blaise, the anxiety of the journey, the cold rain, it all fell away.

"Duck!" Ginny tackled you behind a hedge. "Ron's coming."

You both held your breath as Ron lumbered past, muttering about unfair team compositions.

"He's terrible at this," Ginny whispered. "Too loud. Hermione’s the real threat."

"Where's the flag?" You asked, wanting to find the other flag the team hid, while George and Harry attempted to find the other flag.

"Somewhere near the old shed, through the trees I think. But Fred's guarding it. You try get the flag, I’ll defend our flag Y/N.”

You crept through the trees, following Ginny's directions previously. And there it was, a small wooden cabin a few minutes from the main house. The red flag fluttered from a high shelf inside.

And Fred was there.

He spotted you at the same moment you spotted him.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, spreading his arms wide. "Come to surrender?"

"Come to win."

He grinned, that infuriating, irresistible grin, and you were moving before you could stop yourself. You lunged for the flag and he blocked you. You shoved him while he staggered back, laughing.

"All this for a piece of fabric?"

"All this for victory."

You went for the flag again and he caught your waist. You twisted, he twisted with you and somehow you were both on the floor, tangled together, fighting and laughing and—

His hand was on your hip. Your face was inches from his, his breath was warm against your lips.

The world paused.

His eyes were dark now, the whiskey amber gone molten. His thumb traced a circle on your waist, and you felt it in your bones, felt it everywhere.

"Y/N," he said, and your name sounded different in his voice. Softer, careful.

"You're—" you breathed. "You're fraternising with the enemy."

"What’s so wrong about that?"

"Fred—"

"Look." He released you gently, pushing himself up. "The flag. It's right there."

You blinked, getting up and rushing towards it but he’d managed to trail behind you and reach for it, his height being a clear advantage, the red fabric dangling from his fingers.

"The game is clearly mine. But I'll let you have this one."

"How generous."

"I'm always generous."

But his smile was different now, less sharp and more sincere.

You hated how much you noticed.

———

Day three started with a catastrophe. The shower was temperamental here too, you'd been warned. But you hadn't expected the water to go ice-cold just as you were finishing. You'd scrambled out, wrapped a towel around yourself, and bolted for the door—

And collided with a solid wall of warm, freckled skin.

Fred.

Naked. Well, mostly naked. He had a towel slung low on his hips, and oh, Merlin, you could see everything. The muscles of his chest, the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the towel, water droplets still clinging to his collarbone.

"Sorry—I didn't—" You were backing away, your face burning. "I thought you were downstairs—"

"I was." His voice was rough. "I came up to the pipes, you used all the hot water.”

"I'm so sorry—"

"No, it's fine. I just—" His eyes dropped. "You're—"

You looked down, noticing your towel was slipping, you screeched and yanked it up.

He didn't look away but raised his eyebrows.

"Fred!" You hit him playfully.

"I'm not—" He swallowed. "I'm not looking." His eyes darted away awkwardly, trying to be respectful.

"You're definitely looking."

"I'm trying not to."

You shoved past him, retreating to your room. You could hear him laugh from the hallway.

"Y/N—"

"Don't talk to me."

"I just want to say—"

"Don't!"

You slammed the door, heart racing. Your skin was tingling and you couldn't stop thinking about the way his breath had caught when he'd seen you.

This is bad, you thought. This is very, very bad.

———

You’d spent the rest of the day with the Weasley’s, they were truly the loveliest and you felt a hint of sadness when it was time for you to depart. Evening time had arrived and Fred agreed to drive you to the Zabini manor. It was a two hour drive and by the time you’d arrive, you’d hoped it be night, just in time to see Blaise and unwind together.

Molly gave you the tightest hug, “Remember dearie, you’re most welcome here anytime! It was lovely meeting you Y/N.” She beamed warmly, you’d only known her for two days and yet felt the most motherly love from her.

You said your goodbyes to the others as well, “Promise you’ll visit again, we’ve got more capture the flag games to win.” Ginny grinned.

“Yeah do come by again Y/N, we could learn a thing or two from you about winning.” Ron added which earned a chuckle from you.

———

The car was Fred's pride and joy, a beat-up Ford Anglia that looked like it had been through a war. It sputtered, coughed and nearly died every time he hit a pothole, but he drove it with the confidence of a man who'd never let practicality get in the way of stubbornness.

"Fred, you don't have to do this," you said for the tenth time.

"I know I don't have to." He didn't look at you. "I'm choosing to, it’s the least I could do after being so cynical.”

You laughed softly, “That’s new.”

The countryside rolled past, green hills, stone walls, sheep huddled under hedges. It should have been peaceful. Instead, it felt like waiting for a bomb to explode.

The engine coughed. Sputtered. Died.

Fred swore, colourful, intensive, words. The two of you got out of the car and inspected the engine, well, he inspected it.

“Yeah, battery’s dead. Should’ve changed it before our trip.”

"Surely there’s a mechanic near by?”

“In this region? Not likely. Let’s talk a walk, there’s probably a village nearby who could help."

There wasn't a village, but there was an inn. A charming, rustic little place with a sign that read ‘The Sleeping Fox’ and a proprietor who took one look at them and beamed.

It didn’t help that the sun was setting, any hope of finding help would probably arrive tomorrow morning.

"A couple! Finally! A young couple who doesn't look miserable!" The receptionist, a friendly elderly lady, beamed.

"We're not—"

"Oh, we have a special for couples this evening! Half off! But you have to kiss to prove it. It’s a cute tradition my darling husband implemented!” She giggled.

Fred's eyes met yours.

"Kiss?" you repeated weakly.

“Shouldn’t be so hard for an energetic young couple eh?” She cheered.

“We’re exhausted, how about a hug to prove we’re a couple!” Fred tried to ease the situation, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

The door behind the reception opened and out came who you assumed to be the lady’s husband. “Oh how lovely, what a cute couple! Have you told them about our tradition love?” The man chuckled.

“We’re a bit…shy…?” You spoke up, trying to dodge the kiss they requested.

“Aw come on now love, you’re young, full of life, a simple kiss would be easy for you two.” The man insisted, grinning.

Fred slowly moved closer, and quickly gave you a peck on the cheek. “There!”

“No, no darlings, it has to be a proper kiss!”

They were not going to let this go were they? Fred and you appears to have the same idea and turned to each other.

You should have said no, you should have walked out.

Instead, you leaned in.

Fred's lips met yours, he cupped your cheeks, he felt warm, sweet, right.

The kiss was supposed to be a performance but it felt real to you, it was everything.

You pulled back, breathless. Fred's eyes were dazed, his hand still cupping your cheek.

"There," he said, his voice hoarse. "Happy?"

"Very happy!" the elderly couple crowed. "Room 3. Best view in the house. Well deserved for such a sweet couple.”

“Thank you very much, my girlfriend and I will cherish it.” Fred grabbed the keys. “By the way, do you guys know any mechanics around here?”

“Oh yes, Jack is brilliant. He’s taken the day off today but he usually comes by for breakfast with us. He’ll be here tomorrow, I’ll let him know he has a customer! Best rest for now dear.” The lady replied, to which Fred thanked.

———

That night, you couldn’t help but feel bad for Fred. "Take it," Fred said, jerking his chin towards the bed. "I'll take the floor."

"You can't take the floor."

"I can take the floor."

"It's cold. You'll get sick."

"Then I'll be sick. What do you care?"

"I care—" You stopped. "I care because you've been kind to me, Fred. Even when you pretend you haven't."

His jaw tightened. "I'm not kind."

"Yes, you are."

"Y/N—"

"Just get in the bed."

He stared at you. Then, slowly, he climbed onto the other side.

You lay there, barely breathing. The space between you was electrified.

"Fred?”

"Yeah?"

"Why are you so cynical about love?"

Silence.

"I got cheated on," he finally exhaled. "A few years back. Thought she was the one, thought we were going to—" He laughed. "I was young, stupid. She made me feel like I was enough and then I somehow wasn't, just left me like I was nothing.”

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He rolled onto his side, his eyes finding yours in the dark. "She taught me something important."

"To never trust again?"

"To wait." His voice was soft. "To wait for the right person. Someone who doesn't make you fight for their attention, someone who just…sees you.”

"How do you know when you’ve found that person?"

His lips curved into a smile. “You just do. When you know you know.”

“Wow, that’s helpful.” Your voice was flat, “super descriptive.”

He chuckled, “It’s as though time doesn’t exist when you’re with them. They’ll make 7 hours feel like 7 minutes.”

And your mind flashed memories with Fred, instead of Blaise. You blinked, nodding slowly. “I see.”

———

Early the next day, everything was in order. Fred’s car was fixed, the two of you had breakfast together, accomodation paid for by Fred. He had truly been helpful, you know for a fact you would not have survived without Fred here.

He was the kindest yet more irritating man at times.

The drive to the Zabini mansion was quiet, you stared out the window and pondered. What would Blaise say? How would you feel after seeing him for one year? Did you really want to part ways with Fred?

“What’s on your mind?” Fred turned to you before his eyes darted back to the road.

“Nothing.” A white lie?

“It’s Blaise isn’t it?”

“Now that I’m actually minutes away from seeing him…I don’t know what to feel.” You admitted.

“Easy, just think back to Paris, channel those emotions again.” He said casually.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You said, though, you couldn’t seem to feel anything from those memories, the only thing occupying your mind was the man driving this car.

———

You arrived at the Zabini mansion and it was everything you'd imagined, stately, elegant, surrounded by gardens that must have been beautiful in the summer.

The engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound in the sudden silence. You sat in the passenger seat, your hands clasped in your lap, your heart thudding against your ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with the man waiting inside.

"So," you said, turning to Fred. "This is goodbye."

He was already looking at you. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, once, twice, three times, before he forced them still.

"Looks like it," he said.

His voice was carefully neutral. Deliberately light, but you saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his knuckles went white against the wheel.

You didn't hesitate, you reached over and wrapped your arms around him.

Fred went still for a moment, caught off guard, frozen, and then his arms came up around you, pulling you closer. His chin rested on your shoulder, and you felt him exhale, long and slow, like he'd been holding his breath for days.

"You're going to be fine," he murmured against your ear. "He's lucky. Idiot doesn't even know what's coming."

"I'm not lucky," you whispered back. "I'm just stubborn."

"Same thing."

You laughed softly, and then you pulled back.

Your faces were inches apart. His eyes dropped to your lips, yours dropped to his. The air between you crackled, pulsed with the memory of that kiss at the inn.

One kiss, you thought. One performance. It didn't mean anything.

But it had. It had meant everything.

You snapped back, breaking the spell. Fred's hands fell from your waist, and he cleared his throat, looking away.

"Right," he said. "Your stuff."

He was out of the car before you could respond, grabbing your luggage from the back. He set it down on the cobblestones with surprising gentleness, his movements stiff and deliberate.

You stepped out of the car. The gate loomed before you, pristine and perfect and utterly terrifying.

"You should go," Fred said. "He's probably waiting."

"Fred—"

"Y/N." His voice was soft.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, turning toward the gate.

Then you turned back.

One last look, one last moment. "All the best, with everything." You finally said.

Fred was leaning against the car, arms crossed, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. The setting sun caught his hair, turning it to fire.

"And, thank you," you said.

"Don't mention it."

"I mean it."

"I know." He smiled, a real smile, warm and sad and somehow hopeful all at once. "Go on, make your grand entrance."

You squared your shoulders and walked toward the intercom, claiming you were visiting Blaise.

The gate then swung open, revealing a man who was both familiar and strange. You turned around, wanting to wave goodbye to Fred, but his car had driven off once he saw Blaise come out.

Blaise Zabini was just as you remembered, tall, dark, impossibly elegant. His clothes were perfectly tailored, his posture impeccable, his smile warm but tinged with shock.

"Y/N?" His eyes widened. "What—how—?"

"Surprise." You laughed, but it came out wrong. "I know I should've written, but you stopped sending letters, and I got worried, and I thought maybe something happened—"

"Stopped sending letters?" His brow furrowed. "I sent you one. A few months ago."

"You did?"

"I did." He reached for your luggage, lifting it effortlessly. "You never received it?"

"I never—" Something cold settled in your stomach. "Blaise, what was in the letter?"

He was quiet for a long moment.

"Let's go inside," he said. "We need to talk."

The parlor was beautiful, all silk and gold and antique furniture that probably cost more than you'd earn in a lifetime. Blaise poured you tea with steady hands, his expression carefully composed.

"I've been dreading this conversation," he said. "Even though I thought it was already over."

"Blaise, you're scaring me."

He set down the teapot. "My family has arranged a marriage for me."

The words hung in the air. "A marriage," you repeated.

"Political, strategic. My parents' doing." He laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I had no choice. The Zabini name carries weight and my family expects—" He broke off. "I wrote to you, I told you everything. I said—" His voice cracked. "I said we needed to end it. That I couldn't keep you waiting for something that wasn't going to happen, that I thought it was better for you to move on. I didn't want to tie you down to a relationship with no future, that would be unfair to you."

"The letter," you said slowly. "I never got the letter."

"I thought you'd received it. I thought—" He ran a hand through his hair. "I assumed you were angry, that you'd decided to cut ties."

"Blaise, I—" Your voice caught. "I came all this way."

"I know." His eyes were pained. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you."

You should have been angry, you should have been shattered.

Instead, you felt... relieved. "It's okay," you heard yourself say.

"It's not okay. I led you on. I let you believe—"

"You didn't lead me on. We were—" You searched for the right words. "We were something, we had something, but the distance... we grew apart. And I think we were always going to, weren't we?"

Blaise stared at you. "You're not angry?"

"I'm not angry. I'm—" You laughed softly. "I'm sad, of course, but I'm not surprised and I'm not broken, Blaise. I'm okay."

"I don't deserve you being 'okay'."

"Maybe not, but I'm still going to be."

Silence stretched between you two.

"He's the reason, isn't he?" Blaise said suddenly. "The man who dropped you off. Couldn't quite see his face, but your body language said it all."

Your cheeks flushed. "What? No. He's just—"

"The way you looked at him," Blaise interrupted. "When you were saying goodbye. I saw it through the window, you looked at him like—" He paused. "I've never seen you look at anyone like that, not even me for the short time we had."

"Blaise—"

"Don't deny it, I'm not accusing you. Anyone could see it." He smiled, wry, accepting. "I'm happy for you, really. If he makes you feel that way, then maybe this is all for the best."

"You're being very mature about this."

"I'm being realistic." He gestured at the grand room around them. "My life is complicated, Y/N and I realise now that I was holding you back, holding myself back. We were never going to be what we thought we could be."

"Well, what do you want to do now?"

He considered the question. "For one, I am flattered that you went through all this to visit me, truly, thank you Y/N. And secondly, I want to be friends, genuine friends. And I want you to be happy." He paused. "Speaking of which, a friend of mine is opening a bakery in Diagon Alley and he's been looking for staff. If you ever decide to move here... I could put in a good word."

"A bakery?"

"Croissants, pastries, coffee. The works." He grinned. "You always did have a gift for making people feel welcome. I remember you saying that you'd love to work at a bakery back when we met in Paris. This would be perfect for you."

You thought about it. A job, a reason to stay, a life in a country you'd only ever dreamed of.

"I might take you up on that," you said carefully.

"Good." He extended a hand. "Friends?"

You took it. "Friends." "I feel terrible that you flew all the way to see me, only for this to be the result." He apologised. "No, no. You know what, I'm actually...relieved?" You strangely admitted. "Relieved?" "This trip brought more positives into my life than I would have thought." "Well, glad you got something positive out of it. Paris was brilliant but I suppose we had our run, didn't we?" Blaise chuckled. "It was fun, yeah, those were some pretty good days. And I'm glad we could officially end our 'relationship' here." You agreed, both reminiscing about a year ago. "Is there anything else I could do for you? You're more than welcome to stay here until you settle yourself. Or I could have my driver escort you somewhere?" Blaise asked kindly.

An idea came to mind, of course. "There is one place I'd like to go to." Blaise nodded knowingly. ———

The driver was efficient and silent, dropping you off just outside the Burrow. It was late, you assumed everyone was asleep, but surprisingly, the lights were still on.

Your hands were shaking as you knocked and the door swung open.

Fred stood in the doorway, his hair mussed, his tie gone, his shirt untucked. He looked exhausted and disheveled and perfect.

"Y/N?" His eyes went wide. "What are you doing here?"

Your mind flashed back to the car. The seven hours that had felt like seven minutes. The way he'd said it, they should make 7 hours feel like 7 minutes, and the way you'd tucked it away, knowing somehow that you'd need to see him again.

"You were right," you said.

"About what?"

"About Blaise." You stepped forward. "We didn't work out, but we ended on good terms. Friends, really."

"Y/N, I'm—" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I know how much you liked him."

"That was the past," you said simply. "I was blinded, by the romance of it all. By the letters, by the idea and potential of him, not the reality. But once I got here, I realised—" You searched for the words. "I realised I was chasing something that wasn't real, something that was never going to work, and then I met someone else. Someone who made me feel—" You broke off.

Fred's expression shifted. His eyes searched yours, looking for something he was afraid to believe.

"Made you feel what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"He made seven hours feel like seven minutes. He made me feel like I was enough, like I didn't have to prove anything. Like I could be myself—messy and impulsive and annoyed and somehow still wanted." You laughed, a little breathless. "He was infuriating and cynical, and he drove me absolutely mad. But I couldn't stop thinking about him, even when I should have been thinking about someone else."

Fred stared at you.

"I'm moving here," you continued. "Blaise's friend is opening a bakery, and he put in a good word. I have a job, Fred. I have a reason to stay."

"A reason," he repeated.

"You're my reason."

The words hung between them.

"Y/N—" His voice cracked. "I was about to write you a letter, I was going to tell you that I—" He laughed, disbelieving. "I was going to be a sentimental idiot and confess my feelings like a proper sap."

"Let me guess," you said. "You were going to say something cynical and romantic at the same time."

"That's exactly what I was going to do."

"Show me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Show you?"

"You said you were going to confess, weren't you?"

Fred stepped forward, taking your face in his hands. His touch was warm, trembling slightly, and his eyes, those endearing whiskey eyes, held yours like you were the only thing in the world that he could focus on.

"I am absolutely captivated by you," he said. "I have no idea when it happened, but you've consumed everything about me. And I know I should have said it before you left, but I was scared, and I was stupid, and I thought I was protecting myself by pushing you away."

"Protecting yourself from what?"

"From losing you." He smiled, soft and broken. "Except I lost you anyway and the worst part was, I didn't even get to tell you."

"You're telling me now."

"I'm telling you now." He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "I have feelings for you, Y/N. I think you caught my eye ever since you walked into my shop, soaking wet and furious and absolutely magnificent."

"Love at first sight, my ass." You chuckled.

"There's an exception for everything." "I was furious that night."

"I know, it was brilliant."

"Fred—"

"I know we haven't known each other long, but I also know that I've never felt this way about anyone and if you're really staying, if you're really moving here, then I want to be part of your life. All of it. Every messy, chaotic, beautiful part."

