A/N: Fred Weasley has always always ALWAYS been my fav and I love reading fics like this but I decided to add extra gooey lore and molly angst bc bae went thru a lot
Warning(s): Fred being protective, Arthur basically being scared of his wife, mentions of death and loss. Reader is a pureblood from a rich family, distant relative to the blacks and distant cousin of draco (all purebloods are related somehow)
Word Count: 3.3K
Credit to @diviniyae for the dividers!! <3
“Baby, c’mon.”
Fred had been pleading with you for weeks now to spend your summer vacations at the burrow. Ever since the two of you started dating in your fourth year, you’d grown impossibly close to all his siblings, even Percy, for Godric’s sake. That’s how perfect you were for him.
He was known for being reckless, impulsive, and uncontrollable. He still was, but his storm had mellowed ever since he’d been with you. Pranks made to entertain instead of embarrass, jokes without singling out. He was still the same flashy, charismatic showman; now he was more mature, more reasonable. Loud as ever, no doubt of it, but he’d finally been balanced.
You were like wind to his fire; you might amp it down or fuel it, but you were always there. Your snarky remarks and witty comebacks offered him the perfect challenge; he’d hit the jackpot. You two could joke and laugh without offence or insecurity, without late nights wondering if a joke had a hidden meaning behind it because you read each other effortlessly. He never thought he’d fall for a Slytherin, especially not one with a family like yours.
You were part of the sacred twenty-eight and additionally were a very distant relative of Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, and Andromeda Tonks. They were your second or third aunts. Purebloods always married within their circle; people had complex relative histories. It even technically made you Draco’s distant cousin. The thought alone should’ve driven him away, but he wasn’t like that. Even if you were Bellatrix’s own daughter, he’d go up to you, because that’s how he is; what he does. He was fearless in a way that made one question whether it was rooted in stupidity, naivety, or maybe possible genius.
“Freddie,” you breathed, eyes soft with guilt. “I’m not sure I should, you know, your parents aren’t very fond of me,” you said softly.
It hurt you immensely that his parents had a distaste for you despite your best efforts. You saw it in the way Fred never showed you any letters his mother sent him unless he was sure you weren’t mentioned once in them. His mother wasn’t exactly subtle.
You couldn’t blame them for it, though a part of you was still bitter. Your family name was loud, your parents were sharp-tongued and prejudiced against anything that wasn’t a rich pureblood elitist. People heard your name and already drew conclusions that lingered; impressions of a cold-hearted, calculating, ruthless heir without empathy or tolerance.
Because of these assumptions, no one bothered to disprove them, opting to avoid you instead. Everyone but Fred. People called it stupidity, a death wish. But all those whispers and anticipation of a hex hitting his chest were eliminated after you threw your head back in a cackle, not even ten minutes after he came up to you.
The image was broken as soon as your laughter was heard; saccharine and normal like any other girl in the castle. And just like that, people came up to you more, returned smiles in the hallways, and didn’t stiffen when you walked past. Hogwarts turned comforting, more like home than your own. Fred stuck to you through it all, and you slowly won over each and every one of his siblings over the past seven years. You won over Charlie before he graduated when you were in your third year, and Percy warmed up to you when he caught you tutoring the twins in your second year. Ron was the toughest to break, but you finally got him when he was in his second year and you in your fourth, right after you and Fred began to date. He had passed the courtyard on his way between classes and saw you and Fred sitting out there, together. You were going on a tangent, hands on your hips as you scolded him for something he didn’t hear, but what really did it was how Fred reacted.
Fred Weasley, his big brother, was affected by nothing, brushing off punishments and detentions like dust on a coat, was pouting, head hanging as he stared at the floor, hands behind his back in compliance as you chided him. Ron decided something that day; if Fred let someone do that to him, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Ginny was by far the easiest to connect with. The poor girl screamed and nearly cried when she saw you, yelping about finally having another sister. You didn’t dare correct her. You even charmed Bill when you met him at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup Finals between Bulgaria and Finland.
You hadn’t realised Mr and Mrs Weasley themselves would be the toughest nuts to crack; they were stereotypical. It’s unsurprising given their age, but their persistence was staggering. Firmly written opinions sent to all their children about you, and long, long lectures Fred had to sit through about deceit and how people are images of their parents. It didn’t matter how much Fred defended you, how much his siblings vouched for your character; Molly was clear, and Arthur never opposed his wife.
“My love, light of my life, honeybear,” Fred continued, his hands travelling further up your arm as he pulled you closer to him. You let him with a lingering pout. “My parents can bugger off for all I care; they can’t do or say anything if I’m there. Trust me on that,” he continued, his eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t play with you; you were the most important thing in his life, and he made sure you were treated like such.
You went silent, thinking about it, but you were weak; you knew that. Fred Weasley, knowingly or not, was your weakness. You weren’t smiley, friendly, or easy; with him, you turned impossibly soft. It was almost a sickness; he calmed your rage within seconds, and you shut down his life-threatening pranks with a single look. “Okay,” you relented. He lit up completely with a gasp, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, face in your hair.
“Ginny might cry when I tell her.” He said with a breathy laugh, making your heart swell. God, you loved that girl. “I’ll tell her myself.” You mumbled back, turning your head to kiss his neck before pulling back.
You were a bundle of nerves the entire train ride to the Burrow, everyone noticed. Ginny offered up her skincare, Ron passed you extra chicken from the lunch he packed from Hogwarts, even George didn’t try to slip you a nosebleed nougat; he had more sense than that.
Fred kept you close the entire time, tucked into his side. You saw the tension in the hard set of his jaw as he looked out the window. His hands flexed from where they were on your waist, squeezing the soft flesh every once in a while merely to assure himself of your presence.
When you reached, one thing became abundantly clear: Molly and Arthur had certainly not been told of your visit. You saw it in the way her beaming smile harshly fell from her face once she spotted you next to Fred. She grabbed him, pulling him away.
You felt nauseous, smiling politely at Arthur as he gave you a forced smile in turn, his hesitance to shake your hand only added to the twist in your stomach. Ron took your suitcase, and Ginny took your hand, squeezing it in support as she tugged you to the car.
You turned your head to see Fred now proper scowling at his mother before he simply turned and walked off in the middle of her rant, face changing when he saw you look over, giving you as soft a smile as he could manage.
It didn’t get better at the burrow. Molly never looked directly at you, spoke to you through her children. ‘Ginny, she’ll sleep in your room.’ ‘Is she going to eat, Fred?’ ‘Ron, will she need her very own sheets?’ You saw the way Arthur winced, but said nothing. He himself was incredibly awkward near you.
You didn’t like it, Fred absolutely didn’t. Glaring and hissing a sharp “why don’t you ask her herself?” that Molly always promptly ignored. It went on for two weeks; Molly stopped laughing when you entered a room, and Arthur found excuses to leave. Whenever you were with their kids, something always came up. You and Ginny giggling and eating ice cream in bed? Molly needed her help sewing. You and Percy discussing the NEWTS? Arthur needed him to proofread something.
Fred was the main victim. Suddenly, he was needed all around the house as soon as the two of you were able to be together. The dishes, setting the table, helping with lunch, and helping load the laundry. It was so targeted and so obvious.
It all shattered during dinner one night. Fred and George decided this was the perfect time to talk about the fact that they’d be dropping out to open their own joke shop. Everyone knew Molly wouldn’t support it; she’d faced poverty. The thought of her sons not completing their education to start a shop made her all kinds of angry.
So, on went the screaming. Arguing at the table as George and Fred quite literally fought for their business with their mother, while Molly kept screaming about homelessness and how they’d never succeed.
It reached a point where she looked at you for the first time since the railway station and growled a low “You.”
You stiffened; everyone did. “You did this, didn’t you? Think it’s amusing, girl, making these two believe they can make it? Without suppliers? Investors? Nothing? You’re ruining my son's life!” She hissed, screaming the last part. You flinched, eyes widening.
“M-Misses Weasley, I don’t– I just want him to be happy-” You choked, but she slammed her hand on the table with a scoff of outrage.
“You don’t understand anything. People like you, sheltered, protected–you’ve never had to work for anything a day in your life, never struggled. ” She continued, the rage in her voice something no one at the table had ever heard before. “Rich, pompous, overconfident people like you are exactly the folk we don’t want to get mixed with—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up!”
Everyone whipped their heads around to Fred, the usually cheeky and unserious boy, now straight scowling. “George and I are doing this with or without your approval, Mum. I truly don’t care about what you say in accordance with the business, nor about your hopes for our success, but you will watch it when you talk to her.” He hissed, pushing back his chair with a harsh screech before throwing his napkin on the table, grabbing your hand to pull you up as well.
Molly was mortified, and Arthur looked like he’d been spat on. “Frederick Gideon Weasley, you will sit–”
“Mum, please!” Ginny huffed, making your heart clench. The poor girl looked close to tears. She sniffled, turning to hug George’s arm. Molly’s scowl broke at the sight of her only daughter in such peril.
Fred dragged you up the stairs to his room. He’d gotten his own ever since Charlie moved into his own cottage somewhere in Scotland, closer to the dragons had been his only justification before taking off.
Your eyes were wide, heart pounding horrifically loud in your chest. You looked at the back of his head the entire walk to his room until he finally slammed the door.
“Fred!” You whisper-hissed, hands trembling with adrenaline. He dragged a hand down his face as he turned to you, the other wrapping around the small of your back. “This doesn’t help my whole image with your mother, she’s gonna think I’m manipulating you against her or something—”
“She’s not that manic.” He mumbled, ducking his head into your neck before taking a deep inhale. “Hopefully.”
He hugged you around your waist, tugging you into him as he leaned into you. You could feel he was doing this more to calm himself than offer any comfort, but you didn’t mind much, dragging a hand through his hair. You felt the breath leaving him.
You could hear the thud of footsteps climbing up to his room, and feel the way his shoulders tightened. He nudged you behind him as he turned to the door, half expecting his mother to come bursting in, but all he heard was three soft knocks.
“Fred?” Came a soft, older tone. His father, Arthur.
He didn’t hesitate opening it, letting the lesser of two evils in. Arthur looks guilty, almost hesitant, when he steps in, mouth open, before he shuts it. “Fred, my boy, your mother— both of us, we want the best for you. The shop, I-I’m not saying you shouldn’t follow your dreams, but you can’t expect her to be okay with it.”
“That’s not why I stormed out of there, Dad.” Fred huffed in turn, narrowing his eyes as he grabbed your waist, pulling you to stand next to him. “You know that.”
His father clasped his hands together, glancing towards you for a moment. It was clear he was choosing his words as carefully as he could. “Freddie, she– she’s not what we had in mind for you.” He said delicately, you could see Fred’s shoulders tighten.
“Her family, people like her, haven’t been good to people like us.” He continued, you took Fred’s hand as a reminder to keep himself regulated. It was odd, having to regulate his anger instead of him regulating yours. “Do her parents even know about you?”
That made you stiffen, hanging your head. You hadn’t told your parents, certain they’d forbid you from seeing him. You’d talked to Fred. He understood. Still, admitting he was a secret boyfriend was degrading.
“It doesn’t matter whether she’s told her parents. I trust her, that’s my choice. She’s brilliant, dad, you and mum would know if you gave her a singular chance.” Fred muttered, venom dripping from each syllable. Arthur felt the bitter truth in his words, nodding solemnly.
“No, you’re.. You’re right. I know.” He relented, looking at you apologetically. “I’m sorry, dear.” He all but breathed. You just offered a soft smile, nodding.
“It’s– We have lived through a lot, Fred.” Now it was Fred’s turn to stiffen. “Your mother lost Fabian and Gideon in the war. To people from families like.. Well, hers.”
Fred sighed, squeezing your hand. “I know about them. She’s told us. But, Dad, things are changing. Times are changing. She can’t be bitter forever. Your mother was Cedrella Black! Does that mean she hates that part of you?!”
Arthur stammered. That was enough. “Why is it different for y/n, huh? Haven’t you been cruel enough? I’d like you two grown adults to realise you’ve been bedevilling a girl who’s nearly three times younger than you!” Fred continued, finishing with a scoff. He knew he was loud—knew the whole damn house probably heard. He couldn’t find it in him to care; he almost hoped his mother heard.
Arthur just nodded, unable to gather the words to continue the conversation, exiting the room.
You shuddered, Fred pulled you in.
Safe to say, no one minded if you spent the night in Fred’s room that night.
Morning rolled around, the tension still present like a living, breathing presence. Fred didn’t leave you for a single second, and no one tried. Neither Arthur nor Molly pretended he was needed anywhere; they knew Fred wouldn’t entertain it.
To his credit, Arthur really did seem like he was trying. Wished you good morning, offered you tea when he was making any, even went as far as to ask for your future job plans. Fred was already grateful, smiling whenever he heard it. He eased up on his father, let himself relax around you when his father was near.
But Molly was a woman on a mission. She made sure it was known that Arthur was alone in his acceptance. She let you serve yourself during meals, dramatically moved away from you like you had Spattergoit. You chose to ignore it, a smaller, pettier part of you made you extra nice to her in turn.
All of the Weaslings (apart from Bill and Charlie) were around the coffee table, playing exploding snap. The air was filled with hysterical giggles and pure orange-haired competitiveness. Arthur was off at work, and Molly was serving snacks, very pointedly placing the plates as far from you as she could.
You shot her a smile dipped in honey. “Oh, thank you, Miss Weasley! You’re so good to me. I couldn’t be more grateful.” You cooed, making Fred stifle a snort. His mother looked appalled, muttering a quick ‘no matter’ before rushing back to the kitchen.
You’d come to accept it, almost took it as a sad fact of life. Ready to fight Molly Weasley for the rest of your life.
Then came that fated night.
You couldn’t sleep. George thought it was genius to watch some low-budget horror movie. You crept down the stairs of the burrow to the kitchen to take a glass of water and, potentially, a cookie Molly made.
You filled the glass before the light flicked on from behind you, startling you. Damn you, George.
“Oh.” Molly mumbled when she saw it was you, hesitantly walking into her kitchen to grab something from the fridge. It was rather early, four am. You didn’t think she’d be up so early.
There was a horribly awkward moment where neither spoke; you simply drank your water at the counter. Then, the silence was shattered.
“I had brothers, you know.” She mumbled; you immediately knew where this was going. You looked over at her; her expression was something you couldn’t pick apart.
You nodded, she continued.
“They joined the order. First Wizarding War. I’m sure you’ve met Harry. They met his parents there. Young, stupid and ready to fight.”
Her voice thickened, your heart sank.
“Twins. Like my Fred and George. Good people, amazing to me.” She kept going, unwrapping dough she got from the freezer. “Died when I was pregnant with Percy.” Her voice broke around the word died and you suddenly felt like a monster.
“Took five deatheaters to kill them. Antonin Volohov was the only one who was named in the report, the rest having taken their own lives once captured.” It was unsettling, the things this woman had gone through. It made your heart ache for her.
“Volohov worked closely with Bellatrix. I guess I just… can’t accept that a trace of what killed my brothers lives in you.”
You felt your throat tighten, tears stinging your eyes as the woman placed the small balls of frozen dough on a baking tray.
You cleared your throat, moving to wash your hands, drying them, then wordlessly assisting her.
“My mum once killed my pet mouse because attachment was a weakness to her.” You mumbled, and she shifted to make room for you. Not to get away, but to make space. You noticed.
“I cried to my father, but he offered no solace. He said nothing should be important enough to bring me to tears.” You rolled the dough into a ball, passing it to her. “Met Bellatrix once. I was.. Maybe seven. She threw her shoes at me when I touched her wand, grabbed me by the hair and presented me to my parents like a fox she killed.”
Molly hummed in acknowledgement, but there was something softer. A sympathy.
“I may not hate her as much as you do, I may never will, but I truly despise and loathe her very being. She’s hurt you much more than she hurt me, but her cruelty to more and more people gives me more and more reason to be as different from her as I can.”
The room settled into comfortable silence after that. She put the cookies in the oven, and you washed your hands.
As soon as you turned to leave, she took your hand. It was gentle, not like she was trying to restrain you. You turned, and she placed a kiss to your forehead before walking away. “Goodnight, dearie.”
