A Thousand Wrong Words
pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader
genre: miscommunication/fluff
requested: yes
The snow had started falling thick over the castle by the time the Yule Ball was announced, and with it came the storm of rumors, nerves, and excitement that rolled through Hogwarts like a charm gone wrong.
Y/N had tried to play it cool. She really had. Every time Fred Weasley grinned at her in the Great Hall or threw a wadded-up piece of parchment at her during study hall, she told herself to stop overthinking. He was Fred Weasley. Mischievous. Charming. A menace in human form. But then he’d hold her gaze just a little too long, or walk her back to her dorm after practice, or make her laugh so hard her ribs ached — and how was she not supposed to fall for him?
So when talk of the Yule Ball started up, she assumed… no, she hoped… that he’d ask. It just made sense.
Until it didn’t.
Because one cold evening, she overheard Lee Jordan telling George, “So you and Fred are both sorted for the Ball, yeah? Angelina and Alicia — nice work, mates!”
Her stomach had dropped.
Angelina Johnson.
It was like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.
That night, she didn’t go down to the common room. She didn’t answer when Fred knocked on the door of the girls’ dormitory, calling her name through the crack. She pretended she was asleep.
And when she saw him the next morning, laughing beside Angelina in the Great Hall — his hand brushing hers on the table — Y/N’s chest went cold.
~
The night of the Yule Ball, she looked breathtaking. Her dress was soft blue, trimmed with silver, and her hair was pinned in loose curls that glowed in the candlelight. Every eye seemed to follow her when she entered the Great Hall.
Except the one she wanted.
Fred saw her — Merlin, did he see her — but his heart twisted painfully in his chest. He wanted to go to her, to explain that Angelina wasn’t— that it wasn’t what she thought— but she hadn’t looked at him in days. Not once.
“Mate, you’re staring,” George muttered, elbowing him. “Your date’s right there.”
Fred tore his eyes away, guilt simmering hot and low in his stomach. He’d panicked. He’d thought Y/N might already have a date, so he’d asked Angelina quickly, just to save himself the embarrassment. Angelina, kind as ever, had said yes. And now here he was, dancing with one of his best friends while the girl he actually wanted was out there, dancing with some Ravenclaw bloke who looked far too smug for Fred’s liking.
By the end of the night, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He found her outside the Great Hall, standing alone under the floating lanterns, arms crossed against the cold. Her partner had gone to get her a drink.
“Y/N,” he started softly.
She stiffened. “You shouldn’t be here, Fred.”
“I just— I need to explain.”
“Oh, do you?” She turned, her eyes glossy but fierce. “Because I think it’s pretty clear. You flirted with me for months, made me think I was special, and then—” she laughed bitterly— “you showed up with Angelina Johnson.”
Fred winced. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“I wanted to ask you,” he blurted out. “Merlin, I’ve wanted to ask you since Dumbledore first mentioned the Ball. But every time I tried, I choked. And then I heard someone say you might be going with that Ravenclaw git, and I-I panicked.”
She crossed her arms tighter. “So you just went and asked someone else instead?”
“I asked Angelina because she’s my friend. She knew I fancied you. She said yes because she didn’t want me to be alone like an idiot. Which, apparently, I still am.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was scared.”
Something in her expression softened, just slightly. “Scared of what?”
“Of you saying no.”
Her laugh was quiet and shaky. “You’re Fred Weasley. You jump off towers for fun, but you’re scared of me?”
He smiled, crooked and boyish. “You terrify me, actually.”
She looked down at the snow between them, biting her lip. “You really are an idiot.”
“I know,” he said instantly. “The biggest one in all of Hogwarts.”
She hesitated for a long moment, then sighed. “You owe Angelina an apology.”
“I already gave her one,” he said, stepping closer. “She told me to stop being a prat and go find you.”
Y/N blinked, fighting a smile. “She would.”
“Can I—” he took another step, voice gentler now— “can I make it up to you? Maybe not with a dance tonight, but… I dunno, a Hogsmeade date next weekend?”
Her lips twitched, pretending to think it over. “You’ll have to grovel first.”
Fred grinned. “Grovel? You mean, like, on my knees?”
“Maybe,” she teased.
Without hesitation, he actually dropped to his knees in the snow, hands clasped dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, the love of my soon-to-be short life if you reject me, please let me take you out.”
She laughed, bright and warm, before pulling him up by the collar of his dress robes. “Fine,” she said, smiling for real this time. “But only because you look ridiculous.”
Fred’s grin turned soft. “Worth it.”
And under the glow of the lanterns, as laughter drifted out from the Great Hall, he leaned down and kissed her — slow, sweet, and full of the words he’d been too scared to say before.