You then closed the gap between you two, and he reciprocated, pulling you even closer by the waist, while your arms wrapped around his neck.

It was different from the inn, deeper, surer, more honest. You melted into him like you'd been waiting your whole life to belong here.

"You're mine," he murmured against your lips. "You know that, right? You're mine now."

"And you're mine, Fred Weasley."

"I was yours the moment you called me irritating."

"That's not romantic." You laughed.

"It's honest."

"Same thing, still not romantic!"

He laughed, the sound of pure joy.

Without warning, the door burst open. "KNEW IT!"

George stood in the doorway, his face flushed with triumph, Angelina behind him with a wide smile. Ginny appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by Ron and Hermione and Harry and, somehow, Molly and Arthur, in the midst of all the noise.

"I told you!" George crowed. "I told you all! From the very beginning! 'Fred's got it bad,' I said. 'He's going to fall for her.' And you all said I was being dramatic—"

"You're always dramatic," Fred said flatly.

"Look who's talking!" George grabbed your arm, pulling you inside. "Welcome to the family, Y/N. We've been expecting you."

"You—" You turned to Fred. "You told them?"

"I told George. He told everyone."

"Of course I told everyone! That's what families do!"

Molly was already fussing, clucking about how thin you looked and whether you'd eaten anything and when was the wedding going to be?

"Mum," Fred said, his ears reddening, "we've been together for approximately five minutes—"

"Five minutes is plenty of time to know! I knew Arthur was the one the moment I saw him—"

"You hexed him!"

"LOVE is messy, dear. Now, who wants tea?"

You were surrounded by chaos, by love, by the warmth of a family that had already welcomed you before you'd even arrived.

And in the middle of it all, Fred caught your hand.

" You okay?" he mouthed.

You squeezed his fingers, "Better than okay."

He beamed, that annoyingly charming, radiant, infuriating smile. You knew, with absolute certainty, that you'd found your home. The man standing beside you was worth every storm you'd ever weathered.

[mssorceressupreme]

Omg you’re back after so long 🥹

Yesss love, finally decided to write again since I have some free time after exams 😩 planning on releasing a Fred Weasley fic soon! 🫶🏼🙈

[mssorceressupreme]

One Good Deed | B.P

———

Pairing: Benjamin Pointdexter x reader

Summary: after discovering that Dex is Bullseye, you get into a heated argument, but Dex finally concedes, willing to make a change for you. The following week, the charity ball to raise funds for the orphanage you volunteered at takes place, and Dex goes with you. However, little did you know that your first dance together would be your last.

Warnings/content: reader!death, arguments, violence, charity ball, Fisk being Fisk, Matt Murdock is allies with Dex (kinda), fluff, angst, kissing, Dr Strange easter egg lol, a bit canon divergent (but not really)

Wordcount: 4.3k

———

Dex's morning coffee aroma lingered in your shared apartment, paired with a scent of cinnamon and something woodsy, maybe, or maybe it was the steel he kept hidden beneath the floorboards. You'd never questioned the floorboards. You'd never questioned him.

That was your mistake.

He was in the shower when you found it. The loose plank, the worn leather case, the glint of polished metal catching the dim lamplight.

Your fingers brushed against throwing knives arranged in perfect, obsessive rows. A bodysuit, navy blue leaning black. The mask sat at the bottom like a skull in a grave.

Bullseye.

Your heart stopped. You recalled him being mentioned in the news multiple times, a masked vigilante working for Fisk. You could feel the thud in your chest, all too fast, too loud, pounding against your ribs like a caged bird.

Water still drummed against the bathroom tiles. Dex hummed, an old Frank Sinatra tune, the one he always hummed when he was making breakfast. You'd found it endearing, you'd found everything about him endearing.

Now you stood in the middle of your shared apartment, holding a knife that had probably killed someone, and you couldn't breathe.

The water cut off.

You acted hastily, dropping the knife in the process. It clattered against the floor, loud enough to be noticed in your small apartment.

"Y/N?" His voice drifted from the bathroom. "I was thinking we could grab brunch at that little place on Bleecker Street. The one with the pastries you like, next to that strange sorcerer's sanctum."

Your throat had closed up, and you couldn't bring yourself to answer.

"Babe?"

The bathroom door swung open and Dex emerged, towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping dark rivulets down his chest. He was smiling, that lopsided, boyish smile he only ever gave you. For a second, it made you forget that he was dangerous.

His eyes landed on the open floorboard, the scattered knives, the mask. The smile vanished like someone had flipped a switch.

"Y/N—"

"Don't." Your voice came out strange. Thin. Like it belonged to someone else. "Don't you dare."

He stepped toward you, water still beading on his shoulders. His hands came up, slow, placating, the way you'd approach a frightened animal. That gentle precision, that careful economy of movement. You'd always thought it was just him, now you knew it was a killer's muscle memory.

"You have to let me explain."

"Explain what?" You backed away until your shoulders hit the wall. "Explain the murder costume? The knives? The—" your voice cracked, "...the body count?"

Dex flinched as though you'd thrown something at him. His jaw tightened, that familiar muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"It's not that simple."

"It never is with you, is it?"

You'd prided yourself on being steady, on being the calm one, the one who held things together, but your tears let themselves stream down, hot, humiliating. You ran charity drives, soothed the crying children, made the world a little bit softer but this shattered every ounce of steadiness you thought you had.

And you'd fallen in love with a killer.

"I thought I knew you." Your voice broke. "I thought...you were broken, Dex, and I saw something good. I saw potential. I believed in you."

His expression shattered, the corners of his mouth lowering. He shook his head, taking tentative steps towards you.

For a moment, just a moment, you saw the man you loved. The one who held your hair back when you were sick. The one who showed up at your café every morning at 8:30, never late, never early, just so he could watch you pour his coffee. The one who listened, attentively listened, when you talked about the orphanage kids, about little Maria who'd stopped speaking after her parents died, about Tommy who'd started drawing again because you'd bought him that sketchbook.

"You're everything I'm not," Dex said quietly. "You're—" he laughed, but there was no humour in it, "—you're good. Actually good. Not pretending. Not performing. You just... are."

"And you lied to me."

"I never lied." His voice dropped. "I just didn't tell you. There's a difference."

"Is there?" You pushed off the wall, sudden fury burning through the grief. "Does Fisk know about me? Does he know I exist?"

Dex's face went pale, eyes growing dark at the mention of Fisk. He clenched his jaw and caressed his chin.

"No," he said quickly. "No, he doesn't. I made sure of it. I—" He ran a hand through his wet hair, agitated. "I kept you separate. You are mine and only mine. He doesn't get to have you."

"Yours?" You laughed but it came out broken. "I'm not a possession, Dex. I'm a person. A person you've been lying to while you—" you gestured wildly at the case, "—while you did this."

"I was broken before you." He stepped closer. "Fisk found me at my lowest. He gave me a purpose and made me feel like I wasn't a ghost. You don't know what that's like—"

"Of course I know what that's like!" You shoved his chest. He didn't move. He was solid, immovable, a wall of muscle and regret. "I grew up in the system, Dex. I know exactly what it's like to feel invisible. But I didn't start killing people to feel seen."

His armour cracked, eyes softening as you revealed your vulnerability to him.

"You're right," he said. "You're right. God, you're right. I fucked up, I messed up. I just needed an escape, to do something that would give my life meaning. I needed to do something to fuel me, to get that adrenaline rush, to feel like I had some sort of power and control over my fucked up life. No one ever gave that to me until Fisk, then you did. You came into the picture like an angel saving me from this hellhole. You inspired me to be better, to change, to remind me that there is a light at the end of all this. I'm trying to be better but it's like I'm drowning and can't breathe—" He sank to his knees, shaking his head violently, while he gave in, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. His hands dropped to his sides, and he looked up at you with those eyes, those beautiful, terrifying, heartbreaking blue eyes.

"Please help me Y/N."

Though you were furious, a part of you still cared about him, you always will. Naturally, you bent down to his level, embracing his body and comforting him. "Breathe Dex, you need to breathe."

"I can't do this alone." His voice was raw, cracking slightly. "I've tried. God knows I've tried, but every time I think I can get out, Fisk pulls me back. He knows my triggers—" Dex's voice broke, "—he knows I'm nothing without someone telling me what to be."

"But I'm someone," you whispered. "I'm right here."

"I know." He reached for your hand, which you let him take. His fingers were calloused, warm, trembling slightly. "You've changed me, Y/N. You made me feel something I haven't felt in years. Hope. You made me hope. And I want to be worthy of that. I want to be worthy of you."

Tears streamed down your face. "Dex..."

"One good deed." He squeezed your hand. "That's all I need. One good deed to prove I can change. And then another, and another. I'll do it for you, I'll do it because of you."

You looked at him, this complicated, broken, beautiful man on his knees beside you.

The contrast of the man who'd killed people, yet also the man who'd held you through the night when you had nightmares. The man who'd donated five thousand dollars anonymously to your orphanage fund because he knew you'd be upset if he gave it to you directly.

"You really mean it?"

"I've never meant anything more."

You pulled him to his feet. He was shaking. Actually shaking. You wrapped your arms around him, pressed your face against his still-damp chest, and felt the frantic beat of his heart.

"One good deed," you murmured against his skin.

He kissed the top of your head. "One good deed."

You pulled back, wiping your eyes. You always knew you were too nice for your own good, too forgiving, but you saw that beneath Dex's exterior, there was a good side to him that just needed to be saved.

An idea formed in your mind, perhaps this could be an opportunity for Dex to start over, "There's a charity ball next week for the orphanage I volunteer at. I've been organising it for months."

Dex's brow furrowed. "You want me to—"

"I want you to come with me." You cupped his face, felt the roughness of his jaw. "I want people to see you, not as FBI Dex, but to see the man I see. I want you to dance with me and smile, and be good. It'll be great fun."

His eyes searched yours. "And then what?"

"After the ball..." You bit your lip, eyes darting around the floor as you slowly pieced your thoughts together. "You wanted a new start right? Well, what if we just...left? Disappeared? Start fresh somewhere far away."

He stared at you like you'd handed him the keys to the city. "You'd do that? For me?"

"Would you? Leave everything behind?"

He laughed, bright and disbelieving. "I'd burn the world down for you if I had to, Y/N. Leaving it behind is nothing."

"Then it's a plan." You smiled through your tears. "After the ball. We run away together. We pack up and start fresh somewhere, just you and me. A normal life without Fisk or any of his chaos."

He kissed you then, deep and desperate, like you were oxygen and he'd been drowning. His hands tangled in your hair, and you felt the trembling in his fingers, the barely contained energy that always simmered beneath his skin.

"I love you," he breathed against your lips. "I don't say it enough but I do, you're everything to me."

"Show me," you whispered back. "Show me with the ball, show me with the running, show me by being the man I know you can be."

His forehead pressed against yours. "I will, I promise."

---

The night of the orphanage charity ball arrived, draped in velvet and starlight.

You'd spent three hours getting ready, wearing an off-white cream silk dress that whispered against your skin with every movement. The neckline dipped just enough to be daring, the back swooped low, and when you turned in the mirror, you almost didn't recognise yourself.

This was the woman who organised school drives and held the hands of sick children.

This was also the woman who was about to run away with an assassin. Life is strange, you thought, applying a final swipe of lipstick.

Your phone buzzed.

Dex: I'm downstairs, just came from work. Don't laugh at me.

You: Why would I laugh?

Dex: You'll see.

You grabbed your clutch, took a deep breath, and descended.

He was standing in the lobby of your apartment building, hands clasped behind his back, looking like he'd stepped out of a Hollywood golden-age film. The suit was navy blue, perfectly tailored. His hair was neatly styled, though a few messy strands remained, his jaw clean-shaven and he held a single red rose.

His expression stopped your heart, he looked at you like you were the answer to all the questions he'd been asking. "Wow," he breathed.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "You're one to talk, look at you."

"I look like I'm going to a funeral." He smiled, that rare but genuine smile. "You look like you're going to a wedding. Ours, maybe."

"Oh stop it you." You playfully tapped him.

"Stop complimenting you? Please, the day that I stop will be the day that I'm dead."

He presented the rose with a flourish. You took it, bringing it to your nose, humming lightly as you inhaled the fresh scent.

"Ready to be seen with me?" you asked, the two of you had always kept your relationship private and lowkey, as Dex wanted to keep you safe. "In public? Around rich people who might recognise your face?"

"They don't recognise me," he said, offering his arm. "Bullseye doesn't have a face." He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "I'm just the man who gets to hold your hand tonight."

You shivered, a tingly sensation creeping up your spine. Oh, that deep voice of his always did things to you.

"Let's go," you whispered, smirking. "Before I change my mind and drag you upstairs."

The ballroom was a cathedral of crystal and candlelight. Chandeliers dripped with diamonds. Tables groaned under the weight of silver and porcelain. Champagne flowed like water, and the laughter of donors mixed with the soft strains of a live orchestra playing a slow and romantic tune.

I did this, you thought, grinning with satisfaction as you watched the guests mill about. I organised this. Every centerpiece, every auction item, every—

"You're doing that thing."

You turned. Dex was watching you with a soft expression, two glasses of champagne held loosely in his fingers.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you forget you exist because you're too busy making sure everyone else has a good time." He stepped closer, handing you a glass. "You have that radiant glow when you're proud of something."

"I do not—"

"You do." He touched your cheek, feather-light. "It's one of my favourite things about you. You don't even know how extraordinary you are."

Your face burned, hitting him on the chest playfully, "Stop it."

"I don't think I will." He chuckled softly.

The orchestra shifted into a slower, waltz-like melody. Couples began to drift onto the dance floor.

Dex set down his champagne, and you did the same. He extended his hand, palm up. "May I have this dance?"

You hesitated. "You can dance?"

"I can do a lot of things, baby." His eyes glinted. "I just don't always advertise."

You placed your hand in his.

The moment his fingers closed around yours, the rest of the world faded. He led you to the floor with a confidence that made your stomach flip, then drew you into his arms with a possessive ease that made you forget how to breathe.

"Relax," he murmured. "I've got you, it'll be our first proper waltz together."

"You're not going to make me trip are you?" You teased.

"Hm, thinking about it." He raised a brow and you scoffed, followed by a smile.

He led the dance, and you followed. It was effortless, like your bodies had been built for this, for fitting together, for swaying in perfect sync. He guided you through the steps, his hand firm on your lower back, his chest pressed against yours.

"I used to dream about this," he said, quiet enough that only you could hear.

"About dancing?"

"About having something worth dancing for." His thumb traced a circle on your back. "Before you, I didn't have anything. Just...targets, missions, survival. You showed me that life could be lived."

You rested your forehead against his shoulder. "I didn't do anything special." Ever so humble, you always downplayed your achievements.

"You existed." His voice cracked. "You existed, and you let me in. That was everything."

The music grew louder, paired with more strings and percussion. Dex spun you, and you laughed, dizzy and delighted. When he pulled you back, you were breathless, cheeks flushed, heart fluttering.

"We could do this forever," you said.

"That's the plan." He smiled down at you. "After tonight, we're gone. I've got money stashed. We'll go somewhere warm, somewhere with a beach. I'll get a job, something normal, construction maybe, or bartending. Something that doesn't involve—" he gestured vaguely, "—this."

"And me?"

"You'll volunteer at the local shelter." His eyes were soft. "You'll make friends with the ladies at the market, you'll wear sundresses and get kisses from the sun and I'll come home to you every night and thank whatever God exists that I got lucky enough to find you."

Tears pricked your eyes. "Dex..."

"I love you." He said it simply, plainly. Like it was the most obvious thing to him. "You're the first good thing in my life. The only good thing."

"I love you too," you whispered.

He closed the gap between you two, sealing it with a soft gentle kiss. It was sometimes a mystery to you, as to how someone as rough and masculine as Dex could be extremely gentle when it came to you.

When you pulled apart, his eyes were suspiciously bright.

"So after tonight," you said, "we leave all this behind...just us and a new start."

"Just us." He nodded. "Clean slate, new life. I will protect you with my life."

The next song began, a faster, more playful tune. Dex grinned and twirled you again, and you let yourself get lost in the joy of it, the feeling of being loved, the promise of tomorrow.

Little did you notice, an armed anti-vigilante task force in the shadows, phone pressed to his ear. "Target at my 12 O'clock. Target is occupied...accompanied by a woman."

---

They were playing Sinatra now.

"Fly me to the moon..."

Dex's hands were at your waist, yours were around his neck. You swayed together, lost in the music, in each other, in the impossible hope of a future.

"Let me play among the stars..."

"I've never been this happy," you admitted. "Is that stupid? To be this happy at a fundraiser?"

"It's not stupid." Dex's voice was gentle. "I'm the happiest I've ever been, right here with you."

"Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars..."

His forehead pressed to yours. "After tonight—"

"In other words... hold my hand..."

Without warning, a violent shatter of glass came from the left. Music died as the musicians scattered, laughter stopped, and screams erupted from the crowd as hysteria spread.

"—in other words, darling, kiss me."

Dex's body went rigid, every muscle coiling like a spring. His eyes scanned the room rapidly, looking for the culprit.

"What—"

He was moving before you could finish. His arm locked around your waist, dragging you behind him. His eyes swept the room again, calculating, assessing, cataloguing threats with a speed that made your head spin.

"Dex, what's happening?"

"Shit, it's Fisk." He gritted, mentally pissed at himself for not remaining incognito enough to remain hidden from Fisk.

"How do you know—"

"Because I know how he works." Dex's jaw clenched. "He found us. He found you."

Men in black suits were pushing through the crowd. Guests scattered like leaves, screaming and knocking over tables while they thudded on the ground. Champagne flutes shattered, chandeliers swayed, and shots triggered endlessly.

"Dex, they have guns!"

"I know!" He was pulling you toward a side exit, but all the doors were blocked off, either by armed men, a large flurry of hysterical guests or broken glass and large tables. "Stay behind me! Whatever happens, you stay behind me."

As you were running in the hall, you caught sight of one of your colleagues falling over and tripping.

"Annie!" You rushed to her aid, leaving Dex's side for a moment. "Are you okay?" Annie gasped, hastily getting up, "Thanks Y/N! Quick get out of here before more of them come from God knows where!!" She panicked and dashed off frantically.

You stood there for a second, losing sight of Dex. "Shit..." you murmured.

An armed man appeared in front of you, pointing a gun at you. "Freeze! Keep your hands up!"

Your breath stopped, and you froze like a deer in headlights, slowly moving your hands up. "I haven't taken anything, what do you want?!" You yelled shakily.

The man cocked his gun, shoving it closer to you, "I have eyes on one of the targets. Bringing her in—" before he could finish his sentence, a knife flew right into the middle of his forehead, and you jumped, startled, turning to the direction the knife flew from.

Dex was bolting towards you, "Y/N, I told you to stay behind me! I found a way out, one of the back exits and when I turned around, you were gone—"

"I had to help Annie, I was just—"

"Baby, please," His voice cracked, cupping your cheeks, worried that he almost lost you, "we have to go now."