You bit back the smile growing on your face, sheer joy filling your chest.
summary: you and fred had been friends for so long that it never occurred to the both of you that everyone thought you were dating.
pairing: fred weasley x gryffindor!reader
includes: fluff, the both of you being mischievous, kissing, cursing, the two third years being wingmen when they don’t even know it
a/n: officially working on requests the second this gets posted!
You and Fred had the same routine every Sunday night after dinner. The routine was simple and familiar—so familiar that even the younger students knew it all too well. Every Sunday evening, you would typically read the Daily Prophet or do final touches to your essays while Fred would find a way to bother you until you finally gave into him and give him attention. That’s how Sunday nights would always go.
Except for tonight. For some reason, today felt off and neither of you could place a finger on it. The evening started off normal, but the longer you ignored it, the more the feeling intensified.
You were supposed to be working on your Charms essay, but all you could think about was the small feeling nagging at the back of your mind. You were so absorbed with the thought that you didn't realize you were biting the tip of you quill until Fred pulled your hand away from you, propping his feet up on your lap.
"What's with the face, Faucett? Need help with your Charms essay?" Fred asked, pouting dramatically when you snapped out of your trance and pushed his feet off your lap. "You hate me."
You scoff and roll up your parchment, placing it away on the side table. "I do not hate you, Fred."
“You do.” He teased and angled you to face him, pulling your legs to lay over his lap instead. He watched you rest your head against the cushions of the couch, making him tap your knee in concern. “What’s wrong?”
You huff and play with the threads of you sweater that Molly had made you this past Christmas, meeting his eyes that were filled with more emotion than you could place. “Nothings wrong with me, but it feels like something in this room is, you know?”
Fred looked over at the other people in the room. There were hardly any people in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday evenings. Everyone was out either making use of the last few hours of freedom they had before classes started the next day or in their dorms, trying to cram for any surprise quizzes.
The only people that were in the Common Room were a group of first years comparing notes, some fourth years playing exploding snap, and a pair of third years conversing quietly in a corner, tucked away from prying eyes and voices—such as Fred Weasley himself.
Fred raised a brow at the two boys who looked away quite quickly when they met the older boy's gaze. He turned back to you for a quick second, replying quietly to your previous comment. “Maybe…”
You crease your brows and look over at the pair of boys as well, “What—?”
“Oi!” Fred hollered at the two third years, making the entire room snap their heads over at the sudden boom of a voice. You blew a piece of hair away from your face in exasperation, giving the other students apologetic looks for the commotion.
“What are you blokes whispering about?” He called out, making the third year on the left burn bright red.
You poke Fred's arm when you saw the poor boy's face, not deterred by all his muscles underneath his own sweater. “Fred, stop bothering them."
The same boy looked away from you two, swallowing thickly while his friend pursed his lips in an effort to not laugh at the current situation. While the rest of the room went back to what they were doing, Fred continued to watch the pair, waiting for a response from either one of them.
Finally, after the two boys whispered back and forth—for Godric only knows how long—one of them spoke up, making the red-head beside you perk up instantly.
“Nothing important.” The teen on the right said for the sake of his friend, waving a dismissive hand in your general direction. “Just trying to figure out how to ask this girl out."
The second you both heard those words come out of the boy's mouth, you looked over at Fred who was already looking back at you with a grin that could only be described as smug.
You sighed, knowing you couldn't do much to stop whatever Fred planned on doing. “Freddie, don’t—“
He stood from his spot on the couch, hands placed on his hips like he suddenly knew the answers to everything in the universe. “Luckily, you’ve come to the right man—“
“—Boy—“ You quipped from his side as you followed him to ensure he wouldn't do or say anything stupid.
“Shut up.” Fred half-heartedly pushed you to the side, still catching you when you stumbled over your feet. He stuck his thumb in the other teen’s direction, “Anyway, who does he fancy?”
You roll your eyes at his antics and give them a warm, reassuring smile, hoping it would take their minds off whatever foolishness Fred has in plan. “First, what are your names?”
“I’m Oliver, and he’s James.” The boy on the right said tentatively, the one on the left—which you both now knew was James—nodding in agreement.
Fred clasped his hands together and nodded mindlessly, keeping his eyes trained on the boys. “Alright, I’m Fred and she’s the pain in my arse—“
“Can you focus?” You groan and shove him to the side, laughing loudly when he threw you over his shoulder to get you to stop interrupting—although the two of you knew it was hopeless.
“Oliver, who does James fancy?” Fred asked, ignoring your calls and protests.
You continued to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, huffing when he held onto you tighter. At that point, the rest of the Common Room gave you odd looks, making you flush a bright pink in slight embarrassment.
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, hesitantly as he stared at you and Fred in concern and confusion, unsure what to do in the situation. “Uhm… He fancies this girl in Hufflepuff named Lila—“
You gasped and hit Fred hard in between his shoulder blades, earning a groan as he dropped you from his arms. You spun around and gave James a soft look, knowing exactly who Lila was. You had tutored her last year in Potions—and based on your five minute interaction with James—the would be the perfect pair.
“She’s really bright and gifted in Herbology.” James says softly, making your heart ache at how he spoke about Lila in adoration.
“Have you tried to ask her out before?” You ask and watch him fidget with his hair.
He shakes his head, eyes darting away from your face toward the ground. “I’m too nervous.”
After recovering from you sudden attack, Fred clapped his hand on James’ back, ruffling his hair when the boy looked up at him. “Don’t be, you look handsome and clearly you’ve got the brains for it.”
In an instant, you saw an increase of confidence in the thirteen year old, making you grin at the sight. Maybe Fred being nosy in other students’ conversations wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
You watched for another second before murmuring something to Fred about finally finishing your Charms essay, giving the two boys one last smile. Before you left for the couch, Fred subconsciously pressed a kiss to the top of your head, knowing you were leaving even though he barely listened to you as he continued to speak to the younger students.
“Ask her out to a picnic by the lake or in one of the outdoor gardens—Not Hagrid’s, of course. That would be a nightmare.” Fred clarified with a small smirk decorating his face, leaning back on one of the armchairs behind him as the boys listened intently.
“Thanks, I’ll ask her tomorrow after class.” James replied with a new found determination in his voice.
Finally snapping out of his small trance, Oliver switched his gaze from Fred to your spot on the couch, tilting his head with a raised brow. “How did you ask your girlfriend out?”
Fred copied his facial expression, turning his head to follow the boy’s eye line when they landed on you. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue before clearing his throat, waving a dismissive hand in the air.
“Oh, we’re not dating.”
“Sure seems like it.” Oliver crossed his arms and raised both brows this time, judging Fred like he was a liar. “You can’t give out advice about dating without having a girlfriend yourself.”
“My advice is fool proof!” Fred blurted, almost baffled that a thirteen year old accused him of spreading false information—though he has done that multiple times before to everyone he knew
“Then how come you don’t have a girlfriend?”
Fred opened his mouth and shut it, putting his index finger up toward the boys before turning and walking over to you. He stood in front of you with his hands in his front pockets, waiting until you finished your thoughts on the essay before speaking.
“Did you know people think we’re dating?” He said quietly, earning a wide-eye look from you. Based on your reaction, you probably didn’t know either. “Yeah, weird. Those two boys thought we were dating.”
“That’s the weird feeling I was getting in this room.” You say as you twirl your golden charm necklace between your fingers, looking over at the two boys who suddenly looked guilty and mischievous at the same time. You raise a brow and look back at Fred with a small smirk, making him grin back.
“Can you imagine the shock on their faces if they believed it took you two seconds to land a girlfriend?”
Fred bent over by the waist, lips mere centimeters from yours. “And what do you have in mind, Faucett?”
Your smirk widens before you pull him in by the collar of his sweater, lips meeting his faster than anyone could have expected it. As if someone flipped a switch in Fred’s mind, he quickly reciprocated, hands coming up to cup the back of your neck and cheek.
For a second, the two of you were completely immersed in each other that you didn’t realize that—once more—the Gryffindor Common Room stared. This time, they stared only for a brief moment before looking away. It seemed like everyone expected it since the moment you both walked into the Common Room together on any Sunday evening.
You separate after the kiss that lasted longer than you both thought it would last, the two of you slightly out of breath, but still wearing eat-shitting grins at fooling the two third years in their small corner. Fred glanced at them from the corner of his eye, winking at Oliver specifically when he stared with a gaped mouth.
“That’ll be the best piece of advice they’ll ever get.” You laugh quietly as Fred plops down beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your abdomen, warm against your skin under the sweater. “You’re not going back to those two boys?”
“Nah, it’ll ruin the fun.” He drawled and looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder unexpectedly. You looked down at him and raised a brow, waiting for an explanation from the one Weasley you liked a little more than the others.
“So, you? Me? Next weekend? Hogsmeade?” He asked with a confident smile, twirling a piece of your hair in between his index and thumb.
You bite back a smile and pat his cheek, his own smile never wavering. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Weasley.”
“Is that a yes?” He questioned, looking between your eyes.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” You say as you go back to finishing your essay, not caring for the blush that rose to your cheeks.
You and Fred have been friends since first year, but it never crossed your mind that you could ever be in the relationship everyone assumed you were in. Not until this year. It felt like you clung to every single word he spoke to you this time, and it felt so different.
All the pranks he would plan with Lee and George was always relayed to you, every gift he planned to give to his family members went through you—you were practically his without officially being his.
“I plan for many things, Faucett.” Fred moved to sit properly and dragged your legs back on top of his lap, messing with the embroidery on your jeans. “But I never planned on someone like you kissing me just to mess with two thirteen year olds.”
“You went along with it.” You clarify, knowing damn well that he also wanted to prank the two teens. Besides, it’s not like it was your first time kissing Fred. Not at all.
Your gaze meets his, “So what, you actually want to take me out on a date now?”
“Yep.” He continued to grin and trace the embroidery.
You carefully tuck away your Charms essay once more, continuing to hide the smile that came with the thought of going out with Fred Weasley. “I guess I’ll go on a date with you.”
Fred didn’t even know his grin could get bigger, but it did. He pulled you as close to him as he could, arms wrapped securely around your waist as he tilted his chin down to meet your eyes. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“You are bad news.” You laugh and melt into him when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You raised a brow at him, “Never planned huh?”
“Nope.” He popped his syllables with a smile so bright you swore the sun would shake in it’s presence. “Never planned.”
Summary: When you thought your longtime crush, Fred, had feelings for another girl, but all along the girl was you
Warning: no use of y/n
Cw: you fell first, he fell harder
Wc: 3k+
You could remember everything about him, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the precise shade of brown in his eyes, the easy way he moved through the corridors like he owned them.
He was one of those boys who just stood out. Red hair, bright smile, the kind of person who made people laugh without even trying. He and his twin brother George were always getting into trouble, always laughing about something. They were the kind of boys that everyone had a crush on. You read books, baked pastries, and spent your free time in the library or the Hufflepuff kitchens. You read books in the corner and didn't really talk to anyone.
Except then you developed feelings for Fred Weasley, and suddenly nothing felt safe anymore.
It started small. A glance across the Great Hall. Noticing when he walked into a room. Looking at him across the Great Hall when you thought nobody was watching. The way your heart did a stupid flip whenever he laughed. The way he smiled when George said something stupid, and your best friends Lily and Maya knew about your small crush.
Your friends didn't understand.
"You have to tell him," Lily said for the hundredth time, stirring a cup of tea in the common room. It was a Saturday afternoon, and you were supposed to be studying for Potions, but instead you were listening to Lily and Maya stage an intervention about your love life.
"I'm not telling him anything," you said firmly, not looking up from your Potions textbook. The words swam in front of your eyes, refusing to make sense.
"Why not?" Maya demanded. She was sprawled across the armchair next to you, legs dangling over one arm. "Worst case scenario, he says no and you move on. Best case scenario—"
"There is no best case scenario," you interrupted. "There's only the scenario where I humiliate myself in front of a boy I barely know."
"You do know him," Lily insisted. "You sit next to him in Herbology."
"I sit near him," you corrected. "I don't know him."
Maya asked from the armchair,"Come on, what's the worst that could happen?".
"He could laugh at me. Or worse, he could be nice about it, which is somehow worse than laughing. Or he could tell everyone and suddenly everyone knows I have a crush on Fred Weasley." You felt your face get hot just thinking about it. "I'm not doing it."
"You already had one conversation with him," Lily pointed out. "In Transfiguration. You're not complete strangers."
That conversation. You tried not to think about that conversation, but apparently you'd have to.
It was early in the year, third week of classes. You'd been paired together for a project on transformation. Fred had actually talked to you. Not just about the homework, but actually talked to you. He'd asked your opinion on things. He'd mentioned his dreams about opening a joke shop with George. And you'd managed to say like four sentences before getting so nervous you had to excuse yourself.
It was so embarrassing that you'd been avoiding him ever since.
"You're being a coward," Maya said now, and she wasn't even being mean about it.
You didn't respond because she was right, and you hated when she was right. You were being a coward. But admitting feelings to someone required a level of vulnerability you weren't sure you possessed. What if he laughed? What if he was kind about it, which somehow felt worse than laughing? What if he told everyone, and suddenly your quiet existence was disrupted by pity and awkwardness?
No. It was safer to admire from a distance and imagine scenarios that would never happen. It was safer to pretend you didn't spend an embarrassing amount of time wondering what Fred Weasley was doing, who he was thinking about, whether he'd ever notice someone like you.
"I'm not having this conversation anymore," you announced, standing up. "I'm going to the kitchens. I promised the house elves I'd help with tonight's dessert."
"Of course you did," Lily muttered as you left.
~~~
The kitchens were your sanctuary. The house elves—Tippy, Mop, and Bert—welcomed you like you were one of them, which was almost true. You'd been spending time here since your second year, learning recipes, perfecting techniques, creating new desserts. It was one of the few places in Hogwarts where you felt completely like yourself.
Tonight you were making chocolate eclairs, your specialty. There was something meditative about baking. Your brain quieted. The anxiety that usually accompanied you through the castle, faded away.
"Smells incredible," Tippy said, peering over your shoulder.
"Thanks," you said, carefully piping cream into the shells. "How many do you think we'll need?"
"For house elves, maybe fifty," Mop joked. "For students, maybe a hundred."
You smiled, concentrating on getting the piping consistent. This was what you understood. Measurements and temperatures and the way ingredients transformed under your hands. Not feelings. Never feelings. Feelings were messy and uncertain and unpredictable.
You were so focused on your work that you almost didn't notice George and Fred entering the kitchens.
Almost.
"Bert said you'd be here," George announced, making himself comfortable on one of the high stools. Fred was behind him, and your stomach performed an awkward flip that you tried very hard to ignore.
"We need sustenance," Fred said, his eyes going straight to your eclairs. "Please tell me those are for us."
"They're for dessert tonight," you said, keeping your eyes on your work. Your cheeks were definitely warm. Why were they here? Fred had never come to the kitchens when you were working before.
"Dessert is hours away," George pointed out. "Surely you could spare one or two for the hardworking students of Gryffindor House."
"You're not hardworking," you said, surprising yourself with your own boldness. "You skipped Divination yesterday."
"We were testing our new Puking Pastilles," Fred said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Much more valuable than predicting the future with tea leaves."
Despite yourself, you almost smiled.
"We'll leave you alone," George said eventually, though they didn't actually leave. Instead, they sat at the counter, talking to the house elves and occasionally commenting on your work. You could feel Fred watching you as you worked, and it made your hands slightly shaky, making your piping less perfect, which made you frustrated.
"You're really good at that," Fred said at one point, and you felt your entire face go red.
"Thanks," you said, not looking at him.
Then, they left. George had something to do with Quidditch practice, and Fred went along. You exhaled a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.
"That boy likes you," Mop said knowingly.
"He does not," you said firmly. "He was just being nice."
"House elf knows these things," Tippy insisted. "He looks at you like you're an eclair."
"That's possibly the worst compliment I've ever received," you said, but your heart wasn't really in it. You were too busy trying to convince yourself that Fred Weasley didn't like you, because if he did, that meant you had to do something about it, and you absolutely would not.
Three weeks later, you were walking back from the library with a stack of books when you heard Fred's voice coming from an empty classroom. You should have kept walking. But you didn't.
"—she's so pretty," Fred was saying. "Like, she has this look where she's thinking really hard about something, and it's just... she's beautiful,"
Your stomach dropped. He was talking about a girl. Of course he was.
