Hiiii! First of all, I LOVE your writing it's sooo good omg!!! I have a question: is it possible to have like, a George Weasley (or Fred, both fits)x reader, but the reader is the perfect popular girl everyone knows and love?? Like she's kinda giving Galinda from Wicked, same vibes, pink perfect everryone-is-in-love-with-her girl, and he's absolutely head over heels for her and tries to make moves but also starts speaking nonsense and making stupid things when he's around her, and people are like "what's up with him? Oh yeah it's y/n, obviously."?? Pleaseee<33
Heeeey, thanks for that! And i'm really sorry for taking so long to write your request. But here we are! I hope you like it ~ ♡
Summary: What happens when the school’s golden girl starts to notice that the funny, chaotic Fred Weasley can’t seem to form a sentence around her — and realizes you kind of likes that?
It all started with a smile.
It wasn’t like Fred hadn’t seen you before. He’d seen you plenty — strutting through the Great Hall in your pastel-pink hair tie, surrounded by admirers, hair shimmering in the morning light. You had that aura about you: confident, composed, dazzling. Everyone liked you. Even the portraits seemed to perk up when you passed by.
But one day, something clicked. You laughed — really laughed — and Fred’s entire world tilted on its axis.
You were walking across the courtyard, your arms full of books, the wind gently tousling your hair. You looked like a dream. A pink, glittering, heart-shaped dream.
And that’s when Fred realized:
George noticed almost instantly.
Fred froze mid-sentence while talking about a new joke shop idea, eyes glued to you like you were the most magical thing he’d ever seen.
“Fred? Hello? You’ve gone weird again,” George said, snapping his fingers in front of his brother’s face.
“You look like you’ve just seen Merlin himself,” George said, following his gaze — and when he saw you, realization dawned. “Oh. Ohhh. You’ve got it bad, mate.”
Fred tore his eyes away and tried to play it off, though the flush creeping up his neck gave him away. “I do not.”
George grinned. “You absolutely do. The great Fred Weasley, struck down by a girl in pink. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“She’s not just a girl,” Fred muttered, half to himself. “She’s— she’s like— I don’t even know— sunshine and perfume and—”
“Merlin’s pants, you’re making me sick.”
Fred prided himself on confidence. He could walk into any room and make everyone laugh within minutes. But the first time you actually spoke to him, every ounce of that confidence evaporated.
It happened in Potions class. You sat two rows ahead, and Professor Snape had (as usual) decided to pair students at random.
“(L/N) and Fred Weasley.”
Fred’s heart stopped. George patted him on the back like a man sending his brother to war. “Good luck, lover boy.”
He tried to keep cool as he walked over, but then you looked up at him and smiled — that perfect, kind smile that made his stomach do somersaults.
“Hi, Fred,” you said sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Looks like we’re partners!”
And that was when Fred’s brain completely malfunctioned.
“Hi, uh — yes, I mean, obviously we’re… together— I mean, not together-together, unless you— well, no, not like that, Merlin, ignore me, I’m fine, totally fine.”
You blinked, amused, while Fred fought the urge to throw himself into his cauldron.
You blinked. “Are you okay?”
“Yep! Fantastic! Just thinking about… potions! Love potions. Not that I love potions— I mean I do— but not in a— Merlin help me.”
You giggled. Giggled. And Fred, poor soul, was done for.
By the end of class, he’d managed to spill powdered bicorn horn across their desk, set his sleeve on fire, and somehow still make you laugh through it all.
When George found him later, singed and starry-eyed, he just shook his head. “You’ve lost it completely.”
Fred grinned, dreamy and unashamed. “She laughed at my joke, George.”
“You nearly blew up her potion.”
By the time spring rolled around, everyone had noticed.
Fred Weasley — fearless, loud, unstoppable Fred — couldn’t form a coherent sentence around you.
He’d drop his quill when you passed by. He once tried to wink and accidentally blinked with both eyes. During a Quidditch match, you waved at him from the stands — and he flew right into the goalpost.
“Fred’s got the Y/N effect,” Lee Jordan joked one afternoon.
“She’s got him bewitched,” Seamus added.
“Or he’s just dumb,” George said cheerfully.
Fred didn’t even deny it. He was too busy daydreaming about your smile.
Everyone thought you was perfect. And in many ways, you are. But what no one saw was that perfection was exhausting.
The makeup, the constant smiles, the expectations — it was all part of the image. People didn’t see the effort behind the sparkle. They didn’t notice the small moments when you just wanted to breathe.
He’d caught yoy alone in the courtyard one evening, sitting by yourself, your pink cloak draped over your shoulders, your usual bright expression faded.
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting beside you. “Didn’t think perfection took breaks.”
You smiled weakly. “Even perfection gets tired, Weasley.”
For once, he didn’t crack a joke. He just looked at you, his usual playful grin softening into something gentler. “You know, I think you’re allowed to be human. You don’t always have to shine.”
That was the first time you looked at him differently — not as the class clown, but as someone who saw you. Really saw you.
You tilted her head. “You’re not as ridiculous as people say.”
“Don’t ruin my reputation,” he said, smirking. “I’ve worked hard to earn that.”
It was a Hogsmeade weekend when things really shifted.
Fred had a plan: casually bump into you outside Honeydukes, make a few jokes, maybe charm you into grabbing a butterbeer. Easy.
Except George yelled, “Go get her, Romeo!” across the street — and Fred turned to glare at him — and promptly tripped over a snowbank, face-planting right at your feet.
“Oh my Merlin, are you okay?” you asked, laughing as you knelt to help him up.
Fred blinked up at you, face covered in snow, grin wide. “Totally fine. Meant to do that.”
You giggled. “Of course you did.”
As you brushed snow off his shoulders, your eyes met his, that's when he noticed.
“Fred Weasley,” you murmured, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grinned. “Took you long enough to notice.”
The Yule Ball glittered like a dream. You looked radiant — pink satin dress, sparkles catching the light, hair perfectly styled. Fred nearly fall his when he saw you.
He wasn’t your date (some Ravenclaw had beaten him to it), but every time you glanced his way, his heart raced.
After the final dance, you stepped outside to get some air, the night crisp and quiet. Fred followed, nerves buzzing.
You turned, smiling. “Hey, troublemaker.”
He hesitated. “You look beautiful tonight. Not that you don’t always— I mean, Merlin, ignore me, I’m malfunctioning again.”
You laughed. “You really are hopeless around me, aren’t you?”
There was a pause — then you stepped closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know what’s funny?”
“I think I like you that way.”
Fred blinked. “The bumbling idiot way?”
“Yeah, exactly that way,” you said softly.
And before he could say anything else, you leaned in and kissed him — soft, sweet, and everything he’d ever dreamed.
When you pulled away, Fred grinned, cheeks pink. “How can you be so perfect?”
You smiled. “Only for you, Weasley.”