Through the chaos you ran, through the panicked crowds across what seemed like a never-ending ballroom, toward the service door at the back of the ballroom. Dex's hand was iron around yours.

Just as you reached the door, two armed men blocked it off, allowing Fisk to step into the ballroom.

He was massive, immovable. A wall of flesh and menace in an impeccable white suit. "Poindexter," he said, his voice eerily calm. "We need to talk."

"Step aside, Fisk." Dex's tone was ice, laced with hostility.

"I don't think so." Fisk smiled. "You've been distracted. Inattentive. You forgot who you belong to."

"I don't belong to anyone except—."

"You belong to me." Fisk's gaze flicked to you. "And you brought a liability along, how irresponsible."

Dex stepped in front of you, blocking you completely, "Leave her out of this." He cursed under his breath as he remembered he had no weapons on him, yeah, why would he bring knives or guns to a charity ball? What could possibly go wrong at a charity ball with rich people?

"Or what?" Fisk produced a gun. It gleamed dully in the dim light. "You'll kill me, Bullseye? You'll kill your employer?"

"I'll kill everyone who touches her."

"How romantic." Fisk raised the gun. "But ultimately, foolish, idiotic. How unfortunate that finding romance was the start of your downfall. You have now made yourself a liability."

Time slowed.

Fisk's finger tightened on the trigger, aiming as Dex. "NOOO!' You yelled as Fisk aimed at Dex, you sprinted forward.

Dex's arm lashed out, "Y/N, NO! Stay back!", attempting to shield you from the bullet.

Neither of you anticipated the red blur that crashed through the ceiling. Matt Murdock, cannoned into Fisk like a missile. The impact sending Fisk's aim sideways, shifting his target from Dex to directly on you. Fisk pulled the trigger upon Matt's impact.

Sending the warm bullet straight into your chest.

You didn't feel the impact, nor your fall. You just felt Dex's arms catch you, his voice screaming your name, his hands pressing against the warmth of red blood spreading through your cream coloured dress. Everything from then felt like a blur.

"No, no, no—" His face swam above you. His eyes were wild, broken, frantic. "Y/N, stay with me. Please, please! Someone call an ambulance!" He shouted, but it was no use, everyone was fending for themselves.

"I'm sorry.." You tried to smile, as the pain of the bullet finally set in, hurt, everything hurt. "I'm sorry, I should've followed you from the start. I'm an idiot."

"Don't say that. Don't you dare say that. You're going to be fine. We're running away tonight, remember? New life, clean slate, you and me." His eyes were glistening, tears building up but refusing to fall, he wanted you to be okay, to magically stand back up again while cradling you.

"Dex..." Your hand found his, blood smeared his fingers. His beautiful suit getting stained bright red.

"I'm here. I've got you." Tears streamed down his face as the reality of this situation set in. You'd never seen him cry before. "You're going to be okay. Just hold on—"

"One good deed." You forced the words out through the pain. "You promised me...one good deed..."

"I promised." He sobbed. "I promised and I'll do it, I'll do a hundred, a thousand. Just stay with me."

"You protected me." Your smile widened, even as the edges of your vision darkened. "That was your good deed. protecting me."

"Don't—" His voice broke. "Y/N, please—"

You reached up. Your fingers touched his cheek. He leaned into your palm like a dying man finding water.

"I love you," you said softly. "I'm so glad I met you."

"I love you. I love you so much it's killing me." He pressed his lips to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. "Don't leave me. You're the only thing that makes sense, you're the only good thing in my life."

"It's okay." Your hand slid down his arm, your blood stained his sleeve, you slowly soothed him, gently rubbing his arm. "It's okay, Dex. You did it, you were good."

"No." He shook his head, tears streaming. "No. I wasn't good enough, I was never good enough."

"You were." Your eyes fluttered. "You were everything...to me..."

"Stay awake. Y/N, stay awake. I'm begging you—"

But the darkness was warm and it was calling, and you were so tired. Every ounce of energy was sucked out of you, your body gave in.

Your hand slipped from soothing his arm, and you exhaled your last breath.

The scream he let out was inhuman. It echoed through the corridor, through the ballroom, through the burning wreckage of everything you'd built together.

"ARGHHH!"

He cradled your body against his chest, rocking back and forth. His composure shattered. The careful control he'd maintained for years, every step closer to being 'normal', crumbled to dust.

'You took her.' He looked up. Murdock was engaged in battle with Fisk and his armed men. Somehow, Matt managed to lead the fight outside the building, leaving Dex to now be the last one in the ballroom, alongside the aftermath of the mass. Dex's eyes now consumed by something far worse than rage.

'You took my world.'

Dex laid you down gently, tenderly, like you were made of glass. Then he rose, and the man who stood was a stranger. A psychopath, he laughed ridiculously, shaking his head.

'I was hers. She made me good, she made me human. And Wilson Fisk took that away."

"So now," Dex spoke to himself, "I'm going to take away his. An eye for an eye."

Vanessa Fisk would now be Bullseye's next target.

[mssorceressupreme]

Hate and Love | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel.

Warnings/content: minors DNI 18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine (if u squint), raw penetration (wrap it plz), cumming inside, orgasm denial, fluffy ending, fighting death eaters, dom!fred, sub!reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

———

You stood near the wall, arms crossed, in the house of number four Privet Drive, the place where it all began for one of your closest friends, Harry Potter. The group of you were gathered in the empty living room, discussing the highly dangerous plan of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow.

Beside you stood the twins, listening intently as Mad-Eye Moody instructed orders.

Seven of them had just taken polyjuice potion, resulting in seven 'Harry's', all in accordance with Moody's plan.

“Right then, we’ll be pairing off. Each ‘Potter’ will have a protector and to make it simpler for you, I'll choose the pairs.” His mismatched eyes scanned the group, assigning pairs, and an aggravating pit settled in your stomach once Moody called out your name, “Y/N, you're with Fred.”

Your head snapped toward Fred, who groaned audibly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered, but George nudged him softly, urging him to be tolerable while they changed out of their regular clothes.

“Yeah yeah, happy to be paired up with you too.” you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in your tone apparent.

Fred and you had never gotten along. Since your days at Hogwarts, the two of you had been like oil and water—always at odds. He thought you were too uptight, too rule-abiding, while you found him utterly insufferable, reckless, and far too smug for his own good.

But for Harry, you’d endure today. He'd done a great deal to help you throughout your years at Hogwarts, so it was only fair of you to return the favour.

“Head for the Burrows, we’ll rendezvous there!” Moody finished. The room stirred with movement as everyone prepared for what was to come.

Outside, the night air was cool as you mounted Fred’s broom behind him. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, hit your nose, and you hated that you thought it smelled decent, inhaling a bit more. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist, well, 'Harry's' waist.

Fred stiffened slightly at your touch, “Don’t get too comfortable back there.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.”

Before you could snap back another remark, he kicked off into the sky, soaring above London, splitting up from the others.

Everything was eerily silent for a few moments. The flight seemed too smooth for your liking. You kept an alert eye, constantly scanning your surroundings.

You caught a shadow in the corner of your eye, and you whipped your head around, squinting your eyes at the figure in the dark.

"What the..." You muttered.

"Fred go faster...." You ordered, losing sight of the shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come fly the broom then." He retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Fred! I"m serious!" You yelled, gripping his waist tighter, as he exhaled before picking up the pace.

"In case you forgot, I need to be able to breathe to fly this thing properly." He grunted as you practically squeezed every breath out of him.

"Right, sorry," You loosened your grip ever so slightly, "...it's just, I swear I saw something."

You turned around again, catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure. The shadow was no longer a mystery figure but a person, or, three people rather.

Death Eaters.

"Oh shit! Fred! They're here!" You took your wand out and began fighting with them.

Spells shot through the night, streaks of green and blue illuminating the sky like a twisted fireworks display. The death eaters had appeared out of nowhere, zooming in, attacking viciously as they trailed behind you on their brooms.

“They’re following us!” you shouted over the wind, turning back around to gauge Fred.

“Oh, really? Thought we were just out for a lovely evening flight,” he shot back sarcastically, dodging a hex just in time.

You rolled your eyes but focused on firing spells behind you, hitting one death eater square in the chest and sending him spiralling downward.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, casting the second death eater off his broom. Two down, one to go.

Just as you felt a moment of victory, another spell whizzed past, striking the broom.

The wood splintered with a sickening crack. "Uhh, Fred?" You called out, glancing at the broom.

“Hold on—” Fred barely got the words out before the broom snapped completely, and the two of you plummeted toward the Thames River.

You hit the water hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you. You kicked frantically, breaking the surface and gasping for air. The coolness of the water had your body in shock, shivering as you forced yourself to stay afloat.

Fred emerged a second later, coughing.

Glancing above, you saw the third death eater laughing maliciously as he flew off, leaving you and Fred. He must've figured it wasn't the real Harry, given that you called him 'Fred'.

“Great! Look what you’ve done!” you accused, treading water furiously.

“What I’ve done?! That was you—you were supposed to be fighting them off!” he retorted, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He had transformed back into his original self, the fiery redhead Fred you knew.

You groaned, swimming toward the embankment where a set of stone stairs led to dry land. Your fingers were frozen as you pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the pavement. Fred followed, shaking out his drenched hair like a dog.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” you muttered, clutching one-half of the broken broom while he had the other. “Now how are we supposed to get to the others?”

Fred sighed, pushing his hair back. “Let’s just go somewhere dry first.”

You nodded begrudgingly, too cold and exhausted to argue.

When you emerged from the river, it was given that pedestrians would stare at the two of you strangely. Swimming in the Thames River wasn't exactly the most normal thing to do, let alone at this hour.

Though, in this particular instance, more of them were starring at you, rather than Fred.

Fred cleared his throat, eyes darting down to your chest then back up before averting his eyes immediately.

You furrowed your brows, glancing down, only to remember that you were wearing a white shirt along with the worst possible undergarment to pair with it, a black bra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as you covered your chest, "Let's just go..."

Fred shook his head, taking off the grey jacket he wore and putting it over you, "Here."

Though still wet, it offered the coverage you much needed and you were entirely grateful. "Thanks." You muttered softly, as you two began walking.

"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around flashing the whole of London."

The two of you walked in silence as you tried to figure out a way to get to the others. “We can apparate—” he started.

“Absolutely not. There are muggles everywhere,” you snapped, nodding to the late-night pedestrians strolling along the streets.

Fred scoffed, shooting you an eye-roll. “Alright, Professor McGonagall.”

You ignored him, scanning the area. A small, dingy-looking hotel caught your eye. Without another word, you trudged toward it, Fred trailing behind. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman in her mid 40s, barely glanced up as you approached the desk.

The hotel looked cheap enough for an overnight stay. All you needed to do was clear your mind and get a good night's rest before figuring things out in the morning; yes, that sounded ideal to you right this moment.

“Two rooms, please,” you said firmly.

She tapped at the keyboard, chewing on some gum as she did so. “We’re fully booked.”

Your heart sank. “What about one room? With two beds?”

"Sorry, we're full." She continued typing, then clicking on the mouse as she looked around the screen, "It's peak season honey, we're always maxed out."

"Please you've got to have at least one room, with two beds, anything?" You pleaded, desperate for whatever you could acquire.

"We'll take whatever we can get, you've got to have something." Fred added, backing you up as he stood closer to you.

She checked again, then looked at you, eyes lighting up. “Ah, it seems that we do have one left with two beds, but the heating is broken, that's why we didn't offer it to customers. Actually, I was supposed to call the maintenance guy, but he's my ex, you see, so it's a bit of a rough story. I always thought he loved me, you know, how could someone not, I mean look at me? I'm gorgeous. He was supposed to come by today but we—”

"We'll take it!" Fred interjected swiftly, clearly exhausted. "Thank you."

Relief flooded you as you he paid with muggle money. You were surprised he even had some on hand, but after all, he was a businessman.

"Interesting, all this muggle stuff eh?" Fred mused, as you both entered the lift, his eyes darting around as he observed his surroundings.

"I suppose so, yeah. I guess I was lucky enough to be born a half-blood, you get the best of both worlds." You shrugged, as though hotels and 'muggle elevators' were the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright then, you lead the way, Ms expert." He mocked, gesturing for you to lead the way once the doors opened.

You scoff softly, marching down the hallway before finding your room number. Fred reaches seconds after you, looping his arm around your body to swipe the keycard.

He placed an arm on the door to open it, letting you in first before closing it after he entered.

But the moment you entered the room, your jaw dropped.

One bed.

“What? She said there were two beds.” You blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

“She must’ve meant the couch,” Fred said, nodding toward the small, lumpy-looking couch a few inches beside the bed, by the window.

You swallowed, “Right, well, who's sleeping where?” Honestly, at this point, you didn't even mind taking the couch, as long as you could get some rest.

Fred's eyes darted from the bed to the couch, exhaling exasperatedly before finally looking at you, "I'll take the couch."

"I didn't know Fred Weasley had manners?" You gasped, faking your amusement.

He shot you a glare, grabbing a towel as he did so, "Could you be any more aggravating?"

You tried to think of a witty comeback, something, anything to get a reaction out of him. But alas, you were lost for words. He did have a point though.

Come to think about it, you realised that you might've only been behaving this way because you were not used to him being so much of a...gentleman. This was foreign to you.

"I'll have the first shower." He shifts past you, nudging your shoulder, which sends heat through your bodies temporarily.

“Be my guest.”

You hear the lock shut, and seconds later, the water starts running.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in your surroundings. This was no five-star hotel, but it was presentable and decent enough for an overnight stay. The walls are dark grey, with ambient lighting all around the room. Navy blue sheets grace the double bed, with a soft brown leather footer in contrast. There is a tea tray and a kettle, on top of the dark brown desk that sat in the corner of the room.

Minutes later, the door clicks and unlocks.

Fred steps out, a white towel hanging around his waist. His hair is wet, and his body glistening with water droplets. Your eyes couldn't help but drift down, his body was incredible defined, a stark contrast to your school days when he was merely a boy, now, he was a man.

Oh, he definitely works out. You noticed his arms, much larger and buffer than they used to be.

"All yours." He jerked his chin to the bathroom.

You gulped, brushing past him before hurriedly entering the bathroom and locking the door.

Wow, since when did Fred Weasley get so, attractive?

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the cold. You stood under the steamy shower for a couple of minutes, taking in as much warmth as you could.

With no new clothes to change into, you wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, sighing in frustration. It appears there was only a kids sized one left, and you had no choice but to wear it. Whatever, it’ll do the job for tonight.

You hung your wet clothes on one of the bathroom racks, and you saw that Fred did the same, you placed your clothes beside his.

You were humming to yourself when you stepped out, relieved to be in some dry clothes, dancing a little as you strolled to the bed.

When he heard you walking, Fred glanced up, something flickering in his expression, though you're not quite sure what.

“That bathrobe is way too small for you." He remarks, laying with his legs out on the couch, two arms behind his head as he rests.

"What was I supposed to do, wear my wet clothes to sleep?" You respond as you hop into bed, tugging the covers and snuggling in.

"It could be an enlightening experience." He hummed, as he shut his eyes, adjusting himself on the couch.

"You try it then." You counter, scoffing at his idiocy.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are dim. Silence fills the room as you both unwind for the evening. Before you shut the lights from the switch beside your bed, you call out, "I'm going to off the lights now, need anything before I turn them off?"

"Yeah actually..." He perks his head up, turning to face you.

"What?" You ask, listening keenly.

"For you to be quiet." A small smile played on his lips as he laid back down.

You rolled your eyes, before hitting the lights.

"Good night." He cooed.

You lay there, tossing and turning, but you couldn't seem to fall asleep for the life of you. It didn't help that the room was so cold, due to the heater being unfixed.

Minutes passed in silence before you turned your head slightly. Fred was stretched out on the tiny couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the armrest.

It was evident that he was way too tall to fit on all that, he did not look the slightest bit comfortable.

“See something you like?” Fred smirked, feeling your stare though his eyes were shut.

“What? No! I was just—”

“Just what? Admiring this handsome face?”

"Honestly Fred, how conceited are you?" You sat up now, shooting daggers at him. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in fact, handsome. Annoyingly so.

Truth be told, had he not been so irritating, you might've actually considered dating him.

You loved the Weasleys, Ginny was like a sister to you, Ron, your close friend, George, always on the lookout for you. He even took you down to Hogsmeade for a meal and bought you treats when you cried over one of the Slytherin boys rejecting you back in your fourth year.

But Fred, oh Fred, you could never see eye to eye with him. You only ever tolerated him because his family was so warm and welcoming.

A tiny part of you felt guilty that he was forced onto the couch, despite being the one that paid for the room.

You wanted to offer the place beside you to him, seeing that the bed was larger than anticipated once you were actually tucked in.

"Well you are staring, something you need?" He countered, his eyes are still shut, arms still behind his head.

"Well, I was thinking...." You hesitated, "well, you could sleep on the bed. It's actually more spacious than I thought."

His brows shot up, and he opened his eyes, turning to face you. “In the bed? With you?”

“Don’t make it weird, Fred,” you huffed. “The couch looks uncomfortable.”

"Are you, being nice to me?" He teased, the urge to take back your offer growing stronger.

"Don't make me change my mind, Weasley."

After a beat, he groaned. “Fine. But don’t hog the covers.”

"Please I sleep like a log, it's not like I'm going to cuddle you or anything."

"Cuddle me eh?" He mused.

"Not bloody likely, besides you're too annoying to be my type." You retort.

Fred stood up, walking to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you, and the bed suddenly felt too small. You kept your back to him, but quickly got up and put one of the spare pillows between you.

"See this line? Don't cross it and you're good." You commanded, and he chuckled lightly,

"Alright alright." He raised in hands.

You turned away from him, back to him as you attempted to fall asleep. You hadn't realised how far you were from him, you were practically tipping over the edge of the bed.

You scooted inside a little, bumping into the pillow wall you put.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, you sighed in defeat. The room was cold, and the blankets were not much help.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were the only one awake. You extended your arm behind you, trying to find the pillow 'wall' you had put up. But with all the tossing and turning from the two of you, the pillow must've slipped out of place and down the lower half of the bed somewhere.

As you extended your arm behind you, you accidentally came into contact with Fred's back, and he shifted slightly before turning to face you instead.

It's dark, almost pitch black, but with the small glimmer of light, you can see that his eyes are shut. Curious you called out, "Fred?" you whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now, no thanks to you." He fluttered his eyes open, facing you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Don't be." He sighed, "Couldn't sleep a wink either. This room is bloody cold."

"The blankets aren't doing anything." You exhaled, agreeing, before an idea popped into you head.

"This might sound silly, but, if we revert back to old fashioned methods, we could, um—actually it's stupid, nevermind." You began, but quickly dismissed it.

"Go on, I'd like to hear what genius solution you've come up with."

"It's dumb, I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." He replied.