"And she's funny," he continued. "Not like, trying to be funny. She just says these things that make me laugh. And she's really smart, but she doesn't like, brag about it or anything."
"So basically you're completely in love," George said, and you could hear him laughing.
Fred continues on,"She's not even trying to be impressive, but somehow everything she does is impressive. The way she concentrates on things. The way she makes these little focused expressions when she's thinking. And she's so shy, but not in an annoying way, you know? It's like..."
"Mate, you're absolutely smitten," George said,"Are you going to tell her?"
"I don't even know how to start," Fred said, sounding frustrated. "She barely talks to me. That one time in Transfiguration she looked like I was going to murder her."
That's when you stepped back and accidentally kicked a suit of armor. The noise echoed through the hallway and your heart literally stopped.
You didn't wait to see if they came out. You just started walking really fast, then almost running, back to the Hufflepuff common room.
By the time you got there, your eyes were burning and your chest felt tight. Angelina. He liked Angelina. Of course he did. Everyone liked Angelina.
Lily found you sitting alone in the corner of the common room.
"You look sad," she said, sitting down next to you.
"Fred likes someone," you said, and your voice cracked a little. "I heard him talking to George. He's in love with her. Or getting there. And it's not me."
"How do you know it's not you?" Lily asked carefully.
"Because he said she was pretty and funny and smart, and that's... that's not me. That's Angelina." You felt tears start to come and you hated it. "And that's fine. That's good. Now I can stop thinking about him and just move on."
You hated how bitter you sounded. "So. Disaster averted. I never have to tell him anything because he's already interested in someone else."
"That doesn't sound like a disaster averted," Lily said carefully. "That sounds like a disaster."
"It's fine," you insisted, even though it really, truly wasn't.
Over the next week, you managed to avoid Fred completely. You sat on the opposite side of Herbology class, changed your route to the kitchens, and even skipped a Hogsmeade weekend because you were afraid of running into him. It was exhausting and ridiculous and you hated yourself for it, but you couldn't seem to help it.
~~~
The worst part was that you started noticing Fred with Angelina. The way they talked in the hallways. The way he looked at her. And it hurt in a way that was almost physical.
So you did what you always did when you were sad or nervous,you baked.
You were in the kitchens on Friday evening, making chocolate croissants, when Tippy approached you with an unusual expression.
"You have a visitor," the house elf said.
"I'm not expecting anyone," you said, not looking up from your dough.
"He's waiting by the entrance," Tippy said meaningfully.
Your hands froze. "He?"
But Tippy had already disappeared, and you had a pretty good idea who the "he" was. You considered ignoring it, just staying in the kitchens until he went away. But that was cowardly, and you were tired of being a coward.
Fred was leaning against the wall near the kitchens entrance, looking nervous in a way you'd never seen him look before. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and his hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.
"Hi," he said when he saw you.
"Hi," you replied carefully.
"I've been trying to catch you all week," he said. "You're very good at disappearing."
"I've been busy," you said, which was a lie, and you were pretty sure he knew it was a lie.
"Look, I'm just going to say this because if I don't say it now I never will," Fred said, running a hand through his hair again. "I like you. Like, actually like you. And I know we've barely talked, and I know this is probably sudden and weird, but I heard you at the Transfiguration Project that one time, and you were so thoughtful about everything, and then I kept seeing you in the kitchens, and you're so focused and careful and you make these little expressions when you're concentrating, and—"
He stopped abruptly.
Your brain had stopped working somewhere around "I like you."
"The girl you were describing to George," you said slowly.
Fred's face went red. "How did you—oh no. Did you hear that? You heard that. You heard me talking to George. That's why you've been avoiding me."
"I thought you were describing Angelina," you said, which sounded incredibly stupid even as you said it.
"Angelina?" Fred looked genuinely confused. "Why would I be describing Angelina? I don't even know Angelina that well."
"You assumed I had a crush on Angelina, so you've been avoiding me all week?"
"I didn't know she wasn't the girl!" you said defensively. "I just knew I wasn't going to be any competition for her, so I figured I might as well accept it and move on."
Fred took a step closer to you. "You're completely insane if you think I'd pick Angelina over you."
"You don't even know me," you said, but your heart wasn't in it anymore.
"I want to," Fred said earnestly. "I've wanted to for months. I tried in Transfiguration, but you looked like I was going to murder you, so I figured I'd give you space. But I like you. And I know you're shy and quiet and you'd probably rather be literally anywhere else right now, but I had to tell you."
You stood there, dripping dough on your hands, looking at Fred Weasley, and realized that he was right. You were shy. You were quiet. And you would have preferred to be literally anywhere else. But at the same time, there was nowhere else you wanted to be.
"I like you too," you said quietly.
Fred's face broke into a smile that was so bright and genuine that you felt your chest constrict. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you confirmed. "For like... months, apparently."
"So you'll go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?" he asked. "And maybe I can finally have a real conversation with you that doesn't involve you looking like you're contemplating my possible murder?"
"I can try," you said, and you almost smiled.
He grinned. "I'll take it."
~~~
After that first date, things moved pretty fast. Fred would wait for you after classes. You'd sit together at meals. He started coming to the kitchens more often, and instead of just watching you work, he'd steal kisses and tell you jokes and generally distract you.
But the best part was the easy way Fred accepted you. Your quietness. Your love of baking. Your need for silence and solitude. He never pushed you to be more outgoing or extroverted. He just fit himself into your life, and you fit yourself into his, and somehow it worked.
One afternoon in late, you were in the kitchens working on a batch of cinnamon rolls when Fred appeared.
"These smell incredible," he said, kissing the top of your head.
"They're for tomorrow's breakfast," you said, smiling. "But I might have made extras."
"You're the best," he declared, stealing one off the cooling rack. He bit into it and made a sound of pure contentment. "Mate, these are dangerous. I'm going to marry you just for the baking."
Your heart did a flip at the casual mention of marriage, even though you knew he was joking. Mostly joking. Maybe joking.
"You can't marry someone just for their baking," you said, trying to sound normal even though your entire nervous system was currently malfunctioning.
"Sure I can," Fred said, eating another roll. "It's a perfectly valid reason. Much more practical than the whole 'love' thing everyone talks about."
"You're ridiculous," you said, shaking your head.
"You love it though," he said, and he was right. You did. You loved his ridiculous jokes and his terrible puns and the way he made you laugh at things you'd normally be too shy to find funny.
~~~
You were trying really hard to focus on your assignment—something with dragon's blood and powdered moonstone, you thought. Professor Snape had paired you with Fred, which was either the best or worst thing that could happen depending on how you looked at it.
The problem was that Fred didn't seem interested in focusing on the potion at all.
"You're really pretty when you're concentrating," he said softly, leaning close to you.
Your face went hot immediately. You could feel the blush creeping up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. Around you, other students were working quietly, and you were very aware that Fred was being deliberately distracting.
"Focus on the potion," you said, trying to sound stern but probably just sounding flustered.
"I am focused," he said, his voice all warm and teasing. "I'm focused on you."
"Fred," you said, a warning in your voice, but you were smiling despite yourself.
"What?" he said innocently. "I'm just saying you look cute. Is that a crime?"
Your nervous system went into overdrive. He was looking at you with those warm eyes, that playful smile, and you could feel your heart doing backflips in your chest. Your hands were shaking a little as you stirred the potion.
"You're being distracting," you said, which was maybe the understatement of the century.
"Good," he said, and he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I like distracting you. You get all flustered and it's adorable."
That was it. Your brain short-circuited. Your nervous system took over. Without really thinking about it, you pushed his shoulder—just a little push, just enough to get him to back off and give you some space to breathe.
Except you pushed a little harder than you meant to.
Fred's chair, which he'd been leaning back in, tipped backward. His eyes went wide for just a second before he crashed to the ground with a loud BANG that echoed through the entire classroom.
The whole room went silent.
Everyone turned to stare. Professor Snape looked up from his desk with an expression of pure disdain.
Your face went so red you thought you might actually combust.
"Mr. Weasley," Snape said coldly, his voice dripping with disappointment. "Perhaps you could pay attention to your work instead of flirting with your partner."
"Yes, sir," Fred said, getting up and brushing himself off. He was grinning though, like falling off his chair was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. "Won't happen again, sir."
You were walking quickly, trying to escape the embarrassment, when Fred caught up with you and grabbed your hand.
"I'm so sorry," you said immediately, your words tumbling over each other. "I didn't mean to push you that hard. I just got nervous and flustered and my body just reacted and—"
"Hey," Fred said, pulling you into a quiet corner near the stairs. "It was hilarious."
"It was mortifying," you said, covering your face with your hands.
"It was both," he said, gently pulling your hands away so he could see your face.
"This isn't funny," you said, but you were already smiling a little.
"It's the funniest thing that's happened to me all week," Fred said seriously. "You pushed me off a chair because I was flirting with you. That's the cutest thing I've ever seen."
"Stop saying adorable," you said, but you were laughing now too.
You hit his shoulder, and he caught your hand and kissed it before pulling you into a hug.
"I love you," he said into your hair.
~~~
Fred would jokingly flirt, just to see you get nervous and push him out of habit.He'd just laugh about it. Once you pushed him into a wall or when you accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.
"You're violent," he'd tease.
"You're distracting," you'd shoot back.
But you were smiling when you said it, and so was he.
summary: it's over, he's found someone else. your longtime crush, fred weasley, isn't interested, and it's absolutely crushing you. there's only one person you can confide in. george weasley. but what happens when fred mistakes your friendship with george for something else? what happens when fred starts to feel in a way he's never felt before?
warnings: angst, jealous!fred, bsf!george, fred lowk wants you so bad but doesn't know it
w/c: 7.4k
a/n: my ex and i had a mutual break up, and we're like really good friends but everyone keeps saying that we're def dating and it literally drives me insane, so that's sorta the whole situation between george and reader.
---
“Oh please, be honest. I know you aren’t alright,” George said as you sat down beside him.
“Me? Please, I’m absolutely thriving,” you said sarcastically, throwing on the cheesiest smile you could.
George gave you a sad smile.
“Okay, so maybe it bloody hurts like hell, but I will be alright,” you said leaning against him.
“Sure you will,” George said, wrapping his arms around you.
It had been three weeks since Fred Weasley had taken Angelina Johnson to the yule ball. Three weeks since you felt yourself going into a downward spiral. Three weeks of living like you weren’t lying about everything, and like every smile you put on your face wasn’t fake.
“I just wish I knew how to get rid of this feeling. I wish I could forget,” you said, whispering into George’s chest.
“I know love,” he said, pressing a kiss to your head.
The common room door swung open and you immediately saw Fred walk in, arm slung around Angelina. You looked away instinctively, tightening your grip around George’s waist.
“You wanna get out of here?” George whispered, softly into your ear.
“Please,” you said, looking up towards him.
You both stood up. George’s arm around your waist. You leaned your head against his shoulder, not giving a second thought to how it may have looked to anybody else. Fred passed, a smile on his face. That is until he saw the two of you.
“Where’re you two lovebirds heading off to,” Angelina smiled from under Fred’s arm.
“No where in particular,” George said casually, smiling softly at you.
You hummed in agreement, snaking an arm around George’s waist. George led you out of the common room and your face fell as you let out a heavy sigh.
“Come on, let's go love,” George said, nudging you towards the stairs.
You groaned in response, but George smiled. He saw what you hadn’t. Even if it had been brief, he saw it. The momentary flash of something that looked an awful lot like jealousy in his brother's eyes.
---
You were laughing, George by your side. You’d escaped to the lake after Fred had walked in with Angelina. You’d known that this, new found friendship? Relationship? Well whatever it was between Fred and Angelina had hurt George just as much as it had hurt you. George knew about your longtime crush on his twin, and you knew about his on a certain Gryffindor chaser.
Now the two of you were sitting by the lake, a box of bertie botts every flavour beans between you as you tried to laugh away your troubles.
“Hmm, what do you suppose yellow will be?” George asked, picking out a jellybean.
You shrugged, “Dunno, could be pineapple, could be butter, maybe even egg.”
George smiled at his jelly bean, “I wouldn’t mind an egg jellybean.”
You stuck out your tongue, “Ew! Gross George!”
George plopped the jellybean in his mouth, savouring the flavour. He swallowed, giving you a solemn look.
“Egg.”
“Egg,” you said, nodding in a solemn agreement.
George looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to take the next jellybean. You picked a jellybean and bit it in half.
“Yuck!” You said, throwing the other half in the lake.
The two of you went in between eating and tossing jellybeans into the lake. Until you peered into the box, choosing a white one. You bit into it tentatively before standing to spit it out into the lake.
“Oh! Gross!” You said, spitting into the lake.
George laughed, “What flavour was that?”
“Coconut.” You said, sticking out your tongue.
“Coconut?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” you said, “I despise it.”
George looked into the box and pulled out a white jellybean.
“No,” you said firmly.
“Yes.”
You shook your head, “No.”
George launched it towards you as you narrowly avoided it. You gasped before giving him a wicked look. You grabbed a fistful of jellybeans, hurling them towards George. George followed your lead, throwing more jellybeans at you. Before you knew it, the box was empty and you were both laughing so hard your sides ached.
You and George slowly made your way back to the castle, his arm wrapped around you. You were still laughing about the incident at the lake when you came across Fred. He was leaning against the corridor wall, watching you both.
“So, where did you two run off to?” Fred asked, crossing his arms.
“Oh, nowhere in particular,” you said, trying to suppress a smile at George.
George looked down at you, eyes flicking down to your shoulder. He smirked.
“Looks like I have some accuracy,” he said, picking a jellybean off.
You pulled a jellybean out of his hair, “I could say the same.”
He held the jellybean in front of you.
“Hmm, coconut or egg?” He said, looking over his jellybean.
“For you? I hope it's rotten egg,” you smiled.
He plopped the bean into his mouth, “Mm, coconut.”
You stuck out your tongue at him, “Yuck.”
You looked at your own jellybean, analyzing it thoroughly
“Hmm, butterbeer or earwax?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at George.
“For you? I hope it’s week old earwax,” George said, a mischievous grin on his face.
You bit into the jellybean, a smile sliding onto your face, “Ha, joke’s on you, it tastes like lemon-ginger cookie,” you smiled wistfully, “Did you know that’s actually one of the things I smell in amortentia? It smells exactly like F-”
You stopped yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth. George looked at you wide eyed, trying to suppress a smile.
“Smells like who?” Fred asked, furrowing his brow.
Your face turned bright red, “No one,” you said quickly, eyes darting towards George, “Oh, I’ve just remembered, we’re supposed to be meeting someone in the library, right George.”
“Right,” he said, sending you a wink, “See you later Freddie!”
Fred barely had time to answer before you were pulling George away, face the color of a tomato. Fred frowned. Since when had you gotten so close to George? He couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t the three of you walking through the corridors laughing over the most ridiculous things. And now? Now you and George were still walking through those same corridors, laughing over things that were probably just as ridiculous. He thought of the way you and George had walked in. The way George’s arms were wrapped around you, the way you smiled at him like there was some sort of hidden meaning behind it all. And what was that wink George had sent him before the two of you left? Was George implying something? Were the two of you, something? Fred’s stomach twisted. No, that couldn’t possibly be right. You’d all known each other since the start of Hogwarts, and it’d always been the three of you. Then again, you and George had disappeared together to nowhere in particular. And the two of you were getting awfully close… Fred’s jaw tightened. What on earth was George doing? He’d never seem to take any interest in you before? Why was now any different? Fred stopped. What was he so upset for? George was his twin, his other half, his partner in crime. And you were his best friend, you always had been. So why did it feel so much like… No, it couldn’t be. There was absolutely no way that he was jealous. Right?
---
“That was bloody embarrassing!”
“Oh please, it wasn’t that bad,” George said, watching you pace back and forth through the shelves.
“Not that bad? I almost told him straight to his face that I fancy him, trust me, it's bad,” you said, frowning in George’s direction.
“I mean it wouldn’t be the end of the world,“ George muttered under his breath.
You stopped giving him a deadly look, “And I don’t suppose you’d like to go and tell Angelina how you feel about her right this moment?”
George’s face paled, his eyes flashing in panic, “Yeah no, you’re right, it’s really bloody bad.”
You groaned exasperatedly, “What am I supposed to do? I obviously can’t tell him how I feel, that would just mess thighs up. But I can’t keep going how we’ve been going so far, that’s already proved to be much harder than I thought it would be. I can’t avoid him, that would be-”
You stopped. What was wrong with avoiding him? It kept you from potentially revealing your secret, and you wouldn’t have to keep living like your life wasn’t a total lie.
“Y/n? What’s going on up there?” George said, giving you a concerned look, “You’re not seriously considering avoiding him, are you?”
You looked up at George, “It’s the only possible way. I have to avoid him.”
George shook his head, “No you’re absolutely mental. Avoiding him isn’t going to help you, it’ll just make things worse.”
“Worse? You mean worse than they already are? George I’m tired of living like I might have a chance with him, only to be crushed every time I see him with Angelina. I know, it’s Fred. He’s one of my best friends, but maybe this will give me a chance to get over him. Maybe I can finally get on with life without wanting to cry every two seconds because he’ll never see me the way I see him,” you said, eyes set on the ground.
George frowned, “I know but, is there any way you’ll reconsider this?”
You shook your head softly, “No,” you whispered, “And I need you to promise you won’t tell him anything either.”
George froze, “Y/n…”
“Please,” you said, looking towards him, “I know he’s your brother, but I can’t live like this anymore.”
George sighed, “You owe me big time.”
Your eyes lit up, a smile spreading across your face, “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” You said, hugging him tightly.
“Do not make me regret this,” he said, peeling you off of him.
“I won’t, promise.”
---
The first few weeks were difficult. Fred was your best friend, and you were used to telling him everything that happened to you. But the moment you’d see him with Angelina, the moment you felt your stomach drop lower and lower, the moment you wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear for the rest of your life. You turned the other direction, looking for George, and George was always there. Slowly, you found yourself looking for Fred less. Walking down corridors you knew he rarely used. Finding irregular times to eat just so you wouldn’t have to run into him. Until slowly you had almost completely integrated him completely out of your life. And George was right. Avoiding him did hurt. Trying not to see the one person that made you smile and laugh the most, was one of the most difficult things in the world. But hurt more was the fact that Fred didn’t seem to care. He’d been spending so much time with Angelina, that the absence of your presence hardly seemed to bother him. Until it did.
He’d see you in the common room, laughing with George, before the two of you were suddenly up and leaving for the lake. He’d see you in the library, struggling to reach a book, when George was by your side again, effortlessly grabbing it from above your head. He’d find you skulking around the kitchen, laughing quietly and you and George snuck past Flich time and time again. And Fred hated it. It had always been him, laughing with you in the common room. Him helping you reach the books you needed. Him sneaking around through Hogwarts with you. Since when had you started getting so close to George? And since when did he start getting further and further out of the picture? Since when had you been able to be happy without him?
But unbeknownst to him, you had never been more miserable. You’d sit with George in the common room, using every shred of energy to keep from crying. You’d sulk in the library using books as a way to hide the pain hidden in your eyes. One morning, George had woken up to you begging him to take you to the kitchen for some mac and cheese. George had rubbed his eyes groggily, giving you a bewildered look as he yawned out-
“But it's 6:00 in the morning. Dinner isn’t for another twelve hours.”
“So?” you had asked him, “I’m heartbroken over a man who will never know how insanely in love with him I am. “
George sighed, agreeing you had a point as he climbed out of bed, quietly sneaking you to the kitchen for a bowl of mac and cheese.
The two of you had gone to breakfast early that morning, neither of you being able to eat much after having eaten so much mac and cheese earlier. You’d nearly dosed off when Fred walked into the great hall, taking his usual seat next to George. You stood up abruptly, fear flooding your eyes as you said a short few words to George before turning to leave, George following you. Fred frowned. What on earth was that? Were you upset with him?
Fred grabbed George’s sleeve, “Mate, what’s going on? Why isn’t she talking to me anymore? What’ve I done wrong?”
George shrugged, “Dunno what you’re talking about mate, sorry.”
Fred’s heart sank as he let go of George’s sleeve, watching him catch up to you. Great so whatever Fred had done wrong, you’d told George about it, and George was upset with him too now. He’d barely even registered when Angelina sat down next to him, talking excitedly about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. Fred smiled and agreed politely. But he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was why you had suddenly decided that you no longer wanted anything to do with.
---
The weekend of the Hogsmeade trip approached quickly, and before you knew it you were sitting in the Three Broomsticks with George, sipping a butterbeer slowly as your mind wandered. You were thinking about Fred again, but then again, when were you ever not? You sat in silence until George looked at his watch and stood up.
“I’ve got to go meet Fred at Zonko’s for a bit. But I’ll be back later, yeah?”
You nodded, giving him a faint smile as you took another sip of your butterbeer. He gave you a light kiss on the head before turning to leave. Your eyes followed him until he reached the door, heading into a mass of white and cold. You were barely paying attention after that, the chatter of the Three Broomsticks turning into a dull noise, drifting in and out of your head until-
“Shame your boyfriend left a pretty girl like you all alone.”
You looked up to see a tall Durmstrang boy standing above you.
“Sorry?” You said, setting down your butterbeer.
“Your boyfriend,” he said, looking towards the door George had left from, “It’s a shame that he left you here.”
Your cheeks flushed, “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Really? You two are just very close, no?”
You nodded, “Yeah, he’s probably my best friend.”
“Ah, I see.”
You looked at him awkwardly, not sure of what to say, “Would you… like to sit?”
“Ah, sure,” he said, pulling out the chair, “My name is Erik Andersen.”
“Oh, Y/n Y/l/n,” you said, extending an arm for what you meant to be a handshake.
He took your hand, lightly kissing the back. Receiving a small “Oh” from you.
“So, you are a Hogwarts student, yes?”
You nodded, “Yeah, I’m from Hogwarts. And you’re from Durmstrang I presume.”
“Yes, Durmstrang, good school. Very advanced magic.”
“Oh,” you said, smiling awkwardly.
Erik sat back, studying your face, “So… you have a boyfriend?”
“Uh, no,” you said, trying to hide the blush in your face with your butterbeer.
“So maybe I can ask you on a date one day?” Erik said, smiling politely.
You proceeded to turn redder, “Uh, sure, I suppose.”
“Good, I hope to see you soon Y/n Y/l/n,” he said, taking your hand to kiss it again.
You sat there stunned as he walked away, a group of what seemed to be his friends cheering for him. What was that? Did you just get asked on a date? Did that really just happen?
“Y/n!”
You looked up again to see Alicia and Katie rushing towards you.
“Oh, hi guy-”
“How on earth did you do it!” Alicia said, sitting down across from you.
“What did he say?” Katie said, pulling over another chair.
You looked between them, completely bewildered.
“What?”
“That Durmstrang boy!” They both cried.
“Erik?”
“Oh, she’s on a first name basis with him. Merlin, she's so lucky!” Katie shrieked.
“I know, I would die to be in your position,” Alicia said, sighing dramatically.
“Uh, sorry?”
“You must tell us every detail. I want to know absolutely everything,” Katie said, scooting in closer.
You furrowed your eyebrows, “Hang on. What’s going on? What’s the big deal?”
Alicia rolled her eyes, “You were talking to who just happens to be the most gorgeous, most amazing boy in Durmstrang,” she said as though it were obvious.
“Oh,” you said, slightly underwhelmed.
“So tell us! What’d he say?” Katie said.
You frowned, “Nothing really. He just made a comment about George and I and then we talked for a bit.”
“Puh-lease! He kissed you on the hand, twice!” Katie exclaimed.
“Really, I did not know that,” you said dryly.
“No, really Y/n, what did he say? Alicia asked.
“I dunno, he asked if George was my boyfriend, he called me pretty, he asked me if I went to Hogwarts, he asked if I was single, then he asked if maybe I’d like to go on a date with him,” you said, exasperatedly.
Alicia and Katie looked between each other, shrieking as they ranted about Erik and his apparent many perfections. You’d stopped listening again when George walked over, confusion written all over his face.
“What’s going on? Who cursed these two to blabber until the world implodes?” George said, smirk on his face as he looked between Alicia and Katie.
“Y/n’s got a date with the hottest boy in all of Durmstrang!” Katie shrieked.
George raised an eyebrow, “Merlin what happened in the ten minutes that I was gone?”
“I don’t know,” you sighed, “Some Durmstrang boy came over and we talked for a bit and-”
“HE ASKED HER ON A DATE!” Alicia screamed, making you jump, “SHE’S DATING ERIK ANDERSEN, THE HOTTEST BOY IN ALL OF DURMSTRANG!”
“Who’s dating the hottest boy in all of Durmstrang?” A voice rang out.
You looked behind George to see Angelina, and Fred, with his usual arm around her. Your stomach plummeted as your face grew red with embarrassment. It was one thing to have Alicia and Katie screaming in the middle of the pub about a hot guy from Durmstrang, but it was another to have Fred right there, listening to the entire conversation.
“Y/N!” Katie shouted.
“Bloody- Keep your voices down,” you hissed, trying to hide the red in your face, “And for the record we’re not dating, we haven’t been on a date, we haven’t done anything. He just came over to talk.”
“He told you you were pretty, kissed your hand twice, then asked if he could take you on a date!” Katie said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“Oh bloody- I have to go,” you said abruptly, grabbing your coat, “I’ll talk to you all later.”
You didn’t waste another second pushing past them all to leave. You didn’t even bother turning around when George followed you out, calling your name as you walked into the harsh winter wind.
“Y/n!”
You turned around, face beet red, “I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my entire life.”
George gave you a half smile, extending his arms to let you in a hug. You walked into them, burying your face so no one else could see how red you were. George didn’t say anything, just let you stand there, melting into your puddle of embarrassment.
From inside the Three Broomsticks, Fred stood at the table where the three girls continued to gossip about the latest news of you and Erik, but he wasn’t listening. Inside him, something twisted itself into a knot. He hated the idea of you and another guy. And he wasn’t too fond of the way George had run after you when you’d stormed out. Fred couldn’t put a finger around what this feeling was, but all he knew was that you were not supposed to be some Durmstrang's girl. And you certainly weren’t meant to be George’s. So whose girl were you?
---
A couple weeks passed after the fiasco at the Three Broomsticks. You had gone back to avoiding Fred and trying to see him as little as possible, and the news about your occurrence with Erik seemed to have died down. So naturally, that was the time that Erik chose to ask you to sit with him for the next event. And naturally, the event being held for all students to watch, everyone saw the two of you together. This time with Erik wasn’t nearly as awkward as the last. Having known what to expect you both seemed to relax, and you actually managed to enjoy yourself. Erik was smart, witty, bold, and funny. He was everything that you would’ve looked for in a guy. But he wasn’t Fred.
After the second task was over, the two of you parted ways. Erik going to congratulate Viktor, and you going back to the Gryffindor common room to celebrate Harry. It was a standard Gryffindor party. Loud music, flashing lights, red solo cups filled with butterbeer and firewhisky, littered all throughout the room. But you simply weren’t enjoying yourself. You sat on a couch, smiling as you watched everyone around you dance, but it didn’t feel right. You felt empty beyond reason.
“So, how did the big bad date go?”
You looked to your side as George plopped on the couch, handing you a butterbeer.
You smiled, recalling your afternoon, “I mean, I really have no reason to complain, he’s nice, smart, funny, he’s really my kind of guy.”
George’s lip twitched, “Yeah…”
You raised an eyebrow, “George, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
“What,” you said, firmly .
“Well, he’s okay,” George said hesitantly, “But he’s not Fred.”
You frowned, “Well, what if that’s not what I want?”
George gave you an unconvinced look.
You sighed, “Yeah, you’re right, he’s not Fred.”
George gave you a sad look, “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
You shook your head, “No, it's okay. I guess I had better be honest to myself in the end anyways,” you said, looking towards the floor, “I really did try to enjoy myself. I tried to forget him and like Erik. But I fear my heart is betraying me.”
George slid over, giving you half a hug. You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist.
George smiled sadly, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“It’s okay,” you whispered, still holding on.
In the midst of the chaos of the party, Fred saw you. He saw you holding onto George. He saw George, lightly stroking your back as though comforting you. He saw when the two of you slipped away from the party, disappearing behind the spiral staircase. He later heard rumors about how things hadn’t gone well with Erik. That the two of you parted ways over a disagreement regarding George. How George was there for you during your greatest time of need. And that the two of you were now doing frivolous things in the dead of the night. Each lie made Fred’s blood boil. He hated the idea of you and Erik, and worse than that, the idea of you and George. Of course he however, like everyone else, had no idea what was going on. The truths hidden behind closed doors. The tears obscured by guarded eyes. The pain concealed under the calm of your exterior. He had no idea what was going on. And it drove him mad.
“You reckon they’re dating,” Lee had asked him, late one night after George had already fallen asleep.
“I have no idea,” Fred said, jaw set as he looked at his twin, sleeping peacefully.
---
It had been hard to avoid the looks you got from people. You’d heard the rumors that were going around about you and George, and you absolutely hated it. Worse than that, you felt bad for George. It was one thing for you to get rumors spread around about you. But that George had to suffer through it too made you feel even worse. Through the midst of it all you were still avoiding Fred, taking turns when he walked down a corridor, skipping meals to avoid sitting with him, spending increasingly long times in the library, reading things about plants you hadn’t necessarily been looking to know. With everything that was going on, you were using everything you had in you to keep from falling apart. To keep from breaking. To keep from letting the tears, that you had guarded so well, fall.
You weren’t sure when it happened. But at some point, you started avoiding both Fred and George all together. George hadn’t done anything wrong. Not at all, but you couldn’t take him getting flack for the choices that you had made. You weren’t exactly sure what avoiding George would do about the rumors. If anything more would just be started about two of you being in an argument or something like that. But you didn’t care. You just needed to be disassociated with all of it. Everything sucked. You were already avoiding the one person who was probably the most important thing in the world to you, and now you weren’t talking to your other best friend, the one who had been more recently going through thick and thin with you. Life felt like a cave in which there was no light on either end, and you were desperately lost in the darkness.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. You were sitting in the library again, only you were actually studying this time, trying to find some more information for a transfiguration essay you had for McGonagall. You were midway about the importance of changing your eyebrow color accurately when someone walked into the row.
“Oh! Y/n, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
You looked up to see Hermione, face flushed and hair wild as she set her things down on the table.
“Hi Hermione,” you said, giving her a small smile.
She returned the smile, pulling out a chair to start working. The two of you worked in silence for a few minutes before Hermione stopped. Looking at you.
“I know this may not mean a lot, but for the record, I don’t believe any of the things that are going on about you right now,” she said, studying you carefully.
You looked up at her, momentary shock at her words, “Uh, thank you,” you said, as she gave you a smile, “And it does mean something to me.”
“It really shouldn’t you know,” Hermione said, turning back to her work, “I mean, people make things up all the time because they don’t know how to cope with what’s really happening. It shouldn’t matter what their poor judgement means to you. Besides, none of what they’re saying is true.”
You blinked, “Uh, how do you know that?” you asked, “I mean, not that it’s true, even if everyone else seems to believe it.”
Hermione looked at you again, eyes looking at your figure as though it were telling her some sort of big secret.
“Because I’ve seen the way you look at George. Then I see the way you look at Fred,” Hermione said, eyes meeting yours.
You stopped, heart thudding in your chest, “What? What are you talking about? I don’t look at Fred in any way.”
“Y/n. Trust me, I know. You look at Fred, the same way I look at Ron,” she said, giving you a sad smile.
You swallowed, tongue suddenly feeling extraordinarily thick in your mouth, “Yeah well. No matter anyways. He’s with Angelina. It’s never going to happen,” you said, turning back to your essay.
Hermione shrugged, turning back to her own work. The two of you fell back into silence, each working on your own assignments, until Hermione broke the silence again.
“They’re not together by the way,” she said, “Fred and Angelina. They’re just friends. Like you and George.”
You scoffed, “Please. They’re always together. He took her to the yule ball. I mean, I’ve seen the way they look at each other.”
Hermione shrugged, “I suppose. But then again. You’re always with George. You went with George to the yule ball. People see the way you and George are always looking at each other.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” you said, face flushing, “George and I are friends. We went to the ball, as friends. We look at each other because we respect each other as friends.”