You hesitated again before suggesting, “We could—uh—use body heat.”

He stared at you momentarily, it looked as though he thought about it, considering it before responding, “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, whatever, I just thought it was a feasible option. These robes aren't exactly pyjama material either." You say, trying to tighten your robes, with the hopes of warming up your body.

You both fell into silence again your back facing him once more, before Fred spoke up, "Come here."

"What?" You turned around.

"I suppose, we could try the body heat thing."

"Oh so now you want to try my idea?" You raise your brow, scoffing as you shift over slowly, and he extended his arm, pulling you in.

"Don't get any ideas, I just need to sleep and call it a day." You firmly spoke, pressing your back to him, as he faced you. You felt his heat, no doubt, it was working, and you were starting to warm up. In all the places apparently, your cheeks, and an area of yours down there. Your heart pounded as his hand rested against your back, his breath tickling your ear.

"Let's do shoulder-to-shoulder." You suggested, trying to hide your flustered-ness.

He didn't argue, respecting your decision. The two of you lay there, facing the ceiling as your shoulders touched. Though not as warm as before, it was still warmer at least.

You turned your head, Fred's face illuminated by the dim light coming through from the curtains, his jawline ever so chiselled. Merlin, he was undoubtedly a handsome chap. You shut your eyes, trying, yet again to enter a slumber.

As you laid there, eyes shut, Fred opened his, gauging you. He smiled softly as he took in your features, rolling his eyes fondly as he saw you breathing slowly.

You swore you were about to cast some sort of sleeping spell, because you still could not fall asleep for the life of you. You keep moving, accidentally brushing against Fred's body countless times but you couldn't help it, you needed to find a comfortable position.

You move your arm around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position for yourself until you accidentally graze something, unexpected.

You freeze.

Did you actually just graze that?

Was he....?

You slowly turned to face him, your body merely an inch away from his. You see him shut his eyes, heavily breathing, his Adam's apple bopping up and down from swallowing hard.

"Would you quit moving so much?" He whispered, trying to contain himself.

"I....Fred, I didn't mean to." You pause. "You're still awake?"

"10 points to Y/H (your house), captain obvious."

You furrow your brows, turning on the bedside lamp which offered the tiniest bit of ambient light in the dark room.

Your gaze flickered down, and well, you saw, a little friend poking up from the sheets beneath him.

"Is that, because of m—" You swallowed not daring to finish the sentence, looking at his hard on. "I'm sorry shouldn't have moved so much."

"Alright, it's okay, it's not a big deal, so what it's normal right. I didn't mean to accidentally keep grazing or grinding on you, I was merely trying to find a comfortable position. Listen, I'm not weirded out or anything, you can go sort it out. Who am I to judge? This time tomorrow we'll all be at the burrow and I'll be sharing a room with Ginny and 'Mione, so it's fine, we can—" You began ranting out of nervousness, but Fred had enough, opening his eyes to sit up with you,

"Merlin, Y/N. Ranting like you're so innocent, moving around like that? On me?" He leans in closer, growling, "I bet you'd really want to know what got me provoked in the first place, yeah?"

You gulped, inspecting his features as he leaned in closer to you, now an inch apart, "You aggravate me, pushing my damn buttons all the bloody time. Maybe if you weren't such a whiny brat complaining about everything, I would've fucked you an hour ago till you were silenced.” He ranted before continuing,

“You want to know what got me so hard? You waltzing around in those darn bathrobes that are far too small, exposing every inch of your body, your cleavage is practically begging to be seen. I can't keep my fucking eyes off you. Ever since Hogwarts, it was always you, grating on my last nerves. I thought I hated you so, until I realised that there was a fine line between hate and attraction."

"Fred..." your eyelids flutter; how did his voice get so low and sensual? You could feel yourself throbbing, growing wetter by the minute, and you found yourself growing more needy for him.

"Bloody hell Y/N, you've got me wrapped around the irritating finger of yours."

"Just shut up and kiss me Fred." You breathlessly whisper, not realising that you'd been holding your breath the entire time.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, he wasted no time pouncing on you. His hand is behind your neck and he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering on top of you.

Fred's lips meet yours furiously, desperately, never in your life has someone kissed you this passionately before. You open your mouth, and he slides his tongue in, a desirous clash of tongues. He savours every inch of your mouth and it makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to do this for.

"May I?" He asks for permission as he tugs at the belt of your bathrobe.

You nod, too breathless to speak as you gaze up at him. Fred undoes your robes, leaving you clothe-less on the bed. He does the same, kneeling between your legs which are spread open and on either side of his waist. You subconsciously give him doe-eyes as he does so, merlin, he looked so deliciously attractive.

"So fucking beautiful, all this hidden from me all these years?" He leans down and gently kisses your neck while gripping your waist, sucking on a sensitive spot which earns a moan from you.

"Going to leave hickey's on you so everyone knows you're mine gorgeous."

"Who said I was yours?" Every so daring you retort, though you lacked conviction.

He chuckled lowly before sucking on another sensitive spot, leaving a reddish mark on you, "Fred..." you moan again. His kisses grow more wet and fervent as he plants kisses trailing down your body. His hands move from your waist to your breasts, massaging them gently as he continues further down your body.

You're barely able to control the obscene moans slipping from your mouth, any attempts at suppressing them growing more difficult by the second. You didn't even care that people around you might hear.

"You're soaking wet, and yet you say you're not mine." Fred cooed, his eyes glued to your heat, coated with glistening wetness.

You revel in the fact that he can barely take his eyes off you, you glance at him, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust. Once he catches sight of your lustful eyes, desperate for him, he can't tear his gaze away from you. He slowly leans down, sensually licking your coated slick.

Your sensitive cunt throbs even harder upon the contact from his tongue, "Fred please..." You whine, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He traces the shape of your vulva, pressing kitten licks on your needy clit, causing your legs to clamp around his head. He doesn't break eye-contact, as he continues to work his mouth around your core.

He continues sucking your clit, his tongue working his way on your swollen pearl.

You tangle your hands in his head, tugging lightly. Your body can't help but arch into his face due to the overwhelming pleasure, as he continues indulging in your cunt. "Merlin Fred!" You cry out as he suckles on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You taste so damn good love, so sweet unlike that bitter mouth, hm?"

"I'm yours Fred....all yours..." You whimper, succumbing to his words.

"Say that again." His voice low, commanding, you could feel the heat from his mouth near your throbbing cunt.

"I'm yours, Fred." You moan, as he continues straight into your core.

The feeling is heavenly, both hands tangled in his red locks as he gives you the most pleasant head you've ever felt in your life. Once he stops assaulting your clit, he lifts his head and faces you, his eyes smiling up at you, as though you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Oh, you're so close, tilting over the edge of something mind-blowing. He leans down and gives your clit a few more kitten licks, planting soft kisses before pulling away, just as you were about to cum.

"Don't stop," you whimper, "I was so close...."

"Fred?" You plead, again, but he sits up and crawls to you, now hovering over you his hands on either side of your head. "Please let me cum...."

"You will, darling." He cooes, leaning down to your ear, "Around my cock."

You felt yourself throbbing yet again, upon his words. What the hell was he doing to you, causing you to feel this weak beneath him? This powerless? Your sharp, witty tongue, nowhere in sight.

"Please Fred, I need you." You whine, begging him for more.

"What ever happened to, 'I despise you'?" He hovered over you and you sat up, meeting his lips. Giving him a passionate, hungry kiss before pulling away,

"There is a fine line between hate and love, and I think today I've learnt that you've been sitting in the wrong category all along."

He smiled, brushing a hand on your cheek as he gazed down at you lovingly, "Took me so long to realise that you're the only person I've ever felt something with."

"Took us bloody ages." You roll your eyes fondly, before giggling as he pecked your forehead gently.

You gazed up at him with doe-eyes, and him down at you, to your lips then back up, his mouth parted slightly as he took in how breathtaking you looked beneath him. Shit, you were always beautiful to him, he'd only now realised.

"Need you inside me Fred." You plead softly, desperately, which only fuelled his desire for you even more.

"Anything for you, love."

You never thought you'd admit it, but he has a fucking incredible dick. You assumed he'd be packing because he was 6"3, but the sight of it made you drool. Bloody hell, he had every right to be so smug.

His slit was already leaking with precum, his eyes lock onto yours as he lowers himself. Your legs are still on each side of his waist, he grabs his dick and teases it along your wet entrance, sliding it a few times to coat it with your slickness.

You involuntarily buck your hips, desperate for penetration as you whimper. He slowly lowers himself down, and finally into you.

At first, you hiss at the pain upon being stretched out by his hugeness, you could feel him stretching your walls, registering that fact that he was fully inside you now.

"Fuck...." he moans, letting out a groan, "So tight for me hm?"

"Freddie...." You moan as he begins moving, rocking his hips slowly. You get used to the size of him, filling you to the brim, every slight bit of movement causing your walls to tense around his dick, rubbing within you sensually.

"I know baby, I know." He responds softly, continuing at this pace.

With every rock, his breathing increases, your soft pleas and his eager pants filling the room as he speeds up, going faster and harder.

Your moans start to get louder, getting more deafening by the minute. Fred leans down to plant kisses on your neck, and pecking your lips occasionally, you moan into him as he drives himself further into your core.

"You're doing so well baby." He coos into your ear, murmuring praises as he continues to thrust into you.

Fred doesn't stop pounding into you, you move your hands to his back, your nails practically digging into his skin from the pleasure.

Skin slapping against skin, you feel every jolt of his body into you. He's fucking you so gently but hard at the same time, treating you as though you were the most fragile thing on the planet.

"Baby..." You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, as he continues thrusting into you deeply, you are overwhelmed with so much pressure that you might cry, but it just felt so damn pleasurable.

"I'm getting close Fred." You pant, breathing heavily, as he picks up his pace.

"Look at me." He demands, and you open your eyes, gazing into his hazel ones. For once, they aren't filled with irritation, or the usual annoyance you were used to seeing, they were more gentle, admiring you, it was a look of love.

"Fred, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling an orgasm coming closer, "I'm gonna—" you can barely finish your sentence, the pressure. on your g-spot and the intense penetration becoming too much for you to handle, along with the gaze of hazel eyes burning into you.

You let out an obscene moan as your walls clench around him, you jerk harshly, causing him to let out a guttural moan. It's a pleasurable ache, your entire body pulses beneath him.

"Gonna come inside you baby, that okay?" He asks, and you nod, to breathless to speak.

Seconds later, he comes undone, squirting his juices inside you. The world slows down as you enter your state of euphoria; you're entangled in pure bliss as you come down from your high. Your body is still electrified from the feeling before.

It takes a while for you to fully settle down. You slowly flutter your eyes open to find yourself engulfed in Fred's buff arms, your breathing in sync. The two of you lean against the wooden bed-frame, and you lean your head on his shoulder, while he cradles you.

You glance down at your body and notice that it's covered in marks, which looked bloody hot. Merlin, you really were Fred's now huh?

"So much for body heat." You chuckled softly, as he stroked your back gently.

He laughs, and you feel the vibrations of his chest, "The best kind of heat if you ask me." He says which earned an eyeroll from you.

Fred plants a soft kiss on your head, "Y'know I'm not one for apologies, but I was a bit of a jerk to you back in Hogwarts, and I want to apologise."

"It was a two-way thing, Freddie, suppose I should apologise for being one too. Merlin, you did grate on every last one of my nerves though." You tease.

"Always a pleasure." He grinned down at you, engulfed in his arms as you looked up at him, sharing a moment of sweet silence as you put the past behind you.

A ray of moonlight shone through the tiny gap in the curtain. You turned your head, glancing out the window as you pondered about the others back at the burrow.

"What're we going to tell the others when we find them tomorrow?" You giggled, taking in the state you were both in.

"I have a feeling they won't be surprised." Fred confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in my family thinks we have a thing for each other, especially Ginny. Won't stop talking about us that sister of mine."

"Since when?!" You were amused, the two of you were the epitome of the word hate back in Hogwarts and to hear a statement like this shocked you.

"Since school apparently." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought it was silly too, but look where we are now."

"Just wait one day, you'll eventually get married." He mocked Ginny's tone, mirroring her facial expressions too, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Please, you and me?" You raised a brow, teasing him, though biting back a fond smile.

"Neverrrr." He scrunched up his nose, holding you closer as you both now laid down in bed, safely in each other's grasp.

Finally comfortable, you found yourself drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The same could be said for Fred, it was safe to say the body-heat idea turned out better than anticipated.

And with this newfound love, perhaps the broomstick breaking was a blessing in disguise.

[mssorceressupreme]

Royalty AU

Which would you prefer?

Fred as the Prince, you as the servant

You as the Princess, Fred as the servant

Voting ended onFeb 16, 2025

Hey lovelies, I was thinking of potentially writing a Royalty AU oneshot or (maybe series) with Fred, out of those two scenarios which one would you prefer to read? 🥰❤️

I could imagine the Weasley’s as a royal family and you work for them, but I could also imagine you as a princess and their family working as the main servants (and Fred captures your attention).

(Potentially might make one if I feel like it 😭🫶🏼)

[mssorceressupreme]

Your Fred Weasley one shot where he takes care of you when your on your period is cute 🥰

Thank you for the kind words anon, appreciate it and you!! 🥰🫶🏼 Tried my best to make it as fluffy as possible lol

[mssorceressupreme]

Take Care of You | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you wake up realising you’ve stained your boyfriend’s bed with period blood, and you feel terrible. later, while playing a friendly quidditch game, you get deadly cramps again and fred takes care of you for the rest of the day.

Warnings/content: reader gets her period, mentions of blood, pimples (lmao), insecure!reader, period cramps, fluff, fred weasley is THE standard :,), molly and arthur being the sweetest gems

———

The Burrow was quiet in the early morning, the golden glow of the sun barely peeking through the curtains of Fred's bedroom. The soft rise and fall of his breathing filled the room, his arms wrapped securely around you as you lay nestled against him. His warmth, his scent—fresh, like cinnamon and a hint of something mischievously sweet—made you want to stay here forever.

However, during this particular morning, something felt...off.

You shifted slightly, your brows knitting as you became aware of a slight discomfort in your lower abdomen. Your face scrunched up in confusion, and as you moved your hand to touch your face, you felt a few bumps along your skin—pimples, no doubt. Great. Just what you needed.

Then, you felt it. The damp warmth between your legs. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. Panic shot through you as you carefully lifted the covers, heart pounding as you caught sight of the undeniable red stain on Fred’s bedsheets.

Oh no.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in sheer mortification. Not only had you woken up to pimples, but you had gotten your period in your boyfriend’s bed.

Your boyfriend’s bed. Sure, if it was your own bed, you didn't mind, as it would be your problem to deal with. This, however, was an entirely different case. Godric, you wanted to hide, to run away, to retreat into your shell.

The urge to disappear entirely took over as your face burned with embarrassment. What were you supposed to do? Wake him up and tell him you’d basically bled all over his sheets? You felt a lump in your throat and your vision became teary. Especially with pimples all over your face now, what would Fred think? Would he get grossed out, horrified, disgusted?

Maybe if you were really quiet, you could sneak out and fix it before he even noticed—

Time seemed to slip from your hands when all the shifting you did stirred Fred from his sleep. Shit, it was too late to move.

He groaned softly before his arms instinctively tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him with a lazy smile.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He pressed a sleepy kiss to your cheek before pausing, sensing the tension in your body. His brows furrowed, and he blinked, still groggy. “You alright, darling? You seem a little tense.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Fred, I—” Your voice was small, laced with hesitation. You inhaled deeply before revealing your dilemma, “I got my period.”

Fred blinked, confused for a second, before his lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “Alright, love, no need to sound so distressed about it.”

You groaned again, this time with frustration. “No, you don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I stained your bed.”

With a deep breath, you lifted up the duvet and hesitantly pointed at the small red patch on the sheets. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you dared to glance at his face, bracing yourself for—well, you didn’t know what exactly. Disgust? Annoyance? Irritation? But instead, all you found was Fred sitting up, stretching before looking at the stain with mild curiosity, then back at you with a soft chuckle.

“Is that all?” he said, completely unfazed. “Thought you were gonna tell me you’d hexed my eyebrows off in my sleep or something.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Fred, I just bled on your bed,” you repeated, incredulous. “How are you this calm?”

"I just got my period...and I'm breaking out all over my face, I feel like a mess right now, I—" You continued rambling, all your worries spilling out at once.

He rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you into a warm hug, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, love,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s normal, yeah? Not like you did it on purpose.” He pulled back slightly, his hands gently cupping your face. “My poor baby, let me take care of you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but you still couldn’t shake off the embarrassment. “But your sheets—”

“Easily cleaned,” he interrupted, waving a hand like it was nothing. “Mum’s got stain removers, no big deal. What is a big deal, though, is that you’re clearly not feeling great.” His hands dropped to your waist, tugging you close again. “And my girl needs to be taken care of.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Fred was already hopping out of bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said, tossing on a shirt. “You go to the bathroom, get cleaned up. I’ll sort everything else out.”

Still in a daze from his reaction, you hesitated before nodding. You slipped into the bathroom, heart still pounding as you peeled off your clothes, carefully cleaning yourself up. A few moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Here, I’ve got some pads for you,” Fred called from the other side.

You cracked open the door, peeking out to see him holding a small stack of pads in his hands, a sheepish yet triumphant grin on his face.

“Ginny might have thrown something at me when I woke her up to ask, but worth it,” he teased, handing them to you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thank you, handsome.”

“For a pretty girl like you, anytime.” He kissed your forehead gently before stepping back. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Once you were done, you returned to Fred’s room to find the bed already spotless, the stain completely gone. He grinned when he saw you. “Told you I’d sort it.”

You launched yourself at him, hugging him tightly. “Ugh Fred, you’re too good at this.”

“I know,” he said smugly, earning a light smack on the arm. He chuckled before pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get some breakfast in you, yeah?” There was something comforting about his kisses, every time he planted one on you, it felt as though everything was going to be alright.

Downstairs, the Burrow was already lively with chatter. Molly beamed as she hugged you good morning before returning to cooking, and Arthur greeted you warmly.

"Ah come join us, you lovebirds." Arthur teased, Fred's ears turning a light shade of red in response.

"What took you guys so long today? Busy eh?" Ron teased, wiggling his brows before taking a bite of his toast.

"Shove off, what's the point in rushing downstairs? Not like we've got somewhere to be." Fred retorted, a bit more harshly than he had intended.

Ginny shot you two a knowing look, giving you a sympathetic smile, "You won't understand the pressures of being a woman Ron, takes a lot to look this good every day." She joked, though laced with a comforting undertone, indirectly defending you. You tilted your head and smiled warmly at her, a way of showing gratitude.

"Come Y/N dear, you must be starving." Molly placed two eggs on your plate next to your toast, "Percy, pass her the butter will you."

"This looks delicious, thank you Molly!" You beamed, her food was always made with love; a mother's love, and that's what made it extra tasty.