Hermione put her hands up, “Sorry, just saying. The parallels are quite similar if you think about it.”
“Well stop thinking about it!” You exclaimed, turning back to your essay haughtily.
Hermione stopped talking again. Going back to her own work, when she broke the silence yet again.
“You know, Fred is probably in the same boat you are. He sees you with George all the time, he’s bound to think a thing or two about you.”
You slammed your quill on the table, “You are absolutely mental. I mean, you’re impling, that he actually sees me the same way that I see him. That he gets that same low feeling in his stomach I get when I see him with Angelina. I mean, that’s not how he sees me Granger. Trust me I know.”
“And what makes you say you know?” Hermione said calmly.
“I just know! I don’t need reasoning for it!” You said, pursing your lips.
Hermione looked at you. A quiet sadness and curiosity behind her eyes. You looked at her. She hadn’t meant to provoke you. Fred was just a touchy subject, apparently. You sighed, running a hand through your hair.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you like that. It’s just, a complicated topic,” you said, looking blankly at your essay.
Hermione didn’t say anything, just turned back to her work, like the whole ordeal had never happened. You tried to get a few more words down for your essay, but your focus was gone. You sighed, packing your things away, beginning to leave the library. Before you left the aisle you glanced over your shoulder, looking at Hermione, quickly jotting down notes.
“You know, for the record. I think Ron looks at you the same way you look at him,” you said.
You left after that. Leaving Hermione stunned as she watched your back, heading out of the library. You didn’t necessarily agree with Hermione’s judgement about Fred, but what she said about not letting other people’s judgement get to you, stuck in your mind. You walked slowly from the library back to the common room, still thinking about Hermione’s words. When you got past the fat lady, you didn’t waste a second in going up the spiral staircase and knocking on the door on the sixth landing.
The door opened to a confused George, who looked down at you.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, running towards him, latching your arms around him tightly.
George looked at you slightly shocked, but he quickly wrapped his arms back around you. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he knew it was good to talk to you again.
You finally let go, giving him a small smile, “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in so long. I just got caught up in the rumors that were going on about us. And I just wanted them to stop, so I thought maybe if I stopped talking to you people would stop assuming things and things would get better, but this is almost as bad as not talking to Fred. I don’t have anyone to rant to anymore, and my whole situation with Fred is just getting so much worse and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
George smiled, “Y/n, you know I don’t care at all about the rumors. They don’t bother me, at all. But it’s nice to know you care so much. And it's nice to know that not talking to me hurts almost as much as not talking to Fred,” George said, teasing you.
You laughed, “You know what I mean, George.”
“Yeah I know,” George said, with a smirk, “So does this mean you’re going to go and talk to him?”
You scoffed, “No, definitely not. I’m still absolutely heartbroken over him and would like to avoid him at all costs. Even if Hermione thinks otherwise.”
George raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean Hermione thinks otherwise?”
You rolled your eyes, “She’s got this crazy idea that Fred actually likes me and that he’s jealous of you.”
George went uncharacteristically quiet and you looked at him.
“There is absolutely no way, you’re going to say that you agree.”
“Well I mean-”
“The both of you are absolutely mental!” You exclaimed, smacking George’s arm.
“Ow! Hey! I’m using that arm later,” George said.
You laughed, shoving him, “Missed you Mr. Delusional.”
George smiled, “Missed you too Captain Oblivious.”
---
There were still a lot of rumors going around about you and George. But you cared less now. What did it matter to you that other people had poor judgement? Things felt lighter now, at least you had someone to rant with. It still didn’t help the hurt in your heart over Fred. Seeing him with Angelina still hurt more than anything, no matter how many times you told yourself to get over him. One minute you could be joking with George about god knows what, then the next you’d want to melt into nothingness because you’d see Fred and Angelina laughing about something.
“Why does it still have to hurt so bloody much?” You asked one night, playing with the hem of George’s sweater as the two of you lay on one of the Gryffindor couches.
“Because you are hopelessly and desperately in love,” George said, looking at you briefly.
“Hmph, well it’s not fair. I wish it would stop,” you said, crossing your arms.
“No you don’t. You’re absolutely smitten with him, and you love that you’re in love with him,” George said, smirk crawling up his face.
“Now that’s not true! I absolutely hate that I love him, because he’s not mine,” you said, melting into the couch cushions.
“Well, I mean, it’s still not too late,” George said with a shrug.
“Okay there Mr. Delusions,” you said, smacking his head with a couch cushion.
“Oi! That’s not very nice you know,” George said, mocking a pout.
“Oh, well I’m so sorry, you lost what’s left of your few brain cells,” you said.
George put a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt that you could talk to your best friend like that.”
You laughed, tossing a cushion at his head. George caught it, setting it in his lap.
“Alright then, I know who I won’t be sharing my jelly beans with,” George said, pulling a box of bertie botts every flavour beans out of his bag.
“Hey! No! I’m kidding! I’m extraordinarily sorry. Please give me a bean,” you said, extending your hands out for the box.
George smirked, opening the box. He pulled out a toffee colored jelly bean and tossed it into your mouth. You chewed the jelly bean slowly, savoring the flavour.
“And the verdict is?” George said dramatically.
You sat up, chewing your jelly bean thoroughly and making a show of slowly swallowing it.
“Lemon-ginger cookie,” you said wistfully, mind alright starting to wander towards Fred.
“Alright lover-girl, wrap it up, don’t get all mushy on me,” George said, putting a bean into his own mouth.
The two of you were still going in between eating jelly beans when Fred walked in. He wasn’t with Angelina like he normally was, he seemed oddly disgruntled, and upon seeing the two of you the scowl on his face seemed to deepen. George glanced at his twin, smirk growing on his face as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.
“Say,” George said loudly, “I think I’m going to go down to the kitchen to see if I can grab a quick bite to eat.”
I’ll go with you!” You said quickly, jumping to your feet.
“No, no, you stay here, I’ll pick you up something if you’d like. But uh, you know. You’ve had a long day. You should rest,” George said, grabbing his jumper
You pursed your lips, heart pounding in your chest, “I loathe you.”
“Please, we both know you love me,” George said, sending you a wink.
George walked towards the portrait. As he passed Fred he gave him a smug look.
“Play nice, yeah?” He said, winking at his brother.
With that George ducked through the portrait, whistling as he went.
You stared past the portrait, hands shaking. What the hell was George doing? This was not part of the pact. The goal was to avoid Fred, not to leave him in a room with you.
“Well, I think I’ll head back to my dorm, you know it’s getting late, I-”
“No, no, you stay there. We need to talk,” Fred said, walking towards you.
“Uh, okay,” you said, voice trembling.
“Sit,” Fred said, head gesturing towards the couch.
“No, you know, I’m okay. I think I’ll stand I-”
“I said sit,” Fred said, voice nearly a low growl.
“Okay,” you said quietly, sinking back into your seat.
Fred walked towards the couch, sitting down on the other end.
“So I heard you were dating Erik Andresen,” Fred said.
You blinked, “Uh, no, we weren’t dating, he just invited me to watch the second task with him, then-”
“Right so Erik didn’t give you what you wanted I suppose. Didn’t satisfy you, am I right?” Fred said, tone harsh.
“What? What on earth are you talking about, I never-”
“So you bounced. You went to George. Fell straight into his arms, is that right?”
“What, no! I-”
“Come on Y/n. I’m not stupid,” Fred spat, “You know, it was one thing when the two of you went to the yule ball together. I figured, oh yeah, they’re just going as friends, but then you were spending virtually every possible second with him. You were glued to his side, no matter where you went.”
“Merlin, are you going to let me finish any sentence?” You huffed, eyes narrowing, “You can’t be serious right now. You’re accusing me of spending too much time with George? Well I’m sorry, but what the bloody hell did you want me to do? You were always off with Angelina. I was left to assume some things now wasn’t I? What did you bloody expect me to do? You wanted me to third wheel you, everywhere you went? Is that what you wanted?”
“What? What the bloody hell are you talking about! You weren’t third wheeling!” Fred said, standing up.
You stood up, not liking how much Fred towered over you, not that you standing up did much, “Oh! Well that’s rich! I wasn’t third wheeling? You know, there was a reason why I started spending so much time with George.”
“So that’s the truth then? You’re with George?”
“Fred, I’ve told you, I am not with George,” you said, voice shaking.
“Really! Well you could’ve fooled me! After the yule ball you spent so much time with George I was beginning to wonder if I even existed to you anymore. You’d hardly talk to me, let alone acknowledge me! It’s like after the ball I was a stranger to you, a stranger you wanted absolutely nothing to do with. You just walked away, just like that, leaving me in the dust, and you’re telling me I’m not supposed to expect that something was going on between you two?” Fred shook.
“You think any of this was easy? I spent every day, watching you, watching her. Watching you wrap your arms around her, watching the way you looked at her like you’d never seen anything as special as her. Believe me, this has been everything but easy for me,” you said, pain pouring through your voice, “In fact, do you know how incredibly difficult it was for me? Do you know how many nights I wanted to collapse into my bed and disappear for the rest of my life? It hurt Fred, worse than anything pain I’ve felt before. So don’t you go and tell me I wasn’t expected not to walk off.”
Fred shifted in his spot, “Why the bloody hell did you feel such a need to walk off then? What exactly was it that was bothering you? I’m not allowed to be friends with anyone other than you? I’m not allowed to be friends with any girls other than you? Why the bloody hell did you do it? What was so vexing about me and Angelina that made you have to do it? Please, tell me I’m-”
“BECAUSE I LIKE YOU.”
Your shout echoed through the common room. Your entire body felt like it was shaking. You’d never felt so much fear, and anger, and tension, all at once. Fred was frozen, looking at you like he couldn’t process what you’d just said. You were tempted to tell him that you hadn’t meant it before he was pulling you in, wild and desperate. His lips crashed against yours searching for everything he had needed so miserably. Your momentary shock only lasted a minute before you were kissing back with everything you had in you. Your hands ran up his face, tangling in his hair as he groaned against your mouth. His hands settled on your hips as he moved you back, until you felt your spine hit the wall. Everything that had been pent up since the yule ball came pouring out in that kiss. The jealously, the want, the torment that you both had been in since the yule ball. The kiss was messy, sloppy beyond all reason, but you’d never been as sure as you were in that moment, and nothing had ever felt so right.
“Oi, I thought I told you two to play nice.”
Fred pulled away glancing over his shoulder at George, standing smugly at the portrait door, “Oi, hate to break it to you, but you’re going to need to find another room, this one's occupied.”
George scoffed, “Yeah tell that to the first years that are going to be here in about five minutes.”
“Fine,” Fred said, grabbing your hand as he led you towards his dorm room.
The door slammed behind you and you barely had any time to process anything before Fred’s lips found yours again. You pulled him closer, making him shudder as you bit his bottom lip.
“Merlin, you have no bloody idea how much I needed this,” Fred breathed, muttering against your lips.
“So, I see we’ve all finally come to our senses?” George said from the door, plopping a jelly bean into his mouth.
“You are such a prat,” you said, barely able to peel your eyes off the scene in front of you.
“Ditto,” Fred murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.
“Oi, lovebirds,” George called.
The two of you reluctantly turned your heads as George tossed you a jellybean. You plopped in your mouth, looking at Fred with a smile.
“Lemon-ginger cookie.”
Fred laughed, wrapping an arm around you to kiss the top of your head. He may have had doubts about it before, but now he knew exactly whose girl you were.
Summary: Fred's love language is physical touch and things and unexpected feelings surface when Luna points that out.
Word count: 3300 (went a little overboard for these shorts)
Masterlist, and other love language fanfictions: Acts of service
“Don’t you ever notice how Fred can’t keep his hands off of you?” Luna asks me. Another attempt to distract from the work in front of us. I don’t bother giving her an answer, “Luna, you’ve got to focus on these charms or else you won’t get a good grade tomorrow.”
“I don’t notice him doing it with anyone else.” She continues, completely ignoring me. If only someone told me at the beginning of the year that tutoring Luna would be this difficult. I say, “Luna, you are very very smart and you’re incredible when it comes to things like herbology or magical creatures, but you could be doing incredible in all your subjects if you would just-”
“There is my favourite lady!”
“Oh! Hi Fred.” I say, surprised, looking up seeing Fred grinning with his hand on my shoulder. He hops down on the couch and sits next to me, his arm fully around my shoulder now. Luna raises an eyebrow and looks at me with a soft but pointed smile. I suddenly feel very aware of every part of my body that is touching his.
“How does the fat lady feel about letting a Ravenclaw enter the lion’s common room?” Fred asks, looking at Luna, shuffling closer to me. Our legs and sides flushed together now. Luna replies, “Oh, she doesn’t mind at all. We sort of got a deal going.”
“What deal?” I ask, curious. Lifting Fred’s arm from over my shoulder and placing it on his lap as inconspicuously as I possibly can. Luna notices of course and purses her lips before saying, “I have the same deal with all the paintings but I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I was told that if you expose a deal then your head will start growing.”
“Okay then, we should get back to charms.” I say, leaning forward out of Fred’s touch to reach towards the table to get a textbook. I hope that Fred doesn’t notice that when I settle back down it's inches away from him. I never noticed how physically close Fred and I always are. Does it make people uncomfortable? Is it normal? And is he actually only like that with me like Luna says?
“Okay so at the rate we are moving at I think it would be best if we also did a quick morning revision-”
“Hey, are you okay?” Fred whispers in my ear. When he is this close I can’t help but notice all the freckles dotted on his cheeks and nose, does anyone else see these freckles the way I do? Ugh, it’s so stupid to even think about. I answer, quickly, maybe even a little bit too quickly. “Yeah, why?”
“No reason.”
***
Breakfast is always hectic at Hogwarts. People falling into their plates of cereal because of a lack of sleep, people earring at a speed that is definitely a choking hazard because they’re late for something, and some people, much like myself right now are cramming for an exam that is in a few minutes, except that it’s not my exam.
“Remember an invisibility enchantment depends on the type of object as well as the location of the object while a cloaking enchantment depends only on the type of the object.” I repeat out loud from the textbook while Luna eats some fruit rather quickly before the exam.
Despite her almost always calm demeanor I can tell that she’s feeling a little nervous about the exam, you always notice a little less twinkle in her eyes and a lot more fidgeting with her uniform or the long eccentric earrings. I reassure her, “You’re going to do great, okay? Flitwick’s exams are easy, make sure you keep your eye on the clock.”
“And remember, when in doubt pick B.” Fred pipes in from beside me just arriving at the Great Hall with George. George waves at me in greeting and sits opposite to me, beside Luna. Fred presses a kiss to my cheek whispering a good morning. He only waves at Luna, but I guess that’s only natural they’re not as close and Luna is much younger.
“What does that mean?” Luna asks Fred. He answers, “We’ve noticed that our dear Professor Flitwick tends to have the answer be B more often than not.”
“And how exactly are you sure of that?” I ask the twins and George answers this time. “We’ve tested it out, every year, Professor Flitwick does at least one multiple choice exam and one of us always picks B for all our answers blindly, and I don’t believe either of us has ever gotten a score less than 50% in any of those exams. Have we, Fred?”
“I don’t believe we have, George.” Fred replies after swallowing down what must be three strawberries at the same time. He moans in delight and raises one up for me, he says, “You have to try these, they’re so good.”
I feel the urge to eat it from his fingers but then I stop. Was I always so used to eating out of his hands? Isn’t that too intimate for just friends? I pluck it out of his fingers and eat it myself. I don’t miss the frown that quickly covers his face then leaves.
“What are we discussing this fine morning?” Angelina says, walking closer to where we are sitting and sits beside Fred. All of us wave at her as a good morning, including Fred. Now, Angie has been Fred’s friend for longer than I have and I would argue that they’re even closer than Fred and I, being on the Quidditch team together and everything, so why didn’t she get the greeting that I got?
“Just telling Luna about picking B on her charms exam.” George answers and Angie nods her head while filling up her plate with some bread and cheese. She says, “They’re absolutely wright about that theory, Luna. And you should also start picking D on McGonagall’s exams too.”
The twins nod along and I fea that Luna is taking their advice to ehart. I reach over the table and grab her hand in mine. I say, “Follow your gut, whether your gut tells you to pick B or any other letter. Now go, wouldn’t want you to be late.”