Though you smiled, and occasionally shared quips with the others, only Fred was able to see right through you. He kept sneaking glances, his hand resting on your thigh under the table, stroking it gently.

You turned to give him a reassuring smile, but he still worried for you, wanting to ensure you felt better.

___

Later that afternoon, you and the Weasleys were playing a toned-down version of Quidditch outside the Burrow.

The sky was clear as day, the air crisp with a cool breeze occasionally blowing your hair, and laughter filled the open field as Ron, Fred, and Ginny zoomed around on their brooms, chucking the Quaffle back and forth.

Meanwhile, you, Percy, and George remained on the ground, running, dodging, and attempting to intercept the ball whenever it came your way.

At first, you kept up, laughing as George nudged you playfully and you pretended to dramatically fall or trip, making him burst into laughter.

"Woah, when did you get so strong?" Sarcasm lingered in your tone.

"Puh-lease, this is like twenty-percent of my strength. You're lucky I'm going on easy on ya." George ruffled your hair messily, it was safe to say the two of you definitely had a sibling-like relationship.

Though as the game went on, you started to slow down. The cramps you’d been trying to ignore all day crept in with full force, sharp and unbearable.

It felt like your insides were twisting, a deep ache radiating through your stomach and back, growing stronger by the minute. You bit your lip, pressing a hand to your abdomen, willing the pain away. But it was no use.

After a few more steps, you stopped completely, crouching down with a sharp inhale.

Fred, who had been mid-air, immediately noticed. He veered off from the game and swooped down toward you, concern flickering across his face. "Love? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now as he handed his broom off to George, who had also stopped running and looked at you with concern.

“You alright, Y/N?” George asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with genuine worry.

You tried to wave them off, not wanting to make a fuss, but Fred wasn’t having it. He crouched beside you, his large hands gently resting on your arms as he searched your face.

"Cramps," you admitted in a whisper, wincing slightly.

Fred was up in an instant. "Alright, that’s it. You're going inside." He stood, helping you up carefully, his arm wrapping around your waist protectively. George gave you an encouraging nod before returning to the game, and as you and Fred walked toward the Burrow, you leaned into him, grateful for his warmth and steady presence.

As soon as you stepped inside, Molly turned from the stove, immediately noticing your pale face and Fred’s worried expression. "What’s wrong, dear?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.

“Cramps,” Fred answered before you could, his voice carrying that soft, caring edge that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Oh, sweetheart," Molly cooed. "You sit down and rest. I’ll whip up some soup and a cramp relief potion right away.”

"Thank you, Molly," you said softly, feeling a rush of gratitude for the warmth and kindness of the Weasley family.

You always secretly hoped you'd marry into the family one day, but you didn't want to admit that aloud, or pressure Fred into such things yet.

Fred led you upstairs to his room, insisting you lay down. "Rest up, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of the room.

A little while later, the door creaked open again, and Fred returned, carrying a small basket filled with chocolates, a heating pad, some of your favourite snacks, and—to your surprise—a teddy bear.

You blinked at it, smiling despite your discomfort. “A teddy?”

Fred set the basket down, and held the bear up, making its little arm wave at you. "To cuddle with."

You giggled, looking at him with awe. “Come here. I’d rather cuddle with you, baby."

He grinned before climbing into bed next to you, immediately wrapping you in his buff arms. His embrace, his scent—everything about him was comforting, you could only melt right into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly to face you. But after a moment, you grew shy, burying your face in his chest.

“Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, insecurity creeping in. “I don’t feel pretty right now.”

Fred’s brows furrowed, and he cupped your cheek, tilting your face back up to him. "Don’t you ever say that," he murmured, his gaze filled with so much love it made your heartache.

"You’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. These little things, flaws you might call them—they don’t matter. If anything, they make you even more beautiful. To me, you always look good, angel."

Tears welled in your eyes at his words, and you let out a shaky breath. “I love you, Freddie.”

His expression softened even more, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you too.”

With that, he pulled you closer, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, drifting off into a peaceful nap in his arms.

___

An hour later, Molly walked in, a tray in her hands carrying a bowl of warm soup and a small vial of cramp relief potion. But as soon as she saw the two of you curled up together, fast asleep, a tender smile spread across her face. She stood there for a moment, simply watching, before turning to call Arthur over.

Arthur peeked inside, his eyes crinkling with affection as he took in the sight. “Reminds me of us back in the day,” he murmured with a fond chuckle.

Molly playfully swatted his arm before she placed the tray on the bedside table, snapping a quick photo of you and Fred with a knowing grin. Then, hand in hand, she and Arthur quietly slipped out of the room, leaving you both to your peaceful afternoon nap.

____

A/N: currently on my period and thought a fluffy fic would be healing rn <3 lowkey feeling a smut one soon? not sure though hehehe (help I'm so indecisive 😭😩)

[mssorceressupreme]

What’s your fav xreader content to read? 🫶🏼✨

Fluff/Sweet/Comfort 🎀

Smut 🥵

Angst ❤️‍🔥

Pregnancy trope 🤰

Damsel in Distress (they save u etc.)

Melancholy/sad 😔

Voting ended onFeb 18, 2025

Just curious abt what people like reading lol and I might potentially make more fics based on these results 😝

[mssorceressupreme]

Our Deal | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x hufflepuff!reader (works for any house really, except gryffindor for story purpose)

Summary: stuck in detention with Fred for a prank you never did, grants you the deal of a lifetime. Fred would help you get with your crush, Oliver Wood, and you get him with his, Gabriella Moon, in time for the Yule Ball. Though, as you spend more time teaching each other how to "flirt", complicated feelings start to arise.

Warnings/content: hufflepuff!reader, subtle enemies to lovers, mutual pining, jealous!fred, protective!fred, jealous!reader, mentions of alcohol, parties, quidditch injury, injured!reader, tension, flirting, kissing, teasing, Yule Ball

Wordcount: 6.8k (got carried away and kinda wrote a mini fic 😭🙏🏼)

———

“This is entirely your fault,” you snapped, bending down to scrub at the sticky residue on the stone floor. “I had nothing to do with that prank.” The potions storage room air reeked with the scent of something foul, probably from whatever concoction had spilled from the shelves earlier today. All thanks to that stupid explosion caused by none other than the twin's prank just outside the room.

You gestured around at the remnants of the prank—green goo still dripping from the shelves, a set of abandoned dungbombs rolling near the base of Snape’s desk. Crossing your arms, you huffed as you glared at Fred, who was leaning against the wall with that insufferable smirk, clearly enjoying your misery.

Fred chuckled, tossing a sponge into the air and catching it lazily. “Yeah, yeah, tell that to Snape. You just happened to be there, hands covered in fluorescent goo, looking guilty as hell, which might I add, doesn't help with your case.”

“I was cleaning up the mess, Fred, not causing it” you gritted out, shoving the bucket closer to him. “Unlike you, who just stood there laughing while George ran for his life.”

Fred grinned, bending down to soak his sponge in water. “Ah, Georgie. Quick on his feet, that one. Maybe you should take notes for next time.”

Lucky for George, he managed to escape Snape's fury, leaving the stupendous detention task of reorganising and cleaning the entire potions storage room to the two of you.

“There won’t be a next time because I don’t do pranks,” you retorted. “Unlike some people.”

Fred gasped, pausing from squeezing the water out of his sponge, “No pranks? No mischief? Merlin, what a dull existence.”

You scowled, but your lips twitched. “Not all of us live for chaos.”

“You sure? Because you seem to enjoy my company a lot for someone who claims to be innocent,” he teased, turning his attention to scrubbing the fluorescent goop from the floor.

“Oh, shush If I weren’t such a good person, I’d leave this room right now and tell Snape about the other pranks you and George are planning.”

Fred turned to face you, holding back a doubtful laugh as he momentarily stopped scrubbing, “You wouldn't dare, Y/L/N.” his tone sprinkled with a hint of mockery.

You rolled your eyes, dipping your sponge back into the murky water. “Unfortunately you're right.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Because you secretly like me?”

“Because I’m not a snitch,” you corrected smugly. ____ An hour later, you were balancing on a stool, reaching for a jar of pickled salamander eyes while Fred stacked vials below. You glanced down at him, waiting for him to pass you more vials for the higher shelves.

A small played on his lips, Fred exhaled softly before handing you another vial, “Alright, since I do feel a tiny bit bad about dragging you into this, I’ll make it up to you.”

You raised your brow suspiciously. “How?”

Fred’s smirk returned. “The Yule Ball's coming up, right? I’ll help you get with whoever you want."

"In return, you promise not to rat me out about, oh, I don’t know, the prank in the Great Hall last week. Or the one from two days ago in McGonagall’s class. Or the—" He continued but you interjected swiftly.

Your eyes widened slightly, finally registering what he just offered. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, placing another vial on one of the lower shelves. “You name the bloke, and I’ll be your personal matchmaking genius.”

"You're kidding." You pressed your lips together, skeptical.

"Am not." He affirmed, "Go on, the look on your face says you have someone in mind Y/N."

A slow grin spread across your face, but you hesitated. "No one in mind." You shrugged.

Fred folded his arms, eyeing you up and down before tilting his head to the side, "I'm sensing...someone....taller than you?" Yeah, no kidding.

Without thinking you retorted, "Yeah obviously he's taller than me." Your hands flew at the speed of light to cover your mouth while turning to face away from Fred.

You hoped to hide your flushness, but you ended up losing your balance on the stool in the process. "Merlin, don't tell me you're quite literally falling for him." Fred quickly held your waist, steadying you before you could meet the ground. You grabbed his shoulder for support before adjusting yourself and returning to your respective task of arranging the vials on the upper shelf. You hadn't planned on telling anyone about your secret crush on Oliver Wood, but here you were, letting these words slip aimlessly out of your mouth.

Fred took your silence as an answer, curiosity lingering in the air.

"Ah, so there is someone on your mind." He pressed, "And who’s the unfortunate sod you fancy?"

You paused, feeling the heat of his gaze from below, "Oliver Wood..." You mumbled all too softly; even the house elves, with their sharp hearing abilities, wouldn't be able to decipher what you said.

Exhaling, you got down from the stool, standing in front of Fred and avoiding eye contact at all costs. He took slow tentative steps toward you, bending down to your level so he could hear, "Come again?" You could feel his breath on your skin.

Your eyes found his, not registering how close he was, "Oliver Wood." Your face tainted a light shade of red.

Fred choked on air, a loud chortle escaped him, "Wood? The Gryffindor Captain, Mr. ‘Quidditch is My One True Love’?"

"Shut up," you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks. You placed a hand on his chest and shoved him away playfully, "Don't tell anyone! I'll vanish off the face of this earth if you do."

Fred laughed, shaking his head. “Blimey, you’ve got high standards.”

“I barely know him, but he’s just—” You sighed wistfully. “He’s so kind and driven and—”

“Obsessed with Quidditch?” Fred interjected.

“Yes, but in a dedicated way,” you said dreamily.

Fred snorted. "Merlin, alright, fine. I’ll help you. But just know that if I have to listen to you swoon over Wood for the next month, you owe me more than just detention duty."

You beamed. “Deal.”

“Good. Because I might need your help, too.”

You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “With what?”

Fred leaned forward conspiratorially. “Gabriella Moon.”

"Gabriella? As in, my Gabriella?"

"I didn’t realise you had ownership over her," Fred mused. "But yes, your Hufflepuff friend."

You nodded, grinning. "Oh for sure, I can definitely help with that. Piece of cake."

Gabriella was in your house, a sweet and kind Hufflepuff, and you got along with her well. Setting her up with Fred should be a simple, easy, task.

"Alright, Weasley. You’ve got yourself a deal."

Fred held out his hand, and you shook it—sealing a pact neither of you realised would completely change everything.

"Our deal." He affirmed.

____ The deal meant spending more time together. At first, it was simple things—giving each other tips, practicing flirting, and being seen together enough to spark curiosity.

One evening in the Great Hall, Fred joined you at the Hufflepuff table. Your friends sat with you, but you were so engrossed with Fred, that everyone seemed to disappear into the background, feeling as though it was only the two of you in the hall.

Fred leaned in with a smirk after placing a dinner roll on your plate, which he knew you enjoyed pairing with butter. "Alright, say I’m Oliver—how would you charm me?"

You exhaled dramatically. "Fine." You turned to him, putting on your best smile. "Hey, Oliver, fancy seeing you here. Do you always look this good after practice?"

Fred chortled, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. "Merlin’s beard, that was atrocious."

You gasped, smacking his arm. "It was not!"

"It was!" Fred wheezed, clutching his chest. "Try again, but maybe without sounding like a lovesick poet."

You scowled but tried again. "Alright, then. How about this—‘I hear you’re the best Keeper Hogwarts has ever had. Think you could keep me?’"

Fred blinked, then groaned throwing his head back. "Oh, that was painful."

You shoved his shoulder, laughing. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," he teased, winking. "Now, do I get a turn?"

"Go on, then," you challenged, crossing your arms.

Fred turned, propped his elbow on the table, and smirked. "Hey, Gabriella," he began, "are you a Snitch? Because you’ve got me chasing after you."

You stared at him, face scrunching up in disgust. It was as though you had just witnessed a crime.

He wiggled his eyebrows before taking a mouthful of peas, chewing as he awaited your response.

You burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s horrible. No wonder you need my help."

Fred's mouth dropped, "Excuse you, that was a good chat up. Thank you very much."

You both laughed, completely unaware of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watching the way you two bantered—how Fred’s eyes softened when you laughed, how you bit your lip when he grinned. You weren't super close to Fred, just casual friends, but you had to admit, these few recent days had you seeing him in a different light, he was more carefree around you, cheery, and you felt yourself coming out of your shell, all thanks to him.

You were confident in approaching Oliver now, and all the more excited for it.

____

"No, no! Merlin, Fred, you're going to scare the girl away if you look at her like that." The next few days were all about perfecting your tactics, anything to impress your targets, of course.

"Like what?" He sat beside you on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. It was a Saturday, and naturally, most students were either at Hogsmeade, outside, or sleeping in, leaving most of the space to the two of you.

"Again! Again..." You waved your hands, ushering him off the couch. "Pretend I'm Gabriella, and I'm sitting on a bench somewhere nice. You've just walked into the place, and you see her."

Fred straightened his shirt, retreating from the couch, before strolling over to you again, a devious smirk painted on his face, his hair slightly tousled and messy. He held his chin up high, and his arms swayed beside his lanky figure as he approached you.

"Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!" He beamed, pretending to act out the scenario.

"Wrong." You corrected, "Not Y/N, Gabriella." You flashed your brows, and he exhaled, walking away to take his place once again.

He strolled to you, once more, "Gabriella! Haven't seen you in a bit! What brings you here?"

You nodded, indicating he was doing a decent job so far, encouraging him to continue.

Fred plopped himself beside you, your knees were touching and he extended an arm around you.

"I"m good! This is my favourite place to unwind actually." You fake-mocked Gabriella, pretending to be her in this situation.

"Well, then I guess you'll be seeing me here more often, darling." Fred leaned in, you could feel his body heat against you, and you blinked before shaking your head.

"Darling? You barely know the girl!" You chuckled, and Fred's eyes glinted with awe as you threw your head back, he had not realised it, but your laughter ignited a warm honey like feeling in his chest.

"Fine, what about love? Baby? Babe?"

"No no, save those for when you're actually with her, but I suppose 'love' is a good place to start."

"Alright, love." He teased, and you playfully smacked him but an idea popped into your head, and immediately, you got into character.

"If you say so, Oliver." You pretended to act as if you would in this scenario with Wood.

Fred, still seated next to you, glanced down from your eyes to your lips.

You leaned in, tilting your head and gazing from his left eye, to his lips, then to his right eye. You smiled sweetly, blinking slowly as you gave Fred your full attention, staring at him with doe-like eyes, "So, Oliver, how was quidditch practice today?"

Fred gulped, eyes blinking rapidly as he coughed, "G-Good."

You smirked, lowering your voice, "I'm sure it would've been better if I was there with you." You bit your lip as you glanced at his lips.

"You should come to the next one." Fred responded softly, smiling as he leaned in, ever so slightly, one arm still wrapped around you, and you were fully within his proximity.

You could feel your breaths against each other; his scent crept its way to your nose, and you scrunched it. He smelt like fresh grass on a hot summer's day and clean laundry in the fresh breeze, something you'd never noticed before.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, but the portrait door clicked open, and some students returned from their trip to Hogsmeade.

"That was, uh, something I'd say if I was with Oliver." You quickly dismissed this, leaning back to a comfortable distance. Fred cleared his throat, and removed his arm, "Yeah, that was good. See, told you I was a good teacher."

You scoffed, "You? Please that one was all me."

"S'pose you are getting pretty good at this, annoyingly so, in fact." He hummed and you mouth dropped slightly,

"Is that a compliment?" You beamed, wiggling a happy dance in your seat.

"Don't get too cocky Y/L/N, I have yet to see you interact with him." Fred laughed, attempting to hide his awe for your little dance.

____

Days passed, and you found yourself spending an increasing amount of time at the Gryffindor table, supposedly to get closer to Oliver. But somehow, you always ended up next to Fred, bickering, laughing, sharing food.

People noticed—Hermione tried, and failed miserably to hide her excitement for you two, George outright smirked, Ginny started whispering to Harry, smiling at the thought of the two of you, Ron was amused at how Fred could pull someone as gorgeous as you.

Only you and Fred knew about your deal, to them, they saw this as a newfound friendship, alliance, even...romance? Hermione seems to think the latter describes your relationship perfectly.

You brushed it off, for you knew that you were only helping each other, and once the deal was over, you would go back to normal.

The topic of quidditch was no foreign topic at this table, Harry making remarks about how he'll confront Malfoy, Angelina and George talking about the Nimbus 2000, Oliver and Fred discussing a new game plan.

"Hey Y/N, why don't you come watch us at practice today after lunch, it'll be fun." Oliver invited you, and you blinked in surprise.

"I'd love to!" You chimed, "How could I pass on a chance to support the best quidditch team at Hogwarts?"

Oliver beamed, laughing softly at your enthusiasm, "Ooh careful now, don't want Hufflepuff's quidditch team to hear that now do ya?"

"Consider me an ally of both teams." You chuckled, and he grinned, smiling warmly at you.

"Surely you become an honourary Gryffindor for the day?" Oliver raised his brow, before taking a bite of his toast.

"Won't miss me too much when I switch back to Hufflepuff would you?" You teased.

"Then I'll just ask you to join Gryffindor again."

You were about to pour yourself some orange juice, but Oliver moved at the speed of light, "Here, let me." He poured a glass for you, then one for himself. "Fred? Some for you too?"

"Nah mate, I'm pretty full."

Fred silently watched the two of you interact; a part of him was happy and proud, seeing the way you effortlessly interacted with Oliver, but there was this foreign feeling inside him. Like a splinter poking him from the inside, if that were even possible.

His eyes darted from you, to Oliver, then back to you.