“Okay, thank you everyone. Thank you especially y/n.” She says, standing up swinging her decorated satchel over her shoulder. We all wish her luck and say goodbye. A few moments pass and I try to make it obvious that I’m sneaking glances at Fred. I wonder why he’s so close to me. Could it possibly be…no NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, not possible. We’ve been friends for years now. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, it could ruin the wonderful friendship that we’ve built. No, I’m just hallucinating, I’m letting what Luna said bother me, and it shouldn't. I have no proof, noooooo proof.
“Heyyyy, hey, love!” Fred says, waving his hand in front of my face. I only then notice that I’ve been openly staring at him with a look that can only be described as pure shock and horror. I look away immediately, my mouth turning into a line and my cheeks beet red. George narrows his eyes at me and I look away quickly.
Why am I acting so awkwardly? This is Fred, and Fred is my friend, unless…no. I’m not even going to entertain that thought, but suddenly, I can’t stand even being around Fred. My face is too red, and my palms are too sweaty and I think I’m actually more nervous than I was before NEWTs last year. I stand up abruptly, pushing the table slightly, and the cutlery smacks against each other creating a small ding.
“I’m going to go, I wouldn’t want to be late for class.” I explain, I reach out to grab my satchel from beneath the bench. Fred reaches out and steadies me with my hand. He says, “Class isn’t for another twenty minutes. You have plenty of time.”
“My class is different.” Different, different, everything is so different now. My stomach lurches at the contact of our hands, and when did he even interlace our fingers, has it always been this way? Has he always been this affectionate? And why just with me?
I leave the Great Hall in a flash. My sneakers squeaking at my quick steps. I could faintly hear Fred say to Angie in confusion, ‘We have the same class.’ I only stop the manic walking once I’m far away enough to catch my breath and sag against my wall. I would be embarrassed about the way I was acting if I could stop having a heart attack. Why does this matter so much?
“So you know.”
My head snaps to the back to George standing there with a smug look on his face, and his arms folded in front of his chest. I turn around to face him, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “Know what?”
“Ohhh, don’t play dumb with me. I could tell.” George says, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. I mirror his stance and fold my arms too. I’m not sure I know anything but charms at this moment. I certainly don’t know anything about anything that George specifically would want me to know, and certainly nothing about his other half.
“You finally figured out that Fred is miserably in love with you.” He finally admits, and I suck in a deep breath and the confession. Hearing the idea out loud puts a knot in my throat. I shake my head furiously and tighten the fold of my arms, only shuffling slightly on my feet. I say, “He’s not, he can’t, he…he wouldn’t want you saying this to me when it’s not true.”
George gives me a look, his arms falling to his sides. I may not know George as well as I know Fred but I know enough, I know that look enough to know that he’s saying the truth. I huff a deep breath. How can things change so quickly? I take a few steps to my left and sag against a wall. I’m glad everyone is inside so that they won’t witness this life changing moment of mine.
George leans against the wall beside me. I can see the way his eyebrows furrow. What’s going to happen now? It can’t go back to the way it was, I can’t ignore the fact that my best friend likes me, or according to George, loves me. He questions, “It can’t be that bad, can it?”
“It’s just so different now.” I say, and I slide down the wall, all the way to the floor ignoring all the dirt that must be on these floors and the way the fabric of my robe bunches up behind me ever so slightly. George says, “It doesn’t have to be.”
“It all depends on if you like him back.” He adds. I don’t think I can give him an answer if I tried. I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone before. I don’t know. I turn my head to the other side. I scoff, “You know I’m not good at this stuff George.”
“Trust me, I know.” He teases shoving my shoulder playfully. He says probably recalling the Yule Ball when I spent the entire night by their sides because I had failed to get a date, not because of lack of offers but due to lack of me accepting anyone, I was too busy, stuttering and tripping over my feet.
“I think you should do what you do best, try to understand it, use facts, maybe even use those lists you like.” He suggests, and I give him a small smile. Maybe I should figure out if I like Fred frist before rejecting even the thought of his feelings. I lean my head against the wall, close my eyes and try to think-
“What are you both doing here?”
I see Fred jogging up from the Great Hall, he has a wide beaming smile on his face. I sit up straight and George clears his throat before saying, “Just chatting.”
Fred pretends to check an invisible watch on his wrist that he would have if he cared about being on time for anything. He reaches out his hand for me to take, saying, “I think you’re actually going to be late for class now.”
I slip my hand into his, and he pulls me up in one quick swift motion, a little bit too swift that I clash into his chest a little. I wonder if he feels the same twists that my stomach makes. I tease, “As if you care about that stuff.”
He shrugs his shoulders and says as if it’s obvious, “You do.”
***
I’ve never been much of a person that enjoys Quidditch. I never really enjoyed watching sports and dressing all up in my house colors and cheering the team on while I’m shoved in between two other gryffindors screaming around me. I do make exceptions, and those are the times when Fred and George are playing.
“WHOOOOO!!! GO GRYFFINDOR, GO FRED! GO GEORGE!” I shout over the crowd and clap my hands hard together, exactly like a sports lover. Hermione sits next to me, clapping but much more gently. Gryffindor are just about to win, only one more goal left to score, or Potter could catch the snitch.
“HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH!” Lee shouts from the commentator’s booth. And the Gryffindor team all start high-fiving each other on their brooms. In a whirl of adrenaline and excitement Ron hugs Hermione, and they both proceed to pat each other on the back gently with their cheeks red when they part.
I see Fred flying over to the stands where I’m sitting. Eyes skimming the crowd until they land on me. His face is red and there are droplets of sweat on his forehead with his hairline just a bit damp. He’s holding his beater’s club in one hand and holding onto the broom with the other. He shouts, “Come on! Let’s celebrate.”
“I’ll meet you down.” I reply, trying to make it through the people in the stands to meet him down at the pitch. He shakes his head and draws closer, careful not to hit anyone with his broom or his feet. He pulls out a hand, and instinctively, I take it. He says, “There’s no time for that.”
Before I can process what that meant, I’m pulled upwards towards him. I let out a scream as he held me up with his hands. He places me in front of him, and he starts to fly down. I’ve never been a fan of flying. I shout, “FRED! You idiot, get me down. NOW!”
People shout congratulations to him as he flies over the crowd and as we land on the ground. As soon as my feet touch the pitch’s grass, I turn around and start smacking Fred’s shoulders. I scream between punches, “I-hate-you.”
He only grins in return. He throws his broom and the beater’s club to the side. He pulls me closer to him and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around his back and he wraps his around my waist. He leans back, lifting my feet off the ground for a second then placing me back on the ground. And then he looks into my eyes, and my stomach flips, has he always looked at me like that? With that glimmer in his eyes? Have I always been this blind?
He lets go of one hand around my waist, as Lee comes from behind him and slaps his back in congratulations. The grin is wide on his face as members of the team come to celebrate one by one. Alicia, Angie, Potter, Hermione…and others. He high-fives them, some of them receive nods of appreciation but everyone gets that brilliant smile as his hand stays on my lower back.
They all head out of the pitch to shower and change their clothes and to no doubt get ready for a party in the common room. It’s only us and a few other people when I notice, and then have to ask. I squeeze his hand to grab his attention and say, “Hey Fred, why did you only hug me?”
He doesn’t expect the question. He looks around us, eyes wondering fumbling for a response, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He says, “You’re my friend.”
“I mean, why did you only hug me? You didn’t hug any of your other friends like Angie or Lee.” I push, and I can see his cheeks getting red again this time not from the physical exhaustion of the game. He blinks a few times before saying, “You’re just different.”
My stomach flips again, and I just know that it’ll mean something if he says it. I ask, “Different how?”
His shoulders fall and he sucks in a deep breath. His mouth left open slightly and I look at him waiting for an answer. I’m so anxious I could break out into a sweat just from the expectation. His eyes turn helpless like he doesn’t know what to say. I add, “Do you like me, Fred?”
His eyes turn wide just ever so slightly, and he drops his hand from my side, lifting it up, to run his hand through his hair. The sweat made it cling to the rest of his hair, away from his forehead. I feel butterflies when he says, “Yes.”
The way he said it, so definitive, and so completely obvious like he’s never been sure of anything more in his life makes me feel sick. I have no idea if I want to throw up or if I want to throw my arms around him and pull him closer. ‘I think you should do what you do best, try to understand it.’ I recall George’s words.
The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can think about them, “I’ve never been good at this kind of stuff, Fred. I don’t know if I’ve ever liked anyone, and I don’t really understand feelings that well, but I’m going to try to. I think I need time to figure it out, all I know is that I like spending time with you and most times I only want to be around you. That I trust you and that you’re my friend.”
I wish I could make out the look in his eyes, but I continue, “I sometimes get jealous when you and Angie talk about Quidditch and I can’t join in. And that…being with you scares me, but, I don’t know anyone else I’d want to spend my time with. I like how it feels when you’re around and when you’re touching me. And…I really want to kiss you.”
Fred doesn’t waste a second before he eliminates the space between us in a single step. Taking all the air from the world, and tipping me only a few centimetres back, placing his lips to mine. I have no idea where to put my hands, but Fred knows, and he slides his hand over my arm and guides my hands to his shoulders.
I can’t breathe but somehow it would be worse if I pulled away from the kiss as if he was breathing air into me. My chest heaves as Fred pulls away. My eyes are wide and I can’t stop looking at him. I wonder if anyone’s ever seen his freckles the way I am seeing them right now. I ask, “Will you give me time to figure out my feelings?”
“I’ll give you all the time in the world if you’d ask.”
Summary: You've never considered Fred as a potential lover, yet the Amortentia says otherwise.
Warnings: None. A bit of angst, maybe? Reader doesn't feel seen, Fred acts like a git but he's secretly in love with her.
Author's note: I had this in my drafts, and I decided to post it now. I know it's short, but I liked this idea :)
"You recognised it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?" Professor Slughorn clapped his hands, enthusiastic. "Oh, do not be deceived by the delicious scent you might smell. It's the most dangerous love potion that ever existed."
His expression, though, was exhilarating.
As if he wasn't showing to a whole class of teenagers a potion that could change their lives forever if one only brings a nose close to the steam rising in spirals.
"Who wants to add something more? Come on!"
A Gryffindor slowly raised her hand, eyes locked on the spirals rising from the cauldron.
"It's supposed to smell differently according to what attracts us."
Professor Slughorn clapped his hands once again. "Very well, Mrs. Wilson. Care to reveal to us what you smell?"
The Gryffindor leaned closer, mumbling whatever kinds of scents she was smelling.
"Very good! Who else wants to try...? Blimey! Don't push and form a line."
One by one, everyone had nearer towards the cauldron, smiling and blushing.
You, on the other hand, didn't seem pretty excited to know how your supposed 'crush' smelled like since you hadn't one.
Or at least, that's what you thought.
You weren't in love, right?
Once your nose picked up the scent, you wrinkled your nose.
"Firecracker embers, sticky toffee pudding and freshly roasted coffee?"
You shouldn't have talked so loudly, yet everyone turned towards you.
"Oi, seems to me you're into an incredible guy," Fred Weasley murmured, winking at you.
You've just smelled Fred Weasley.
The same guy who was the complete opposite of you - easygoing, funny, and... basically a celebrity at Hogwarts.
Everyone knew Fred. Everyone was fond of his and George's jokes.
And you were basically the most reserved, shy, and quiet girl at Hogwarts.
You couldn't even work together, could you?
"How do you even know that I smelled something that I liked? Maybe this time it didn't work."
"I hate to disappoint you, Mrs. Y/L/N, but the Amortentia never fails."
Great. Fantastic. Thank you very much, Slughorn.
"See? Even Slughorn knows you're into me."
"I never said that I was into you! It could be literally anyone!"
Summary: Breakups with Fred Weasley had always been temporary.
Fred Weasley was completely certain you’d come back to him.
Until you didn’t.
Now suddenly you’re spending your time with Cedric Diggory, avoiding Fred like he’s the problem for once — which, annoyingly enough, he might actually be. What starts as jealousy and wounded ego slowly turns into something much worse: realization.
And for the first time in his life, Fred stops trying to win you back with flirting, charm, and reckless kisses… and starts trying to deserve you instead.
That was what truly started ruining Fred Weasley’s week.
Not Cedric Diggory.
Not the breakup.
Not even the fact half of Gryffindor Tower had apparently become emotionally invested in your new love life.
It was you.
Because usually when Fred provoked you, something happened.
You rolled your eyes.
Snapped back.
Started an argument.
Kissed him to shut him up.
Something.
But now?
Nothing.
And it was beginning to drive him completely insane.
“You’re staring again,” George informed him lazily over breakfast.
Fred tore his eyes away from the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff side of the Great Hall immediately.
“I’m not.”
“You look like you want Diggory dead.”
Fred took a sip of pumpkin juice calmly.
Across the Hall, Cedric leaned closer to say something to you.
You laughed softly.
Fred’s jaw tightened before he could stop it.
George noticed instantly.
“Oh, wow,” he breathed. “You’re down horrendous.”
Fred scoffed loudly. “Please.”
“You’re one rejected hug away from becoming a supervillain.”
Lee snorted violently into his drink.
Fred ignored both of them completely. Because honestly? This had stopped being funny days ago.
At first he’d thought you were trying to prove a point. Then he assumed you were dragging things out for dramatic effect.
Now Fred genuinely couldn’t tell what was happening anymore.
Which he hated.
Fred liked knowing things.
Especially when it came to you.
And the fact he suddenly couldn’t read you properly anymore made something ugly twist in his stomach.
Still—
he refused to panic.
That afternoon, Fred found you in the common room sitting beside Angelina with a parchment spread across your lap. Without hesitation, he dropped directly onto the sofa beside you despite the several completely empty chairs nearby.
His thigh pressed against yours immediately.
You didn’t move away.
Fred relaxed slightly.
“There you are,” he said casually.
You continued writing. “Hello, Fred.”
Too calm.
Fred hated that tone now.
Angelina looked between both of you once before immediately standing. “Nope,” she announced. “I’m leaving before this becomes emotionally embarrassing.”
Fred smirked faintly. “Smart girl.”
The second Angelina disappeared upstairs, Fred leaned sideways slightly, trying to peek at your parchment.
“What’re you writing?”
“Homework.”
“That looks disgusting.”
“It’s Ancient Runes.”
“Exactly.”
You almost smiled.
Fred caught it instantly and immediately grinned wider. He nudged your leg lightly with his own.
“You know,” he murmured, “you’re being very dramatic lately.”
You didn’t even look up. “You broke up with me.”
“Yes, but historically that’s never stopped you before.”
That finally made you glance at him.
Fred smiled immediately.
And Merlin, he missed your attention.
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered.
“And yet deeply attractive.”
Your eyes rolled automatically.
Fred brightened slightly at that.
Finally.
A reaction.
So naturally he pushed farther.
“You ignored me all morning,” he complained lightly. “Honestly, darling, it’s getting hurtful.”
“I was in class.”
“With Diggory.” Fred said his name like it physically offended him.
You calmly dipped your quill back into ink. “Yes.”
Fred watched you for a second too long.
Then casually—
far too casually—
he reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Your hand froze slightly against the parchment.
Fred noticed immediately.
His expression softened into something quieter.
More dangerous.
“You know,” he murmured, leaning closer now, “I liked you better when you were obsessed with me.”
Your heartbeat betrayed you instantly.
Fred saw it.
Of course he did.
And that stupid confident grin returned immediately.
But then, quietly, without looking at him you said “I think that’s the problem, Fred.”
And somehow that hit harder than yelling ever could.
Fred stared at you for a second longer than necessary.
Still smiling.
But weaker now.
Because he didn’t entirely understand why that sentence bothered him so much.
You dipped your quill back into ink again like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t just quietly dismantled something inside his chest.
“Oh, come on,” he scoffed lightly, leaning back against the sofa.
You continued writing.
Fred watched your face carefully now.
Waiting.
Normally by this point you’d be arguing with him.
Or glaring.
Or kissing him.
Anything.
Instead you just looked… tired. And he hated that expression on you.
He nudged your foot lightly beneath the table.
“No more silent treatment,” he decided casually. “I’m bored now.”
That finally earned you a small laugh.
Tiny.
Brief.
But real.
Fred’s entire face brightened automatically.
“There she is,” he repeated immediately, grinning now.
You shook your head softly to yourself and stood before he could keep going.
Fred blinked once. “Where are you going?”
“Library.”
“With who?”
You looked at him flatly.
Fred paused.
“…Right. Stupid question.”
You slid your parchment against your chest before stepping around the sofa.
Fred’s hand caught your wrist gently before you could leave. Not enough to stop you. Just enough to keep you there for one extra second.
His thumb brushed once against your skin.
“You know he’s boring, right?” Fred asked lightly.
You looked down at his hand on your wrist.
Then back at him.
“He’s kind.”
The answer came so simply. So honestly. And for some reason that irritated Fred far more than it should have.
Because kindness was difficult to compete with when your entire personality was built around chaos.
Fred covered the feeling instantly with a crooked smile.
“I can be kind.”
You raised an eyebrow slowly.
Fred pointed vaguely. “Sometimes.”
That almost made you smile again.
Almost.
But then you gently pulled your wrist free from his hand and walked away.
Fred watched you disappear through the portrait hole before leaning back heavily into the sofa cushions.
George appeared beside him seconds later holding two butterbeers.
“You look ill.”
“I’m fine.”
Fred stared toward the portrait hole.
Still gone.
Still not coming back.
And somehow that tiny fact was beginning to feel worse every single day.
“She called him kind,” Fred muttered eventually.
George blinked once. “…That’s what upset you?”
Fred looked personally offended. “Yes.”
“Not the dating?”
“That’s obviously horrific,” Fred snapped. “But kind?” He frowned deeply now. “What am I supposed to do with kind?”
George looked at him for a long moment.
Then:
“Have you tried not emotionally exhausting her for five minutes?”
Fred stared at him.
“That felt targeted.”
“It was targeted.”
Fred groaned loudly and dropped his head backward against the sofa.
Because annoyingly enough—
George might actually have a point.
And that was beginning to become a very serious problem.
Fred found you again two days later. Not on purpose. At least that was what he told himself.
In reality, he’d started noticing where you sat now.
What routes you took between classes.
Which corners of the castle you liked when you wanted quiet.
Which was slightly concerning behavior, according to George.
Fred personally considered it romantic dedication.
“You’re staring again,” George muttered as they crossed the courtyard.
“I’m observing.”
“You look one inconvenience away from challenging Diggory to a duel.”
Fred scoffed. “I could take him.”
“That’s not the worrying part.”
Across the courtyard, you sat beneath one of the stone archways with a book open in your lap while Cedric leaned beside you talking quietly.
Nothing dramatic.
No flirting.
No kissing.
And somehow that was worse because you looked comfortable.
Fred watched as Cedric adjusted the scarf around your shoulders after the wind picked up.
Small gesture.
Easy.
Natural.
And suddenly Fred remembered every time you’d stolen his jumpers because he never noticed when you were cold. The realization sat unpleasantly in his stomach.
Because he knew you better than anyone.
He knew how you looked half asleep, how you laughed when you truly forgot yourself, exactly where to kiss you to make you stop arguing.
But somewhere along the way—
he’d started assuming that was enough.
Fred looked away abruptly.
“You alright?”
Fred was quiet for a second too long. Which alone was alarming.
Then eventually “…I think I made her tired.”
George blinked once.
Well.
That was new.
Fred shoved both hands into his pockets now, jaw tightening faintly.
“Every time we fought,” he muttered, “I just assumed we’d fix it eventually.”
“You always did.”
“Yeah.” Fred laughed once softly, humorless this time. “Think that might’ve been the problem.”
George stared at his twin carefully now.
Because this? This was different.
Not jealous.
Not cocky.
Not Fred laughing off another breakup.
This sounded dangerously close to guilt. And Fred Weasley almost never let himself feel guilty.
“She looked happier this week,” Fred admitted quietly.
George stayed silent because he knew Fred well enough to understand what that confession actually meant.
Not, I miss her.
Worse.
Maybe she’s happier without me.
Fred exhaled sharply through his nose and dragged a hand through his hair.
Then immediately tried recovering with a grin. “Still hate Diggory though.”
George barked out a laugh.
Fred smirked faintly, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes this time.
Because unfortunately—
for the first time since this entire disaster started—
Fred wasn’t thinking about winning.
He was thinking about fixing it. So Fred Weasley decided three things immediately after that conversation:
One:
he hated Cedric Diggory.
Two:
George was becoming unbearably wise lately.
And three—
he was absolutely not losing you to a bloke whose greatest personality trait was emotional stability.
Which meant:
new strategy.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, Fred’s version of emotional growth still looked slightly deranged.
“You’re plotting,” George said suspiciously the next morning.
Fred looked up from where he was aggressively scribbling something onto parchment.
“I’m apologizing.”
George blinked once. “…Why are you holding a dungbomb?”
Fred slowly lowered the dungbomb into his lap. “That’s unrelated.”
Lee leaned over the back of the sofa immediately. “No, no— let him continue. I want to hear this.”
Fred ignored both of them because he was too busy staring down at the parchment in front of him.
It had started as an apology letter.
Started.
Now it mostly looked like evidence from a psychological evaluation.
Lines crossed out violently.
Ink blots everywhere.
One accidental burn mark.
George picked it up carefully. “Oh, this is horrible.”
Fred snatched it back instantly. “I’m trying to be emotionally vulnerable.”
“You compared yourself to a kneazle in heat.”
“It made sense in context.”
“It absolutely did not.”
Fred groaned and dropped backward dramatically across the sofa cushions.
Because this was impossible.
Flirting with you?
Easy.
Making you laugh?
Easier.
Sneaking you into his bed at two in the morning?
Practically a talent.
But apologizing properly?
No wonder people avoided emotional conversations.
Fred rubbed both hands down his face before sitting upright again.
“Okay,” he announced firmly. “New plan.”
George looked frightened already. “That sentence never ends well.”
“I’m going to prove I can be kind.”
Lee immediately burst out laughing.
Fred looked offended. “I can.”
“Name one time.”
Fred opened his mouth.
Paused.
“…irrelevant.”
George stared at him for a long moment before sighing.
“You know,” he said carefully, “if you actually want her back, maybe stop trying to win every conversation.”
Fred frowned. “I’m not trying to win.”
All three boys looked at him.
Fred frowned deeper. “…Am I?”
“Yes,” George, Lee and Kenneth answered simultaneously.
That shut him up for exactly three seconds.
“Well,” Fred muttered eventually, “that’s deeply upsetting information.”
George snorted softly.
Then his expression softened slightly.
“Fred.”
“What?”
“If you go near her again just to flirt and confuse her, I’m throwing you out a window.”
Fred looked personally attacked. “I’m capable of sincerity.”
“You wink during arguments.”
“That’s because I’m charming.”
“That’s because you’re emotionally damaged.”
Lee made a choking noise somewhere in the background.
Fred ignored him.
Mostly because George’s words had landed far more accurately than he wanted them to.
Because the horrible part was—
you hadn’t looked angry lately.
You’d looked done.
And suddenly Fred realized those were two very different things.
That thought followed him all day.
Through classes.
Through lunch.
Through Quidditch practice.
Until eventually that evening—
he found himself outside the library.
Again.
Not because he expected to see you.
Just because lately every thought in his brain somehow ended there anyway.
Fred shoved his hands into his pockets as he wandered down the corridor—
then stopped immediately.
Because there you were.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor between library shelves with books scattered around you while Cedric sat beside you saying something quietly enough that Fred couldn’t hear.
You laughed softly.
Cedric smiled at you like seeing you happy was enough.
And annoyingly—
really annoyingly—
Fred could suddenly understand why people liked him.
The realization was so unpleasant Fred almost left.
Almost.
Then you glanced up.
And spotted him standing there.
Your smile faded slightly.
Not cruelly.
Not awkwardly.
Just carefully.
Like you didn’t know what version of Fred Weasley was about to walk toward you this time.
And for the first time in his life—
Fred hated being that predictable.
For a second, nobody moved.
Cedric noticed him first because apparently Cedric Diggory was observant now too, which felt deeply unnecessary.
He looked between you and Fred once before closing the book in his lap.
“I should probably return these before Madam Pince starts threatening students again,” he said lightly.
Fred waited for the usual possessive tension.
The awkwardness.
The challenge.
Instead Cedric simply stood, rested a hand briefly against the top of your head in the softest, most casual gesture imaginable and left.
Fred hated how much that bothered him.
Because it wasn’t showing off.
It wasn’t territorial.
It was comfortable.
Like Cedric didn’t feel threatened by him at all. That alone nearly caused Fred spiritual damage.
The silence stretched slightly after he disappeared around the shelf.
“You’re staring again,” you said quietly.
Fred blinked once before automatically replying, “You’re still pretty.”
The corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. That tiny almost-smile still felt like winning the lottery.
Fred relaxed a little at the sight of it, leaning one shoulder against the bookshelf beside you.
“Well,” he sighed dramatically, “this is already going better than our last conversation.”
You closed the book in your lap carefully. “What do you want, Fred?”
Normally he would’ve answered instantly.
Something flirtatious.
Annoying.
Easy.
Instead he surprised both of you by saying the truth.
“You.”
The word landed softly between you.
No grin.
No joke after it.
Just honest.
Your expression shifted slightly at that.
Fred noticed immediately and continued before he lost the nerve.
“Okay, look,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck once, “George says I emotionally exhaust you.”
You stared at him.
“…George said that?”
“Word for word, actually. Very hurtful experience.”
A tiny laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Fred’s entire face brightened automatically.
“There she is.”
You shook your head softly. “You can’t flirt your way out of every serious conversation.”
“I know.”
That answer came too fast.
Too sincere.
And suddenly you looked at him properly for the first time in days.
Fred swallowed once.
“I know I’m annoying,” Fred admitted finally.
You raised an eyebrow slowly. “That’s a strong opening.”
Fred huffed a laugh.
“But I think…” He paused briefly, searching for words he clearly hated having to say out loud. “I think somewhere along the way I stopped noticing when things were actually hurting you.”
The silence after that felt enormous.
Fred kept going anyway.
Which honestly might’ve been the bravest thing he’d ever done.
“I kept thinking we were us, so everything would work itself out eventually.” He glanced down briefly before looking back at you again. “And maybe I got too comfortable with the idea that you’d always stay.”
Your chest tightened painfully at that.
Because finally—
finally—
he understood.
Fred saw something shift in your expression and immediately stepped closer instinctively.
Not cocky this time.
Not teasing.
Careful.
“I’m not good at this,” he admitted quietly. “At serious talks. At… whatever this is.” A weak grin flickered briefly. “Usually I just kiss you until you stop being angry.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
“I know.”
Again too quick. Too honest.
And somehow that affected you more than any flirting ever had.
Fred looked at you for another long second before speaking again, softer this time.
“I don’t want to keep hurting you.”
That one nearly broke you.
Because Fred never said things like that.
For a second neither of you moved.
The library suddenly felt far too quiet.
Fred stood in front of you looking strangely stripped down without all his usual dramatics protecting him.
And somehow that version of him felt far more dangerous.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because this this was what you’d wanted.
Not the flirting.
Not the games.
Not the jealousy.
This.
Him finally understanding.
Fred watched something flicker across your face and immediately softened.
Like he knew.
Slowly, carefully he stepped closer.
You could hear your own heartbeat now.
Fred’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. And that look alone nearly ruined you. Because he wanted to kiss you.
You could see it all over him.
In the tension in his jaw.
The way his fingers flexed at his sides.
The way he leaned toward you instinctively before stopping himself.
But he stayed where he was.
And somehow that restraint affected you more than if he’d touched you at all.
“Fred…” you whispered.
His expression nearly broke at the sound of your voice like that.
“I know,” he murmured softly.
Another step closer.
Now barely inches separated you.
You hated how badly you still wanted him.
How easy it would’ve been to fall right back into him.
Fred saw it happening too.
Saw the exact second your resolve weakened.
And for once—
instead of taking advantage of it—
his face softened with something almost painful.
“I miss you too,” he admitted quietly.
That did it.
Before you could stop yourself, your hand lifted slowly toward his face.
Fred leaned into the touch automatically.
Eyes closing for half a second.
Like he’d missed this just as badly.
Your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek.
And suddenly the space between you felt unbearable.
Fred opened his eyes again.
Looked at your mouth.
Then back at you.
You moved first.
Barely.
Just enough for him to know.
And Fred—
Fred almost kissed you.
God, he almost did.
You actually saw the moment his self-control snapped.
His hand moved toward your waist automatically.
His body leaned closer.
His breathing caught.
Then suddenly—
he stopped himself.
Actually stopped.
Fred shut his eyes briefly like it physically hurt.
Then slowly stepped back.
You stared at him in shock.
Fred laughed once softly under his breath, but there was no humor in it.
“See?” he murmured. “That’s usually where I make everything worse.”
Your heart stumbled painfully.
“Fred…”
“No.” He shook his head gently, forcing himself another half step backward despite the fact his eyes still looked completely wrecked by you. “Not like this.”
You looked genuinely confused now.
And somehow that made him smile faintly.
Small.
Crooked.
Sad.
“I don’t want to kiss you just because I finally said the right thing.”
The words hit hard.
Fred shoved one hand through his hair roughly before continuing quieter now.
“I’ve done that before.” His eyes held yours steadily. “I say something charming, kiss you against a wall, make you forget why you were angry…” A weak exhale. “And then we end up right back here again.”
The honesty in his voice nearly shattered you completely.
Because Fred Weasley never admitted things like that.
Never.
But now he looked terrified of repeating the same mistake.
And somehow that hurt worse than any breakup ever had.
Fred’s gaze softened when he saw your expression.
“I want to do this properly this time.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
“Since when do you do anything properly?”
That finally made him grin a little. “There she is.”
You laughed softly through the emotion building in your chest.
Fred looked at you like hearing that sound again might actually save his life. Then quieter: “I know I don’t deserve another chance yet.”
The word yet nearly destroyed you.
Because he still wanted one.
Still wanted you.
“But if I get one,” Fred murmured carefully, “I want it because you trust me again.”
Your eyes burned suddenly.
And Fred noticed immediately.
Which meant naturally his expression shifted into panic.
“Oh no,” he muttered softly. “Please don’t cry. I’m emotionally unequipped for that.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
Fred relaxed slightly at the sound.
Then—
footsteps.
Both of you looked up automatically as Cedric reappeared at the end of the aisle carrying two books beneath one arm.
His eyes moved between you and Fred once.
Cedric’s gaze lingered briefly on Fred. Then calmly: “Am I interrupting something?”
Fred looked at you first before answering.
And whatever Cedric saw on his face then made something shift quietly in his own expression too.
Because for the first time since this entire disaster started—
Fred Weasley didn’t look like someone trying to win.
He looked like someone genuinely trying to deserve you.
If you're ready for more… ✨ head to Part III:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Temporary — (Part 3) The last one · Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader
Summary: Breakups with Fred Weasley had always been
he doesn't die in the end (there's the rest of a life to breathe in)—f.w
summary: you've always known how the story was going to end—with a crumbling wall and the ghost of a laugh on his lips. you'll do anything to keep it from happening, even if that pushes you right into his orbit. [slow burn, mutual pining, friends to idiots to lovers] [cw: mentions of death & canon-compliant violence]
wc: 14.1k [oh my god]
a/n: this fic got me through the worst of my job. it has seen me through so much and now it is urs if u want it !! and if u don't. ok. PLEASE tell me if u read it and PLEASE tell me ur every waking thought about it bc like...this is my magnum opus i fear.
masterlist | my requests are open!! | lmk what u thought !! PLEASE!!!
Despite his best efforts to achieve the contrary, Fred Weasley has found himself incapable of understanding you. You spend significant time with Professor Snape, despite the raven-haired man’s apparent distaste for everyone besides himself and a select few Slytherins, and you don’t seem to be standing in the grace of his godlight in any capacity.
When you’re not with Snape, you’re holed up in Professor Trelawney’s classroom discerning meaning from tea leaves or the wisps of smoke from sage that you’d burned. You rarely spoke more than a handful of words to anyone, but no one ever had a bad word to say about you. Even Draco Malfoy left you alone for the most part—you were odd, but not in a way that anyone seemed to dare to tease or prod with.