Each time you paid attention to Oliver, laughed at his quips, his charm, a small part of Fred wanted that attention from you, again.

He wanted you for himself.

Fred shook his head, dismissing all these thoughts, where were they even coming from? He knew one thing thought, he was being silly thinking about you like this.

However, Gabriella was starting to become a long-forgotten thought.

The only person consuming his mind lately, seemed to be…you.

Fred exhaled, taking a sip of his water, hoping to refresh his mind from whatever nonsense he thought about.

It didn’t matter anyway because after this deal was done, and you were happy with Oliver, that was it. You’d go your separate ways, well, mostly. That was, after all, the whole point of you becoming close with Fred.

"By the way, is it alright if I bring a friend?" You asked Oliver.

"The more the merrier!"

"I'll bring Gabriella." You whispered trying to contain your excitement, nudging Fred who was seated beside you.

He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts, "Oh, yeah, that'll be great."

____

Later that afternoon, you sat in the stands with Hermione, Gabriella, and Ginny, watching Gryffindor’s practice. Oliver was in his element—focused, determined, calling out plays.

Your eyes were glued to him, who looked impossibly handsome as he soared through the air, his hair ruffled by the wind. He turned, caught your gaze, and waved with that signature kind smile of his.

Your heart stuttered and a faint blush crept on your cheeks, moments like this only pulled you in deeper. Part of the reason you fell for him, was that one day you were lost and he helped you find your way to class. Being younger than him, he felt the duty to lookout for his juniors, he was patient, kind and made you feel right at home when you felt lost. His kindness was just so endearing.

"Go Oli!!" You cheered, and Oliver waved at you again.

"Nicknames already?" Hermione, seated next to you, smiled knowingly and you chuckled as a response.

"Fred looks really determined today, isn't that a good look on him?" You nudged Gabriella, hoping to steer her focus onto Fred.

"Yeah, he does look kinda cute." She agreed, grinning up at him. "Also, thanks for inviting me Y/N, this is really nice." Gabriella turned to you, smiling sweetly. She was a kind soul, much like you, always helping others and making sure everyone felt comfortable. Of course guys would fancy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Fred. His red hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem almost golden, his strong frame relaxed but still commanding attention as he sat on his broomstick, laughing with George.

There was something about him today—maybe the way his sleeves were rolled up, or the effortless confidence he carried. And for some reason, your found your heartpace steadily increasing as you continued observing him.

No. No, this was about Oliver. You shook the thought away and focused on the Gryffindor Captain instead.

Moments later, Angelina, Oliver, and Katie flew over, beaming. “Oi, you lot! Come play a friendly match with us!” Angelina called, gesturing eagerly.

You hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know... I’m not really—”

“Come on, it’s just for fun,” Oliver encouraged, flying closer. His eyes met yours, playful and inviting. You wanted to impress him. So, against better judgment, you stood and dusted off your robes. The four of you made your way down to the grassy field, and used some spare brooms.

Ginny, Hermione, and Gabriella exchanged amused glances but joined in as well.

You borrowed a broomstick—the nearest one, which happened to be Fred’s. "Can I?" You smirked, turning to Fred who took a quick break, reaching into his bag for his bottle.

"Yeah yeah, if you break it I'll crack your head." Fred teased, before chugging his water. With that, you kicked off the ground, feeling the rush of wind as you soared into the air.

The game was lighthearted, filled with teasing and playful competition. You and Oliver found yourselves in the same airspace often, exchanging witty remarks and laughter.

It felt effortless, easy. Below, Fred stood watching, arms crossed, watching in amusement as you 'bonded' with Oliver. Though you weren't sure if amusement, was the right word to use here, seeing how he kept tapping his foot.

“You’re getting the hang of this!” Oliver grinned, flying beside you.

“I’m just trying to keep up,” you joked, glancing at him.

So caught up in the moment, you didn’t notice the Bludger hurtling toward you until it slammed into your shoulder with brutal force.

Pain exploded through your arm, and your broom wobbled violently beneath you. You gasped as your grip faltered, and before you knew it, you were falling.

The ground rushed toward you, and you thudded harshly on the grassy patch. Ouch.

Oliver flew down hastily, but before he could reach you, Fred was already there, kneeling beside you, face pale.

“Are you daft?” he scolded, voice tight. “Didn’t you see that Bludger?”

You winced, trying to sit up. “It wasn’t that bad—”

“Not that bad? You fell from twenty feet up,” he snapped, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch in case he hurt you further. “You’re going to the hospital wing.”

Oliver finally reached you, eyes filled with concern. “You alright?” He looked from you to Fred, who was still kneeling beside you, jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but Fred wasn’t having it. Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, ignoring your weak protests.

“You’re being overdramatic,” you huffed, but your heart betrayed you, beating erratically against your ribs as Fred carried you toward the castle.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back, striding forward without a second glance at Oliver, who remained standing on the pitch, watching with an expression that hinted he had figured something out.

He observed as Fred held you close, furrowing his eyebrows slightly, "Hm." He was so sure that you and Fred were just friends, but the way Fred acted today made Oliver doubtful.

The others stayed back to practice, you assured them that you were fine, and that there was no need to come. ___

Madam Pomfrey fussed over you, muttering about reckless students and dangerous sports as she poured a bitter healing potion down your throat. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a full-speed hit,” she chided, waving her wand to mend the bruising on your shoulder.

Fred stayed beside you the whole time, leaning against the infirmary bed with that signature mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “So, you were trying to impress Wood, huh?” he mused, arching a brow.

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks warming.

“Not my fault you nearly died doing it,” he teased, nudging you playfully. “Maybe I should give you some lessons on how to survive Quidditch.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I should give you lessons on how to stop being so intolerable.”

Fred smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You laughed, the earlier pain fading into the background as the two of you fell into easy conversation.

He stayed with you the rest of the day until you felt better enough to head back to your dorm.

____

The next day, the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match had the entire school buzzing with chatter. The game was brutal, with Slytherin coming in close, though Gryffindor still came out victorious.

The moment the Snitch was caught, the stands erupted into cheers, the players celebrating mid-air before descending to the field. You watched Fred among them, his face lit up with triumph. When his eyes met yours, something unspoken passed between you.

And you weren’t so sure anymore if Oliver Wood was the one making your heart race.

You, Hermione and Gabriella made your way down to the team, "You guys smashed it out there." You chimed, clapping for the them.

"Couldn't have done it without your support." Oliver walked over to you, hi-fiving your hand which you extended for him.

"You played amazingly, especially in the second half! Fred—the way you hit the bludger right before it touched the ground, just, wow!" Gabriella beamed, waving her hands around expressively.

"Hey, all in a day's work." Fred expressed, cockily brushing his hands together which earned a giggle from Gabriella.

"You know, you should come to the party tonight, hosted by yours truly." Fred shuffled closer to Gabriella, extended his arms as he gave himself credit for hosting the party.

"More of a team effort actually, he just talks too much." Lee quipped, "But yeah, you guys should come. Gryffindor common room, at 7."

"We'll be there." Gabriella replied for the two of you, twirling her hair as she smiled sweetly at Fred.

You were happy for her truly, especially Fred, who was grinning back at her, engaging in a new conversation about what'll transpire at the party tonight.

You were happy. Yes, you were.

But, does someone who is supposedly happy for their friend, feel a pit in their stomach every time they watch them with their respective crush?

____

"How do I look?" Gabriella asked, gesturing to her outfit, fitted flared blue jeans and a yellow peplum top, with a yellow bow to accessorise.

"You look stunning, Fred's going to love it!" You chimed, "Oh wait, here-" You helped straightened her bow from the behind, "Perfect."

"Look who's talking, Oliver's going to swoon over you when he sees you in that black dress!" Gabriella stood beside you, looking in the full body mirror, shaking with excitement for the party.

The two of you made your way over to the Gryffindor common room, met with a few ravenclaws and fellow hufflepuffs by the portrait entrance.

It was no surprise that the common room was alive with celebration and merriment. You and Gabriella stepped inside, immediately greeted by George and Lee, who enthusiastically showed you around.

"Welcome welcome! You guys look great!" Lee hyped you two up, always the enhusiast.

Laughter, chatter, and the warmth of victory filled the space. As your eyes scanned the room, they landed on Fred and Oliver by the fireplace, who spotted you and beckoned you both over with bright grins.

After a while of lively conversation in the group, you and Gabriella naturally parted ways—her heading away to the couch with Fred while Oliver guided you to where his friends stood.

You chatted and laughed, but something felt off. Your attention was divided, and no matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver and his friends, your eyes kept finding Fred’s.

Across the room, you noticed his eyes constantly meeting yours, just as much as yours longed to find his.

You were snapped out of your gaze when one of Oliver’s friends playfully nudged you, shoving a drink into your hands. “Come on, have some firewhiskey on me! You’ve got to celebrate properly!”

"Oh wow, where'd you manage to get that?" You asked, curious as to how he managed to sneak in alcohol. Granted, he was older than you so it was fair to assume he was more daring when it came to liquor.

"I have my sources." The guy wiggled his brows, "Come on, drink up Y/N, join us!"

You hesitated. “I’m good, really.”

“Oh, don’t be a buzzkill. Just one!” He pushed again, grinning as if it were a challenge.

“I said I don’t want to.” Your voice was firmer now, but he rolled his eyes.

Oliver sensed your discomfort and interjected swiftly, “Knock it off Felix. She doesn’t have to drink if she doesn’t want to.”

"Alright alright, you're just a wee girl after all innit." Felix chuckled, "More for me then."

Wee girl? Merlin, who does he think he is? You scoffed to yourself, shifting closer to Oliver.

Still, the group laughed it off, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but here. You excused yourself quickly, heading upstairs to a quieter gryffindor study room.

The party noise faded, and you sank into one of the couches, taking a deep breath.

A knock came at the door, before it slowly opened.

Truthfully, a wave of relief washed over you when you saw Fred entering, his usual smugness replaced with something softer. “Saw Felix being a git, it's safe to say he won't ever bother you again.”

Fred's implication that he had a word with Felix made you all the more relieved, you exhaled softly, nodding.

You smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

He stood at the doorframe for a second, inspecting your state before slowly walking over. The couch dipped upon the weight of him as he sat beside you.

“You okay?” He nudged you with his body gently.

You nodded, looking forward though you felt his gaze on you. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

He listened intently, offering you the silence you much needed after the earlier commotion.

There was a pause before you turned to face him, “How’s it going with Gabriella?”

Fred shrugged. “Good,” he lied, then exhaled. “Alright, fine. She’s nice, but I think I bored her to death. She’s talking to Neville about some plants now.”

You chuckled. “Plants are fascinating.”

“To you, maybe. Not exactly my best topic,” Fred admitted. "Might buy a bouquet or two, but other than that I'm clueless."

"If you do, red roses are the way to go. She loves them, practically every girl does."

"Including you?"

"I adore them. Sounds a bit basic but they're a classic for a reason, they're just so...romantic." Your eyes glistened as you spoke about roses, dreaming of the day someone would buy you flowers.

"Noted, I'll pass a good word to Oliver." Fred chuckled, smiling at the way your eyes lit up, but his smiled disappeared when you frowned, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I think I’m losing it with Oliver. I feel like a total idiot for not drinking in front of him and his friends."

Fred shook his head. “Nah, you’re not an idiot....maybe a little, but not a full blown one." You slapped his arm playfully, but he continued, raising his hands in defence, "If anything, that makes you better than them. You don’t need to do anything to impress him, so what if you don't feel like drinking?”

"I don't think I'll face him again, if his friends hate me, he'll probably grow to dislike me." You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

"Nothing a little flirting can't solve," Fred was optimistic, attempting to cheer you up in this moment of despair, "Next time you see him, get more touchy. When you laugh, place a hand on his arm, lean on him, lean in to him...y'know, the usual."

"Ugh, in front of his friends?" You grumbled.

"All the better, shows you've got game." He continued to give you tips on how to approach Oliver again later, helping you plan your next move.

It was only fair of you to return the favour, leaning in slightly. “Right, so, lean in when you talk to her, like this,” you said, demonstrating the closeness.

Fred swallowed, blinking at you. “Like this?” He mimicked you, your shoulders were touching all the more, your face near his neck, his mouth a few inches away from your forehead.

You nodded, voice softer now. “And maybe say something like… ‘Your eyes are a remarkable shade of hazel, I never noticed how stunning they were until up close now. They sparkle beautifully in the moonlight, yet they manage to shine even brighter when you're caring.’”

It was meant for Gabriella. But as you spoke, something in your chest tightened. You were speaking to Fred. Really speaking to him. His hazel eyes met yours, and he leaned in once more.

His mouth parted slightly, as his eyes darted to your lips then back to your eyes. You found yourself leaning in too, your breathing became heavy.

Your heart felt like it was going to pounce out of your chest with the rate it was beating.

The air between you stilled as you both realised the weight of your words.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open. You and Fred jumped apart just as Oliver and Gabriella entered, looking at you both in confusion.

“There you are, we were wondering where you two had vanished off too.” Gabriella remarked, her eyes darting from Fred to you.

Your heart raced and Fred's face flushed a shade of red. Though completely innocent, if felt as though you were caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing.

Flustered, you quickly went to Oliver, while Gabriella made her way to Fred.

The rest of the party carried on, fun and lively, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that lingered. No matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver, your gaze kept drifting back to Fred.

____

The anticipation leading up to the Yule Ball had everyone on edge. With the Yule Ball near approaching, the talk of the castle revolved around the ball; students asking each other to the dance, flowers being exchanged, and whispers filling the corridors.

You woke up that morning with only one name in your mind—Fred Weasley. It was irritating, really. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. You liked Oliver. You were going with Oliver. And yet, Fred’s stupid, mischievous grin had invaded your thoughts like an unrelenting charm.

At breakfast, you sat with Gabriella at your usual hufflepuff table, chatting about the Yule Ball. She was gushing about how beautiful everything was going to look, the magical snowflakes, the ice sculptures, the romantic lighting. You smiled along, but your mind was elsewhere. Across the hall, Fred was laughing with George, but every so often, you swore you caught him glancing at you.

After your 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' class, you walked out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when Oliver approached. He was holding a bouquet of red roses, his confident smile making you a blushing mess.

"Y/N," he said warmly, holding out the flowers. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"

You paused, then beamed. "Of course, Oliver. I'd love to!" He pulled you in for a warm hug while students around you cheered, and whistled loudly.

You were happy—you really were. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? But as you took the roses, a strange heaviness settled in your chest.

Later that day, you found yourself with Fred, helping him prepare to ask Gabriella. You were ranting about Oliver, swooning over how charming he was. Fred, though smiling, was already fuming inside. He wanted to be happy for you. He wanted to believe this was all fine. But every word you spoke about Oliver grated on his nerves.

"Do you think Gabriella will like this?" Fred asked, holding up a box of assorted chocolates, changing the topic quickly after countless nods and 'that's great' as a response to you gushing over Oliver.

You turned to him, considering. "Yeah, she will, can't go wrong with chocolate. You got this, Freddie!"

"Right," he said, running a hand through his hair, looking more uncertain than usual. He was prolonging it, he knew it. He didn't want to ask her. He had someone else on his mind now. But what choice did he have? You were already going with Oliver.

When he finally did ask Gabriella in the courtyard, you cheered for him, clapping as she said yes. It was the right outcome—technically, you both won. And yet, watching Fred grin as he hugged Gabriella filled you with an unexpected wave of envy.

_____

The Yule Ball arrived in a flurry of excitement. You walked down the stairs with Oliver, arm in arm, dressed in your most elegant red gown. Across the entrance, you saw Fred with Gabriella. You both gave each other thumbs-up and smiled, though your smile never quite reached your eyes, nor did Fred's.

As you approached the entrance, Oliver and Gabriella walked in first, conversing with each other, leaving you and Fred standing alone for a moment.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets before breaking the silence, "So…we both got what we wanted."

You exhaled, forcing a smile. "Yeah…we both got with our dates. All too smoothly, I might add."

You both chuckled, but there was an undeniable weight in the air.

"You look nice, cleaned up well for Oliver eh? Lucky bloke." Fred joked, though his voice was laced with subtle serious undertone.

"Hm, you don't look like a grindylow for once, I see you clean up pretty nicely too."

He chuckled softly, removing his hands from his pockets. Neither of you moved, it was as though a silent message of 'please stay here with me' was shared.

You hesitated before extending your hand. "Thank you, Fred. For everything."

He took your hand, shaking it lightly, but neither of you let go. There was a static, a spark, if you would, something both of you didn’t want to ignore. You both looked down at your touching hands, then back to each other.

Oblivious as to what the other party was thinking, the two of you decided to ignore it, let go, and move on, for the better, right?

"So, that's our deal done then?" you said slowly, though regretting it.

Fred swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. I'll, uh…see you around school then."

Your heart clenched, but for the sake of the ball, you put on your best grin. "I'll see you around, Fred."

You then turned to Oliver who was a few steps ahead, extending his arm to you. As you walked with him into the ballroom, you turned back one last time.

Fred was still standing there. You waved. He waved back, smiling—but his eyes told you that there was something masked beneath that smile. Gabriella came up to him, and they walked inside together, you turned forward to let them have their moment.

The ball was everything you imagined—beautiful, magical, enchanting. Oliver was the perfect gentleman, twirling you around the dance floor, kissing your hand, your cheek, your forehead, even. He got you punch, held the door open, pulled out your chair, he was the ideal guy, truly ticking off all your boxes.

You smiled at him, but your heart was never quite satisfied, there was a space yet to be filled.

And you hated that you knew why.

Your eyes kept drifting to him. He was dancing with Gabriella, but his mind was far away. Uncomfortable. Lost.

You chuckled to yourself, shaking off this silly feeling, turning your attention back to Oliver, who was explaining about his latest tactics for the upcoming Quidditch match with ravenclaw.

____

Later that night, Oliver walked you back to your common room. He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of your hand. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You lips curled up into a grateful smile, thanking him for the wonderful evening, but as he turned to leave, something inside you snapped.

If something was wrong, you needed to fix it. Merlin, what's the point in waiting? If something didn't feel right, your gut knew that you had to fix it right away. And this, was one of those moments.

You turned on your heel and ran in your red gown. Through the castle, past students, up and down staircases—you had no plan, no direction, just a need to find him.

Until you did.

At the main staircase, you froze. Fred was at the bottom, looking up at you. He was holding a bouquet of red roses.

Your throat tightened, immediately regretting your decision. "For Gabriella?"

Fred shook his head. "No." He stepped forward, "They're for you."

Your paused, holding your breath as he started walking up the stairs, to you.

"Y/N, I—" Fred hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I don’t want Gabriella. I don't think I ever did, truthfully. I just…I wanted to be with you. And I was too much of a git to see it until it was too late."

Tears burned at your eyes. "Fred—"

"I don't care about the deal. I don't care about anything except you. I don't want to ever lose you Y/N. And if I have to watch you with Oliver one more time, I think I might actually go mental."

He was close now, the roses in one hand, the other reaching for you.

You let out a shaky laugh. "You're such a git, you know that?"

Fred grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek and tucking it behind your ear. "Yeah. But I’m your silly git, if you'll have me."

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. You surged forward, crashing your lips to his, your hands gripping his suit. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

It was passionate, desperate, hungry, everything you had ever wanted but had been too blind to admit. The kiss of two people who were starving and desperately in need of each other. Fred savoured every bit of your mouth, as though tomorrow would never come, ending with a sweet peck.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, a grin sprawled across that deviously handsome face of his, his hair messy but Merlin, it was such a look on him. "So, I take it that’s a yes, love?"

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his. "Yes, you fool."

Fred cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek once again. "Best deal I’ve ever made."

[mssorceressupreme]

Truth or Dare | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Fred realises his true feelings for you once you are dared to french kiss George during a round of truth or dare. Draco then forces you to kiss him instead, which only results in a brawl. You then take Fred back to the common room and help clean his wounds.

Warnings/tags: violence/fighting, jealous!fred, kissing, non-con touch, Draco being a git (sorry malfoy lovers 😭), cleaning wounds after a fight trope, reader isn't in a specified house here, spicy ending (if u squint)

———

Ravenclaw’s common room had never seen a gathering quite like this. The enchanted blue flames flickered in the fireplace, casting a radiant glow over the room, which today, was packed with students from all four houses.

Luna had invited everyone over, claiming that a “spontaneous social gathering” would be a great way to pass the time and forget about your studies for a while.

The usual gryffindor group, Cedric and some hufflepuffs, the slytherin trio and Cho, all decided to partake in this gathering.

And so, there you all were, sitting in a large, chaotic circle on the floor, playing a game of truth or dare that had long spiralled out of control.

The rules were simple: if you refused a dare or a truth, you had to take Veritaserum and spill your deepest, darkest secret in front of everyone. No one wanted to risk that.

So far, Harry had been dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the room, which led to him—rather sheepishly—kissing Ginny, earning a gag from Ron. But moments later, Ron found himself a stuttering mess when Hermione had been dared to sit on his lap for two rounds, her face burning red while he struggled to keep his cool.

Neville, poor thing, had been forced to recount an embarrassing moment where he tripped down an entire staircase in front of his crush, which turned out alright anyway because they went to Madam Pomfrey together and spent the whole day chatting.

And now, it was your turn.

Draco, who sat beside you, leaned in with a smug grin. “Alright Y/N, let’s make this interesting,” he drawled. “I dare you to French kiss the person sitting across from you.”

You turned your head, your stomach flipping.

And there sat George Weasley, grinning at you like he had already won.

The room erupted into cheers, and George wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Well, Y/N, I won’t say no,” he teased, leaning back on his hands.

Your heart sank a little—not because George was a bad choice, but because you wished it was his twin instead.

Still, rules were rules.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and took slow tentative steps across the large circle, kneeling in front of George. “Alright Georgie, just get it over with,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

George chuckled. “Hey! At least pretend to be excited.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling lightly, before leaning in, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back easily, bringing a hand to your neck, letting it linger a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, flustered.

George gave you a grin then winked, and you smiled back. He was one of your closest friends, after all; teasing you came naturally to him.

"Okay that's done!" Flustered, you rose up and hurried back to your spot next to Draco.

"You guys are adorable." Cho, who was sitting on the other side of you, nudged you gently, and you laughed nervously.

Sure, George was handsome, humorous, and kind, but he wasn't Fred. To most people, they were pretty much the same person, two halves of a whole, but to you, it was different. There was something about Fred that you saw differently.

Speaking of Fred, you shot a quick glance in his direction, curious as to his whole reaction regarding the scene that just unfolded.

Fred hadn’t said a word.

He sat stiffly, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at his twin. Something in his chest twisted when he saw George’s smug grin.

But it wasn't entirely George's fault. You see, no one knew of Fred's secret crush on you. Would you call it a crush? Man, feelings were a complicated mystery to Fred, he never bothered going down that lane, it was foreign to him. Best avoid all that sappy stuff, y'know.

Draco, however, was unimpressed. “That was pathetic,” he scoffed, leaning closer to you. “You call that a French kiss? It had to be longer.”

You folded your arms, tilting your head to the side. “You didn’t even say how long.”

Draco smirked. “Fine, then, two minutes. You can do it on me instead. Save you the hassle of walking over there again."

The room let out a collective “ooooh,” and your stomach churned.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Crabbe, Goyle and Dean chanted.

"Wha—I already did the dare!" You countered, raising your hands in defence.

"Hmm now that Draco mentioned it, it was a bit of a short kiss, barely a French kiss, more like a Portuguese kiss." Lee agreed, resting his hand on his chin.

"Portuguese kiss? That's not even a thing you git." Angelina chortled, throwing her head back.

Before you could react, Draco leaned in slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers barely grazed your cheek, but it was enough to make you shift uncomfortably. He patted your head, smiling like he was doing you some kind of favour.

You didn’t like it.

But Draco was your friend, and this was supposed to be fun, so you ignored it. You didn't want to ruin the mood for everyone so you forced yourself to tolerate it.

Fred, however, wasn’t ignoring it.

His hand was clenched into a tight fist in his lap, and his usually mischievous eyes were laced with something entirely different.

Draco leaned in again, wrapping one arm around you. “Come on, then,” he murmured, his smirk widening. “Or do you want the Veritaserum?”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You didn’t want to kiss him. But you definitely didn’t want to take the serum, either.

Draco took your hesitation as an invitation. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

The crowd cheered again, urging you on.

Draco removed his arm then ruffled your hair slightly, "Don't be a wuss, I'll make it enjoyable for ya."

"Don't be scared Y/N, it's only a kiss!" Seamus encouraged, hoping to make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse.

Only a kiss? You wanted to save french kissing for someone special, not some ridiculous dare.

Draco leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hand brushed against your arm, he was so close that you could now smell his fresh scent. You leaned back instinctively, smiling awkwardly while brushing your arm.

Everyone was so caught up encouraging the two of you to kiss that no one paid attention to the speed at which Fred stood up from the floor and bolted to Draco, tackling him harshly.

A collective gasp echoed through the room as the two of them crashed onto the floor. Draco barely had time to react before Fred punched him, his face twisted in pure rage. The two of them were now in a brawl, wrestling each other on the ground. It was clear that no one was going easy on each other.

“Keep your hands off her,” Fred snapped, his voice low and furious.

Draco, stunned for only a second, sneered up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Fred! Oi! Stop, it's just a game!" Lee's attempt at stopping Fred with his words was useless.

Fred wasn’t listening. His fists clenched, his breathing heavy as he pinned Draco down, gripping his shirt harshly.

Draco’s smirk returned. “Merlin, are you jealous Weasley?”

Fred loosened his grip, blinking slowly, "I..."

"Called it. Bet you wished it was you getting to french kiss Y/N then. Why don't you let me finish my dare with her so I can show you how it's done eh?" Draco remarked, all too obnoxiously for Fred's liking.

Fred's eyes grew darker, laced with furiousness.

He lunged again, and in a matter of seconds, they were full-on fighting.

Gasps and shouts filled the room as they tumbled, fists flying, knocking over a pile of books and scattering cards from an abandoned wizarding chess game. The flood thudded heavily, as they continued their wrestling.

“Fred! Draco! Stop!” Voices pleaded, but they were drowned out as Fred was blinded by rage. How dare Draco force himself onto you like that?!

No one listened.

You watched them in pure horror as they fought; you joined the others in yelling at them to stop, but none of them listened.

Hermione immediately went to comfort you, placing a comforting hand on your arm and sending you an apologetic look. Was this all because of you? You felt like shit for causing this, bloody hell, you should've just french kissed Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, stop!” George tried pulling his twin back, but Fred shook him off, shoving him away.

Cedric attempted to pull Draco off Fred, but Draco pushed him aside, scoffing, "Not now Diggory!"

Draco, despite being an arrogant prat, was also a decent fighter, and he managed to shove Fred back, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

“What the hell?!” you finally yelled, eyes darting from Fred to Draco.

Fred froze.

His furious gaze met yours, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he wiped some blood off his lips.

He swallowed hard. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out of the common room.

You hesitated only a second before running after him.

—

You found him on the astronomy tower balcony, leaning against the railing, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

The night air was cold, but Fred’s skin was burning.

You took a deep breath. “Fred—”

“Why don’t you go check on Draco?” he cut in sharply. “Or George. Your boyfriends.”

Your brows furrowed. “They’re not my boyfriends. You're being ridiculous now.”

Fred let out a short, humourless laugh. “Really? You were getting pretty cozy with George back there.”

You sighed. “It was a dare, Fred.”

“Oh, and Draco just happened to be all over you?” He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw it—his bruised lip, the cut on his cheekbone, the faint traces of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, I know we're friends but I can handle myself." You assumed he was being protective as a friend, so you attempted comforting him, but failed miserably at doing so.

"Yeah, friends." He pressed his lips together.

You took a step closer wanting to reach up, but Fred’s eyes flickered elsewhere. “Don’t.”

You froze.

“I don’t need you feeling bad for me,” he muttered, turning back to the railing. His grip tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Fred,” you said softly.

Silence stretched between you. The wind howled through the tower, whipping his hair slightly, but Fred didn’t move.

Your gaze drifted to his hands. His knuckles were raw, bruised from the fight.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently prying one of his fists open. He held his breath, glancing down at you.

Your fingers traced the swelling on his knuckles, your touch featherlight. “We need to clean this up.”

Fred didn’t protest. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, watching you. He released his breath, silently agreeing.

Wordlessly, you pulled his hand in yours, leading him down the spiral staircase, away from the cold, away from the fight, away from everyone else.

—

The fire crackled softly in the Gryffindor common room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The common room was empty—everyone was either asleep or still in the Ravenclaw tower, talking about what had happened.

Fred sat on the couch, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly downward. He hadn’t said much since you dragged him back.

You returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth and knelt in front of him.

“Hold still,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the dried blood on his lip.

Fred flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. He just watched you, his hazel eyes unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something, awe, perhaps. His eyes studied yours, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you focused on cleaning his wounds. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, you were the epitome of beauty in his eyes, a darling angel.

You focused on cleaning him up, biting your lip. The silence between you was begging to be broken, heavy with something left unsaid. But you chose to ignore it, shifting your focus to getting Fred cleaned up. You see, it was the way you were always so caring towards everyone, so kind, always selflessly giving your time away to help those who needed it. That was part of the reason Fred had fallen for you in the first place, your kindness.

Fred exhaled sharply as you pressed on his wound.

"Sorry..." you mutter, but he gently removed your arm, and rested it on his knee.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” he said suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him. “Stop what?”

He let out a cheerless laugh. “This. You. Making me feel like a complete idiot.”

Your heart pace increased. “I—”

“Do you know what it’s like?” His voice was raw, unfiltered, a slight rasp as he spoke softly. “Watching you? Seeing every guy in that room touch you? Kiss you?” He shook his head. “I nearly lost my mind.”

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Never thought I'd admit it, but I’ve wanted you,” his voice low, almost trembling. “For so long, and I—” He broke off, exhaling harshly. “And then tonight, I had to sit there and watch it. Merlin, it drove me so bloody mad.”

Your hands were shaking. Was this it? The Fred you never thought would ever return your feelings, about to spew the words right out?

Fred’s eyes locked onto yours, something desperate behind this gaze.

“I hate that you don’t see it,” he muttered.

“See what?” you breathed.

His lips parted, and for a second, he hesitated.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught, inhaling as you paused.

Fred let out a rough laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Godric, I love you. I don’t just like you, I love you. And it kills me because I know you don’t feel the same way so I just thought I'd keep it to myself but here we are."

Your heartbeat felt as though it was pounding loud enough to wake up the whole dorm.

“You idiot,” you whispered.

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You idiot,” you repeated, your voice shaking. Then, before he could react, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his with all the emotion you've held back, the words you've been dying to say to him.

It was nothing like the kiss with George.

This was everything.

Fred let out a soft, startled sound before his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. His lips moved against yours, desperate, breathless. He kissed you like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know how much he meant it.

And you did.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, getting up from kneeling and he pulled you onto his lap, now straddling him in the common room, to which you were thankful that no one was around.

A soft moan escaped you, as he sucked on your lower lip, your hands tangled themselves in his fluffy hair, tugging lightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Fred let out a quiet, shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You better.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, kissing him again as if there was no tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss, desperately needing a round two with you, his Y/N.

[mssorceressupreme]

oh waittt i was just readin' your new fic ('i wanna be yours' – fred x reader), im in loveeee!!!!! ur way w the words is just- ughhhhh so good! i love it soooo much!!! 😪😪😪😪 love love your fics <333

Thank you so much for the kind words anon, you’re so sweet!! 🥹😭💓 I hope I can keep satisfying you guys with my writing, it’s such a fun way for some downtime 🥰🥹🫶🏼

Hope you’re keeping well and stay safe, appreciate you <333

[mssorceressupreme]

Amortentia Pt. 2 | F.W

If you haven’t read Pt.1 I suggest you do as this is a continuation, here’s the link! 🥰🥰:

Amortentia Pt. 1

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: you and Fred have an apology dinner but it gets disrupted by a group of unfriendly men, and Fred saves you by pranking them. Both of you manage to escape them, and as you're stuck in a confined alleyway space with Fred, you start to realise, maybe he's not so bad after all.

Warnings/tags: noncon touch, drunk/scary men, enemies to lovers (continued from pt 1), pranks, forced proximity (again lol), trapped in a confined space together, fluffy ending, fred weasley is the standard <3

a/n: I added a birthday part cuz it was my birthday yesterday so I thought why not 🥹🥵

——— The Three Broomsticks was warm and inviting, a haven against the biting cold of the almost-winter day. Outside, frost kissed the cobblestones, and the skeletal trees rattled in the wind, but inside, a comforting fire crackled in the hearth, sending a soft glow over the room.

You sat at a small table in the corner with Fred, the remnants of your meal scattered between you. Your Butterbeer was still warm in your hands, the frothy top sending ribbons of steam into the air.

Fred leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching lazily under the table as he looked at you, his lips curved in his trademark smirk. “So…” he began, his tone light and teasing. “Do you still think I’m an annoying menace, or have I managed to earn, oh, I don’t know, half a point in my favour?”

You pretended to consider this, tapping your chin as your eyes glinted with mock thoughtfulness. “Hmm… you’re still very much a menace,” you said, the corner of your mouth twitching up. “But I suppose you’re slightly less unbearable than before.”

Fred gasped, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. “Slightly less unbearable? Merlin, you’re just full of compliments today, aren’t you? Careful, or I might get a big head.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, despite your best efforts to keep your guard up. “Don’t worry, Fred. Your ego’s already big enough for the both of us.”

He grinned, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. The soft light from the fire made his freckles stand out more than usual, and his eyes—mischievous and warm—seemed to catch every flicker of flame. “Well, you did forgive me for the prank that wasn’t even meant for you, so I’m taking that as a win.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve forgiven you. I’m still humiliated, you know. My shoes squelched with pudding for hours,” you shot back, but your smile betrayed the sharpness of your words.

Fred’s laugh was warm and rich, and it made the corners of your heart soften despite your better judgment. “You’ve got to admit, though, the idea of Ron stepping into a giant pudding bomb was brilliant. You just had…unfortunate timing.”

“Unfortunate is an understatement.” You shook your head, exasperately. “How do you even come up with these things? Is pranking a full-time career for you?”

“Pretty much.” He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “But don’t act like you’re not curious. What about you? Surely you’re not all books and rules, are you?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back. “And what makes you think that?”

Fred leaned closer, his grin widening. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t have agreed to come here with me. Or you’d at least look more miserable about it.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Fine. Maybe I’m… a little curious.”

Fred’s smirk deepened. “Knew it.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in ages. Fred had a way of drawing you out of your shell with his wit and easy charm, and you began to see past the mischief to the kindness beneath.

He had an easy way of making you laugh, his humour quick and sharp but never cruel. It was…nice. You hated to admit it, but it was nice.

Halfway through the meal, Fred glanced toward the counter and stood abruptly. “I’ll be right back. Got to sort something out.”

“Sort what out?” you asked, watching him suspiciously.

He grinned. “You’ll see. Don’t miss me too much.”

You rolled your eyes as he headed toward the bar, where he started chatting animatedly with the bartender, leaving you alone at the table. You took a sip of your Butterbeer, glancing around the nearly empty pub. It was a quiet day, likely because of the cold, and most of the tables were vacant.

As you set your mug down, your fork slipped off the table, clattering to the floor. With a small sigh, you bent down to pick it up, only to bump into someone’s leg.

“Oi, watch it,” a gruff voice snapped.

Startled, you looked up to see a man scowling down at you. His expression shifted when he took in your face, his frown turning into a sleazy grin. “Well, well. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

“I’m not alone,” you said firmly, straightening up.

But the man ignored you, his eyes roaming over you in a way that made you uneasy. His two friends joined him, flanking him on either side, their grins just as unsettling.

“Why don’t you come sit with us, sweetheart?” one of them said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You jerked back, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “Leave me alone.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the first man said, stepping closer. “We just want to get to know you better. What’s the harm in that?”

He placed a hand on your shoulder and you glared at it, "Don't touch me." You gritted your teeth.

"Come on, don't act like you don't like it." The man smirked, about to move his arm elsewhere on your body.

"Let's take this somewhere more fun, eh?" He then whispered into your ear and your face scrunched up in disgust.

Before you could respond, Fred’s voice cut through the tension like a whip.

“Is there a problem here?”

The men turned to see Fred standing a few feet away, his expression cold and his usual playful demeanour gone. The man touching you slowly removed his hand from your shoulder.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” one of the men sneered.

Fred’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. “Yeah, I am. And you’re going to leave her alone. Now.” His usual playfulness replaced by a rare edge of anger.

You'd been so intimidated by the group of men that you didn't notice Fred claiming he was your boyfriend. Though a lie, you couldn't care less, you just wanted out.

"Look at you kids, thinking you're so tough eh?" They mocked.

"Why don't you sod off and let her come have fun with us." One of the men snarled, attempting to shoo Fred away.

"I said to leave her alone." Fred raised his voice slightly, his face stern, any bit of kindness, all erased. His eyes looked as though they were shooting daggers at the men.

You'd never seen him this cross before, and you hated to admit but it was, dare you say, slightly attractive.

The men exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed. “Or what?”

Fred didn’t bother answering. Instead, his fist shot out, connecting with the nearest man’s jaw with a satisfying crack.

Chaos erupted. The other two men lunged, but Fred slipped past them and grabbed your hand, yanking you toward the door together. “Run!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The two of you bolted out of the pub, your laughter mixing with your ragged breaths as you sprinted down the street. "But the bill? We didn't pay—" You panted.

"I've covered it don't worry!" Fred responded, yelling as you continued running.

“Fred, they’re going to catch us!” you gasped, glancing over your shoulder to see the three men chasing after you.

“Not a chance,” He said, pulling you into one of the tiny wall gaps within the narrow alleyway.

The space was so tight that you were practically pressed against Fred, your back against the cold brick wall. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath warm against your temple as you both tried to stay silent in this confined space.

He smiled down at you, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide how flustered you felt.

Brilliant, yet again, you were trapped with none other than Fred Weasley.

“Fred, they’re getting closer,” you whispered peeking out slightly, your voice trembling.

Fred reached into his pocket, pulling out a small ball. “Not for long.”

With a flick of his wrist, he threw the ball into the street, and it exploded in a burst of fireworks, the colourful sparks blinding your pursuers. The men shouted in confusion, stumbling back before finally retreating.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart beating rapidly as the men retreated, running the opposite direction. “Fireworks? Really?”

Fred grinned, his face inches from yours in the tight space. “What can I say? I like to make an impression.”

And then it hit you—fireworks. You’d smelled fireworks in your Amortentia potion. Your eyes darted to Fred, his face lit up by the lingering sparks, clearly proud with his 'prank'.

A small smile played on your lips as you observed him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now as he turned his attention back to you.

You nodded, snapping out of your thoughts. “Yeah. That was… amazing.” You chuckled softly.

Though, seconds later, your laughter died as you realised just how close you were. The alley was quiet now, the only sound the distant hum of the village and the pounding of your heart. Fred’s eyes met yours, and neither of you moved.

You felt a slight rush flow straight to your core as your bodies pressed against each other, but you quickly snapped out of it, ignoring your fantasies.

“This is… not how I expected today to go,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Fred’s lips twitched into a smile. “Welcome to the world of mischief.”

"It wouldn't hurt to do this more often would it?" You found yourself giving in to whatever this was...fun? pranks? mischief? After a taste of this, it was hard to resist the urge for more.

"Never." He grinned.

Fred reached into his pocket again, pulling out a small box. “Oh, and…happy birthday Y/N.”

Your eyes widened as you took the box, opening it to find a cupcake with the words “Happy Birthday” scrawled in icing.

“How did you—?”

“Hermione told Ron...to tell George...to tell me,” Fred admitted, his grin sheepish. “Thought I’d get you something sweet. You know, to make up for everything.”

You smiled, a warmth fuzzy feeling spreading throughout your chest, this was the first time a guy had gotten you a gift. “Thank you, Fred. This… this means a lot.”

As the two of you walked back to Hogwarts, your laughter and banter filled the cold night air. You found yourself looking forward to spending more time with Fred.

And as his hand brushed yours briefly, sending an electrical spark through you, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were starting to fall for him.

It couldn't possibly be.

Had he managed to charm you?

An answer you'd never in a million years anticipated would escape your mouth, fell right out.

Yes, yes he did.

___ a/n: @htchnr, @wwmalufa, @owlisbuffering I ended up making a part 2!! Hope you guys enjoy it hehe <33

[mssorceressupreme]

You’re Mine

———

Pairing: In ho x reader, Kang Dae Ho x reader

Summary: you’ve just announced that ur dating Dae Ho but Young-il wants you to himself, and he shows that by finger fucking you in front of your bf

Warnings/tags: minors DNI 18+, jealous, yandere!inho, posessive, noncon touch, kind of cheating(?), fingering, use of ropes, chained to bed, dom!inho, sub!reader, orgasm denial, finger sucking, i love daeho plz don't come for me he's my fav

a/n: i just realised how similar this lowkey is to my other young-il imagine, but it's slightly different so oh well lol <3

——— Prologue/Backstory:

The lights of the bunk bed hall cast long shadows over the rows of metal frames and thin mattresses. The air was heavy, filled with the quiet hum of voices as the players tried to grasp whatever fleeting moments of peace they could in this terrifying game.

You and Daeho stood in the middle of it all, the announcement of your newfound relationship still lingering in the air, drawing the attention of everyone around you.

Daeho held your hand tightly, his warmth grounding you in this cold, merciless place. His confession during the last game had taken you by surprise—his voice trembling yet resolute as he admitted his feelings, thinking it might be his last chance.

And as the chaos of the game unfolded, you realised your own feelings, the ones you had buried deep beneath the weight of survival. Now, standing together in the middle of the room, there was no need to hide anymore.

"You two are so cute together," Junhee complimented, a small, genuine smile appearing on her face.

"Finally! Took you long enough to figure it out," Jungbae chimed in, drawing chuckles from the surrounding players.

Daeho scratched the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up to his cheeks. "Well, I didn’t think confessing while we were about to get killed was the best timing, but… it worked out, I suppose."

You laughed softly, nudging him with your shoulder. "Honestly, it was terrible timing, but I’ll let it slide."

The players around you erupted into lighthearted laughter, their cheers and congratulations cutting through the usual tension of the hall.

For a brief moment, it almost felt normal—like you were back in the real world, surrounded by friends and not the grim reality of this deadly game.

But not everyone shared the room’s jubilant mood.

From his spot on one of the upper bunks, Young-il watched the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. His dark eyes flicked between you and Daeho, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bed. He didn’t smile, didn’t join in the congratulations. Instead, his gaze bore into Daeho like a predator watching its prey.

You. You weren’t supposed to be with Daeho. You were supposed to be his.

Young-il replayed every moment the two of you had shared in his mind, twisting them into something more significant than they were.

You had smiled at him once, after he had helped you during a particularly grueling game. You had thanked him, your voice soft and sincere, and he had clung to that moment like a lifeline.

When he had been stressed, you were the one who had comforted him, your touch gentle, your concern evident.

He was certain you felt something for him.

So how could you be standing there, holding Daeho’s hand, laughing with him like that?

"Young-il!" Jungbae called, snapping him out of his thoughts.

His head jerked toward the voice, and he quickly plastered on a smile. It was forced, but convincing enough. "Yeah?"

"Don’t they look cute together?" Jungbae asked, motioning toward you and Daeho.

Young-il’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah… yeah, they do. Really happy for them."

But his gaze slid back to you, watching the way you looked at Daeho, the soft, unguarded expression on your face. It made his blood boil. He should’ve been the one to confess to you, to stand beside you, to hold your hand.

And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned and met his gaze.

For a moment, everything else faded. Your smile faltered, replaced by a look of quiet concern.

You always did that—noticed him in a way no one else did. It was part of why he had fallen for you in the first place.

"Are you okay?" you mouthed, your brow furrowing slightly.

Young-il’s heart stuttered, gosh, you always looked beautiful. He forced himself to nod, his lips curling into a smile that he hoped seemed genuine. "Yeah," he mouthed back.

But inside, he was seething.

If Daeho thought he could just swoop in and take you away, he was dead wrong.

Daeho didn’t deserve you.

And if Young-il had to play dirty to make you his, so be it. ___

The faint flicker of the single overhead light was what woke you first. The room was eerily quiet though luxurious, the usual bustling activity in the game hall replaced with oppressive stillness.

You blinked groggily, shifting only to realise your wrists were bound tightly to the frame of a bed.

Beside the bed, Daeho sat tied to a chair a few metres away, his head lolling to one side before his eyes snapped open, immediately searching for you.

“Y/N!” His voice was hoarse with panic as he struggled against his restraints. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

He paused, noticing you only had your undergarments on. A black bra, and cotton undies.

Immediately, he averted his eyes, darting towards the ground, "Who did this?!"

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, keeping your voice calm despite the fear clawing at your chest, especially since you were clothe-less, “What is this? Why are we—?”

The sound of footsteps interrupted you. Slow, deliberate. Both you and Daeho turned toward the door as it creaked open, revealing Young-il wearing a black button up shirt, with his sleeves folded and black trousers, his sharp gaze fixed on the two of you.

He stepped into the room with unnerving composure, and in his hands, he held the unmistakable black mask of the Front Man.

“No…” Dae Ho’s voice faltered, disbelief evident in his tone. “You? You’re—”

“The Front Man?” Young-il finished with a smirk, his eyes darting to you. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I’ve been watching all of you from the start.”

Your stomach twisted as he sauntered closer, his demeanour unsettlingly calm. “What do you want, Young-il?” you asked, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“What do I want?” He chuckled softly, his eyes now piercing as it landed on you. “That should be obvious, shouldn’t it? I want you, Y/N."

The air in the room grew unsteady, thick with tension as his words hung in the silence.

Daeho immediately tensed, his muscles straining against the ropes. “Don’t you dare—”

Youngil raised a hand, silencing him effortlessly. “You should be grateful I’m even letting you live long enough to hear this. You think you’re good enough for her?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’ll only drag her down. You’ll get her killed.”

“That’s not your decision to make!” Daeho shot back, anger rising in his tone. “She’s with me because she chose to be.”

Youngil’s gaze darkened, though he forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Chose? You think her kindness to me meant nothing? The way she looked at me, helped me, cared—” His voice cracked slightly before he caught himself. “She belongs with someone who can protect her, someone who understands what it takes to survive.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, your mind racing to process his words. “Young-il, I was just being kind to you,” you said softly. “You misinterpreted—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he snapped, slamming his hands on the foot of the bed, making you flinch. His mask of composure cracked for a moment before he forced himself to breathe deeply, stepping back. “You don’t know what’s best for you, Y/N. But I do.”

Daeho growled, his jaw clenched in fury. “You’re delusional if you think she’d ever choose you over me.”

Young-il’s eyes narrowed, but his smirk returned, more venomous now. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?” He turned to you, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I could give you everything, Y/N. Safety, power… a future. Can he promise that?”

You met his eyes, your fear slowly being replaced by boldness. “What I want isn’t up to you to decide.”

For a moment, Young-il seemed taken aback, but he quickly masked it with a bitter laugh. “Stubborn as always,” he muttered. “But I’m not giving up. Not on you.” His eyes flicked to Daeho, a dark glint of satisfaction in them. “And not because of him.”

"I'm with Daeho. I love him, alright? Whatever you're getting at, forget it because he's who I want to be with." You spat.

Young-il smiled, a rather patronising one as he crawled onto the bed, now hovering above you. "But I can make you feel so much better." He cooed into your ear, you'd be lying if you said this didn't send a wave of chills through your body.

"What're you doing?! Don't you dare touch her!" Daeho yelled, trying to break free from the ropes, but it wouldn't budge.

"Be with me and you'll both live. Stay with him and, well, he dies." Young-il said, straightening himself so that he was now between your legs, looking down at you.

"You're so fucking pretty, so enticing." Young-il's hands found their way to the velvety part of your thighs, spreading your legs apart and wrapping them around his hips as he kneeled in front of you.

"Let go of me!" You attempted to kick him away, but his grip on your legs was far stronger.

"Feisty are we? Come on love, don't be like that." He fake pouted before forcing them apart again. "You'll feel so much better when you corporate."

Young-il licked his palm before sliding them between your panties, cupping your warm throbbing cunt. "Shit, deny me all you want, but your body's says otherwise."

He pressed harder, rubbing your cunt slightly, "So wet for me and I barely touched you."

"Daeho..." You cried out, turning to face him.

"Y/N!!" Daeho was furious, how fucking dare Young-il touch you like that. He would kill him then and there if he could.

"I'll fucking kill you if you hurt her!" With all his might, Daeho tried breaking free, but the ropes were too thick, making it seem near impossible.

"Since Daeho is sitting there being all bratty, why don't we give him a show. I can show him how much better I can make you feel." Young-il smirked, every ounce of kindness erased from his face, the player you once knew, gone.

Forcefully, Young-il pulled your panties down with two fingers while he unclasped your bra with his other hand, leaving you now fully naked beneath him.

"Fuck...you're beautiful, all this deserves to be loved by the right person." Young-il grazed the sides of your body, slowly tracing your skin, making you twitch under his touch.

Daeho shut his eyes out of respect, not wanting to look at you, fully bare in front of him. "Leave her alone Young-il! She clearly doesn't like you!"

"How sure are you?" Without warning, Young-il traced your slit, coating his fingers with your wetness before shoving two fingers inside you, your body involuntarily reacted with a moan.

"Stop..." You plead, but all the more he began pumping quicker, curling his fingers inside you which targeted your g-spot. Fuck, as much as you hated him right now, it felt so good.

You didn't dare admit it, but this was a form of stress relief you needed among the chaos, you needed to release.

Your body arched, arms tied to the bed-frame unable to defend yourself. "Mhm..." You moaned again, but quickly shut your mouth suppressing it.

"That's my girl...no need to hide those beautiful noises from me." Satisfaction grew across Young-il's face, knowing how good he made you feel, how you were now putty under his touch.

"Look at her Daeho...look how good I'm making her feel."

Daeho shut his eyes, turning away while shaking his head, refusing to look but the more you moaned...the harder he grew. It made it no less harder to picture the sounds you'd make if he was the one fucking you, the one making you feel this way right now.

His bulge was evident, Daeho twitched in his seat, unable to deal with his situation. He couldn't help but peak a bit, seeing you made his arousal grow even harder.

Your back was arched, chest rising and falling heavily, eyes rolled back as Young-il continued pumping in and out of you.

It didn't help that you were so fucking stunning, looking like a Goddess. He knew it was wrong to think of you this way, but Daeho couldn't help but want you to himself too, imagining the things he could to do you, to hear those noises from you.

"Daeho..." You moaned, imagining it was him instead, hoping to ease the situation.

This sent a rush to his core, fuelling his desire for you even further. "Fuck..." Daeho grunted, his pants tightening all the more, a wet patch of precum became more evident.

"Baby I'm right here...just look at me." Daeho comforted, knowing he was at least near you, gave you some type of comfort and hearing his voice felt like music in this moment of torture.

You turned to look at him while you got finger fucked by Young-il, "Daeho..." You moaned softly, whimpering as Young-il quickened his pace, his arousal growing, the more you moaned.

Daeho glanced at you, with apologetic eyes, knowing how useless he was in this current situation, "Don't give in to him." He pleaded.

"Daeho...fuck..." You whimpered, your moans growing louder as you felt your climax approaching.

"I'm getting close..." You groaned, panting heavily. "Shit...I'm gonna cum..."

Your climax was near, so near, until Young-il pulled out, sucking his fingers while making eye-contact with you. "You taste so fucking good, but you don't get to cum so easily sweetheart."

"P-please...make me cum." You pleaded desperately, and both men looked at you, unsure of who you were addressing.

"I want you to beg for it." He spat, "For me."

You glanced up at his, eyes widening but involuntarily giving him pleading doe eyes, begging him for something, though you couldn't tell if you were begging him to stop or to continue.

You shook your head looking away from him, "Never."

He grabbed your chin, turning it to face him, tilting your head up, "You look so pretty beneath me..."

You rolled your eyes, but he continued, "I'll take care of you, you'll be safe with me, just be with me."

He then leaned down and kissed you, passionately, you hesitated, but found yourself kissing back. His tongue slid into your mouth, sucking your tongue, as you moaned into him. He grabbed your hair, pulling it slightly with one hand, while the other found your boobs, massaging them gently.

Daeho's eyes grew wide, and began grunting, trying to escape yet again but, again, no luck. Instead, he looked down, trying to get the vision out of his head.

"You liked that didn't you?" Young-il whispered lowly into your ear.

"Need to cum..." You whined, feeling your climax so close yet so far.

"Beg for it."

You turned to Daeho, looking at him with sad eyes, knowing you've lost, you had no choice but to shamefully beg, "P-please..."

"Louder."

"Please..." You whispered.

Young-il smirked, inching his fingers down to your cunt again, rubbing it slowly and sensually, increasing your arousal. "Beg, baby."

"Please Young-il, make me cum." You begged, loud enough for Daeho to hear now. His head hung low, before looking up with tired, defeated eyes, he knew he was helpless, this was the only way out of this situation.

"Whatever you want love," Young-il brought his two fingers up to your mouth, "Suck."

He shut his eyes as you sucked them, "Mhm..." He hummed, he was now fully hard on, the bulge pressing against your thigh, as he bent down closer to you.

You sucked his fingers, coating them with enough wetness before he moved them down to your cunt again, sliding them in, in which you let out a moan as a response.

He started off slow, then started quickening his pace as your breathing grew heavier, "So fucking pretty, getting finger fucked by me in front of your boyfriend."

His words had sent another rush to your core, increasing your wetness and desire, making you all the more closer to a climax.

"You like that?" He hummed, and you whimpered, nodding in response.

Your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back as you bucked your hips up, giving in to him, you needed more, fuck you needed him.

"Young-il..." You moaned.

Both of them darted their eyes at you, one was a satisfactory glance while the other despondent.

A devious and satisfactory smirk crept upon Young-il's lips, "That's right baby, say my name for me."

"Young-il...." Yet again, you didn't know where this was coming from but he made you feel so damn good, and credit was due. Though, you hated yourself for this, knowing Daeho was right there, knowing he lost.

Your toes curled, overwhelmed with pleasure, "Shit, I'm getting close..."

"Come for me love..." Young-il pushed you closer towards your climax, "Come around my fingers." He cooed.

Those words pushed you over the edge, sending a wave of pleasure through your body as you jerked harshly, finally coming undone. Your core pulsed with undeniable pleasure, and this release was exactly what you needed.

You panted heavily, opening your eyes to be met with Young-il's dark ones.

"Good girl." He kissed your forehead, stroking your cheek gently.

You avoided eye contact with Daeho, feeling guilty about the whole situation.

"So, will it be me or him, angel?"

You bit your lip, looking down, refusing to respond.

"Still need time to decide? That's alright, I'll be back for round two then." He smiled, though not a genuine one.

With that, he turned sharply and strode toward the door. “I’ll leave you two to think about it,” he said over his shoulder. “But remember, Y/N, there’s no room for love in this game. You’ll see that soon enough.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you and Daeho alone in the suffocating silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of Young-il’s words settling heavily in the air.

Then Daeho let out a shaky breath, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

"I think we both know the answer to that." You responded softly, guilt consuming you.

"You had no choice, I'm not mad you know..." Daeho reassured you before continuing slowly, "I think you should be with him."

"What?" You shook your head, turning to face him, though still naked, you didn't care.

"I just want you to be safe, who knows what that psycho will do if you don't abide by his rules, never mind me, but what will he do to you." Daeho's voice was shaky, consumed by fear for your safety.

"I want to be with you Daeho, it's you I love not him."

He shook his head slowly, "I love you too, but I'd love for you to be safe. I want you safe." A tear slid down his cheek. It broke your heart to see Daeho in this state, you needed to fix this, seeing that you had the upper hand here.

"I'll go with him then," you agreed, and Daeho frowned slightly, unable to mask his emotions, "But once I kill that psycho, you're the first person I'm running too baby."

He looked up slowly, a grin playing across his face, "What's your plan?"

You smirked, sending him a defiant look. You were about to turn into a menace for Young-il but oh boy, you didn't care, as long as it meant you'd get to be with Daeho.

[mssorceressupreme]

Wanna Be Yours | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

———

Hogwarts’ courtyard was alive as usual, with branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones.

Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them- Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.