From the moment Fred saw you on the boats in first year, to the near five minutes that he’d watched the Sorting Hat attempt to place you, he’d known that you were odd. Everyone had. There was an air about you that seemed to match Luna Lovegood’s, but those who tried to torment you during first year had come back with whispered stories of how you’d cast a Bat Bogey Hex with only a murmur of the incantation and a subtle twist of your wand. You were odd, but you weren’t to be messed with.
Like he’s stressed—Fred Weasley didn’t understand you. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.
He’d tried to. He had. He’d sat next to you at breakfast and dinner, tried to show off various tricks and slights of hand he’d learned. You’d met every attempt at friendship with a kind smile and interested stare, but Fred had been hard pressed to get more than a few words out of you at a time.
George said that he was sweet on you. Ginny said it was endearing. Ron said he was barking up the wrong tree. Percy wanted Fred to get your advice on O.W.L. exams, as he was sure you were already light-years ahead on studying. And yet, Fred was single-mindedly focused on one thing only—getting you to consider yourself his friend.
His quest came to a head when Fred found himself failing Potions in fourth year. Fourteen and invincible, Fred hadn’t thought it worthwhile to pursue Potions seriously when he’d become so adept at them in his extracurriculars with George. Still, Professor Snape didn’t like that reasoning and found no basis in it. Extracurriculars don’t make up for any loss of the curricular, Mr. Weasley, he’d said.
And then he’d arranged for you to tutor Fred. It had been so sudden, so unexpected, that Fred had felt he nearly jumped out of his skin at the mention of your name. Snape must have taken it as an attempt to interject, to push back on the idea of you tutoring him, as he fixed Fred with a steely gaze that spoke volumes.
But Fred—quietly, to himself—realized that this may just be the way into your life that he’d been searching for so desperately these past three years.
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Your first study session saw Fred hearing your voice for the longest amount of time in one go.
“I was surprised when Professor Snape listed you on my study tables’ list,” you said into the silence of the Potions classroom as you flipped through a textbook. Your voice was a tender hush of a sound, but Fred reasoned that the warmth in it kept the cold of the dungeons of Hogwarts at bay.
Fred blinked at you a few times, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t known that you’d taken any stock of him as a person over the past years in school together.
“You’re good enough to make all of your Puking Pasties,” you supplied after a moment. “Do you just not like class? I imagine it’s a bit below what you’re managing on your own…probably a bit boring, then.”
You didn’t seem to be looking for a response, and Fred was too terrified to speak in the event that it stopped you from talking altogether. You continued flipping through the pages of the textbook. From what Fred could recall of Percy, Charlie, and Bill’s studies, he recognized it as the fifth-year textbook.
“Here it is,” you murmured in that same quietly warm cadence, pausing on a page. You turned the book to Fred before you started going around the classroom to collect ingredients. He tried not to think about the fact that you didn’t get everything together with a simple Accio, that you instead seemed to like the task of going from shelf to shelf collecting things by hand.
Fred couldn’t stop himself from reading the title of the page aloud, his brows furrowing. “... Babbling Beverage?” He called out to you, watching as you collected everything seemingly by memory.
You returned to the table with everything gathered in the front of your robes, having maneuvered it like a pouch to hold everything you’d needed. “Listen,” you began as you took everything out of your makeshift pouch. As if Fred would risk doing anything but exactly what you’d instructed him to. “I…may have gone out on a limb here with Professor Snape. I vouched for you. I told him about the Puking Pasties and the Pimple Vanisher. Because it’s all just Potions, and I told him that I think you’re bored. And honestly, that’s how I was, too.
“But I was annoying about it. I wore him down until he let me have access to the upper-level textbooks that he’d kept, and even some of his own recipes, and he…well, he didn’t tutor me, really. He’s not much of a mentor. But he stopped expecting me to show my work in class and gave me different essays to write. I still don’t think he likes me, and I don’t think he really likes you, either, but he’s…we need to get him to see that you can do advanced Potions if you’re interested in them. Does that make sense?”
Fred was left in the aftermath of everything you’d just shared with him. The times he’d sat at your side in the Great Hall, where he’d thought that you weren’t listening, you had been. Every time he’d tried to show you something he and George had been working on, you’d remembered. But one thing was bothering him—
“Annoying?” He repeated, his brow still furrowed as he tried to work through everything you’d just shared. “How could you be annoying?”
Fred watched as a small smile blossomed over your face as you began cutting up a few ingredients to add to the cauldron later. “Exactly as I’m managing it right now.”
He took the knife from your hands when you offered it to start cutting up the last few ingredients. You kept a watchful eye on his work, but ultimately said nothing more.
Once everything was ready, Fred started following the methodical steps with an uncanny ease. While he’d pleaded his case to Snape in much of the same way that it seemed you had, Fred had never thought that he’d be able to come to a middle-ground with any professor. He was living under the assumption that school was a stepping stone, not a place to land for the time being, and that professors wouldn’t meet him where he was.
“...I thought you didn’t like me, you know,” Fred said as he wrote down the time on a corner of parchment to note the cooling time for the potion that was brewing in front of him.
You seemed to chew on that for a moment, tasting it for what the revelation’s flavor could give you. “I’m cautious,” you supplied after another beat of silence. “I…don’t have many friends. I spend too much time with Professor Trelawney and, uh, sucking up to Professor Snape, if you were to ask some people…and I get it. I’m into the weird and quiet subjects with professors who brood or claim to know the future.”
You went quiet again. When Fred turned to look at you, he caught you scratching your nail against the top of the table and biting your lip, seemingly lost in a moment of thought. “...You’ll have to forgive me if your reputation precedes you. I didn’t know if you liked me at first, or if you were…I don’t know.” You blow out a breath, seemingly frustrated at your own lack of explanation. “Even Hermione Granger makes fun of me sometimes, Fred, and she’s as ambitious as I am. I know the circle you run in, and I thought it…I thought you were setting up some grand joke to pull over Hogwarts resident teacher’s pet. I didn’t know to trust that you weren’t until you started talking to me about your jokes instead of playing them on me.
“I’m sorry for making an assumption about you. I was wrong.”
Your little speech has taken the time that the Potion needed to cool. You don’t give Fred a chance to respond, but instead go to grab a vial to put the Potion into. It’s shimmering in the light and the color of pink bubblegum. You’re grinning, beatific, and Fred can’t help but join you.
“We’ll make a Potions Master out of you yet.”
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Fred remains troubled about what you shared with him to the point that he writes to his mother about his tutoring. He tells her what you said about thinking that you were the subject of another one of his jokes and questions, for the first time, what the difference between pranking and bullying might be. Is it who’s in on the punchline? Or is it a question of where the joke is being made?
George tells him not to worry too much about it, but Fred can’t shake the fact that he might be painted in anything other than the light of his best intentions. His mum tells him to bring you around over the Christmas holiday, almost delighted at the fact (at least in her writings) that Fred has managed to make headway with you. He thinks she might just be delighted to know that he’s finally found a subject he isn’t totally terrible at.
By this point in your tutoring sessions, Fred’s been making his way up the ranks of convoluted potions. You’re trying to petition Snape to let you make Wolfsbane next—though Fred finds that you may just want to make it under the guise of getting Fred into the more advanced levels of Potion making. He doesn’t mind, not really, because it gives him a reason to meet with you every few weeks.
You keep an eye on his homework and look it over. He asks about what Snape has set you out to research for your next assignment, since it’s different from his even though you’re in the same class. You still sit away from him in any shared classes, typically alone at a desk or at the end of a row of students who must have had no other choice than to let you join them.
But, slowly, Fred works his way into your social life. He sits with you every few days at meals, asks you questions about Transfiguration or Charms. They’re not your favorite subjects, but you keep up with the material. And, as Fred’s learned, you’re a good tutor.
People pay attention. They notice how Fred lingers around the periphery of your social life—if they would even say that you have one—and rumors start flooding. He hears them through George first, but he hears them as a warning from Ginny.
“She’s nice, Fred,” Ginny supplies one day, somewhere in the liminal space of November that sees the end of the term coming faster than he used to be able to keep up with. He’s surprised to find that, now that you’re a fixture in his life, he’s not as worried about the upkeep of work that normally bogs him down by now. “She’s good. If you so much as think about hurting her, I—”
“—I’d never, Ginny,” he assured her at the time. He wanted to believe it, but he also knew the Hogwarts rumor mill was a dangerous place.
While not as popular as Harry or well-known as those hanging in the inner circle of the Boy-Who-Lived, Fred supposes that his role as a prankster has made him more renowned than he’d have once thought possible.
He finds you uncharacteristically cornered by a group of Slytherins. Whatever they’re saying to you has left you quiet. The part that hurts Fred the most is that they’re not even casting curses or slinging hexes your way—it’s the weight of whatever they’re saying that’s been enough to stun you, some nerve exposed that you hadn’t known to deflect them off of before they’d smelled the spark of its live-wire ending.
“What seems to be the issue, lads?” Fred asks in a fake-cheery tone. The ring-leader of the group turns to expand the half-circle of students to include Fred.
Whatever he was saying must have been proven by the fact that Fred materialized at just the right moment. Fred’s left on the edge of understanding the cruelty that’s unfolded without getting to bear witness to it.
“And here he is,” one of them says, sneering. “Tell us, Weasley, is she as good of a shag as you’ve made it seem? I don’t know why even the likes of you would waste your time with her. Unless she can tell you whether your family will ever strike the gold they’ve pretended is out there for blood-traitors like—”
Fred doesn’t even have time to think before his fist is connected with the boy’s cheek.
⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩
You manage to get McGonagall off of his back long enough to get Fred to the Hospital Wing, promising that there will be another time to be angry at his moment of inopportune violence. You do a good job of dodging questioning stares and bulldozing past outright attempts to ask what had happened. The Hogwarts rumor mill will continue to churn, it seems, and Fred has done nothing of benefit in getting himself tangled into it any further than he already was.
Fred expects you to be angry. You sit him in a bed and alert Madam Pomfrey to your arrival before you join him in the room, sitting down on the bed across from him. Your quiet is disconcerting after he’s spent so long knowing just how talkative you can be, and he doesn’t know what to do. So, he talks.
“Has it been that bad before?” He asks as he stretches out his knuckles, feeling the scratch of bruised skin as it gives way above moaning bones that protest at the continued movement. The pain gives him something to focus on that isn’t his anger. “Why wouldn’t you get me if it was?”
You’re not looking at him, so he goes quiet. He knows you’ve heard him from how you’re biting your lip—it’s how you think through a question that you need to get the answer out to.
A few minutes pass in uneasy silence that Fred wants to break with more questions before you answer. “...it’s never been good,” you finally say. “Usually it’s just taunting about prophecies and crystal balls or sucking up to Snape.
“I usually have some way of getting out. I can raise my wand and see someone flinch, which gives me a few seconds to slip out. Or…I can scare someone with a fake prophecy. “But…they’ve never had any other material to go off of, I guess. I’m not used to someone making fun of…of my friends. I suppose they’ve never had anyone else to tie me to. I didn’t expect to get so angry that I wouldn’t do anything, though.”
Fred realizes now that your silence hasn’t been an angry one. It’s been full of guilt.
He calls your name softly as he realizes what this is—the self-deprecation because of the belief that you should have done something you’ve never been prepared to. The truth behind it makes Fred’s heart crack in his chest in a way that leads him to believe it might break right out from behind his ribcage—you’ve never had a friend that required defending. You didn’t know what to do because you’ve never had someone else to protect before.
“You’re my friend,” Fred reiterates, stern in how he speaks so that you catch his gaze again with the shock of it. He needs you to know that so badly that he aches with it. “And you don’t have to defend me. I’ve heard that before, okay? The Weasley name has been through worse. You…I mean, it’s your choice as to what you do next time. But I need you to know that I’m right behind you when they come back. And…and I know you’ve handled it alone, and I know that you can, but…tell me, okay? If it gets bad again. If they come after you just because you’re my friend.”
Fred’s startled to see the rush of tears that spring in your eyes, but he pretends not to see them. He mainly doesn’t know what to do with someone who’s upset, let alone a girl that isn’t Ginny. But he’s starting to figure it out, he realizes—the line between a jester and a bully is right here, in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. It’s the punchline coming after the first blow was already landed against someone he cares about.
He makes a promise to keep that idea tight to his chest. For you, if for no one else.
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You come to the Burrow for Christmas. Your parents, evidently delighted at the prospect of you having a friend to spend the holiday with, ship you off for the stretch between Christmas and the New Year to return to Hogwarts with the Weasleys.
Fred meets your parents when he and his parents go to collect you. They’re quiet people, too. And, much to his father’s delight, they’re Muggles. Despite your preparation for your house’s short connection to the Floo Network, your mother still jumps at the sight of the three Weasleys stepping out of your fireplace in a plume of green smoke.
His father takes time poking and prodding at every electrical device in the house. Fred is mortified and trying desperately to get him away from the telly, to stop asking about the phone and how it works, but you silence him with a knowing smile. Your own father seems endeared by the process of explaining electricity to a Wizard.
“He never thought we’d have things that Wizards didn’t,” your mother supplies quietly to Mrs. Weasley. “Would anyone like tea? We’ve made biscuits as well, if you have a minute to stay.”
His mother, to her credit, is also delighted at the hospitality she’s being shown.
The half hour spent in your childhood home teaches Fred far more about you than he expected it to. He learns that your father works as an electrical engineer, that your mother teaches at a local primary school. He learns that you have a sister much older than you who has a family of her own, and that, while your family doesn’t wholly understand the world of Magic, they accept you nonetheless.
He learns that your mother is still wary of the owls that you sent at first, even despite your constant explanations, and that you go to send your post to your family from Hogsmeade every month and retrieve it from the Hogs Head Inn in kind. This arrangement was brought about by Dumbledore when you’d gone to him in your first year, terrified by the kindly man who, Fred reasons, likely had something to do with the way that you’re tutored in school. His mum demands to be shown how to send letters in this way, determined to stay up-to-date in a less-overwhelming way with your parents. You seem taken aback by this willingness to be included in such a miniscule way, but don’t comment.
When your fathers are done discussing the electrical paneling of your home, you’re shuffled out with a hug from both of your parents and a bag filled with gifts. It’s Fred’s turn to be taken aback by something—the notion that your parents, while kind, had thought to help you get gifts for his family.
This gleaning into your life makes Fred worried about the chaos of his own life that you’re about to uncover, but he tries to stamp it down. No use in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet.
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Fred watches you absorb the Burrow for what it is with barely-contained fascination. He’s never seen someone take in the house, the everything that made him into the wizard that stepped into Hogwarts, and wanted them to like him so badly despite the revelations.
Your family is clean. The house was tidy, the dishes sorted by hand. His house is…loud. It’s chaos spilling between doorframes and into living spaces, screams of different names being chased into rooms when childish fights break out. Fred isn’t often embarrassed of where he came from, but for the first time in a very long time, he finds himself nervous about what you might think of the place and people that raised him.
You leave your trunk and bag of gifts in the living room to go outside and step back from the house. Fred catches his mother watching you from the kitchen window as she sets to tending to the morning’s dishes with a few orchestrated flicks of her wand.
“This…” You trail off for a moment as you look up to the Burrow, eyes alight with a wonder that Fred’s never really seen directed towards anything his family has. “Your house is beautiful, Fred.”
If he didn’t know you at this point, he’d think you were making fun of him. But when your gaze catches his, he can feel the sincerity burning through it. He tries not to let the vision of it catch in his chest for too long, lest it require naming the feeling he had caught himself harboring for you. Something more than was called for by the label of friend. Something more than he thought you’d want of him.
“Will you show me around, please?” You’ve never been one for pleading, and Fred nearly startles at the realization that he’s willing to do just about anything you ask of him with a tone like that.
He takes you through his childhood home while trying not to focus on the reverence in your gaze. He starts from the top of the stairs outside of Ron’s room, not opening the door to invade the privacy he knows his brother needs. He tells you about the family ghoul who, at the mention of his existence, begins to rattle the ceiling in a way that startles delighted laughter out of you.
He leads you then past the room that Bill and Charlie used to share, past his parents’ bedroom. He takes you into his own room, cringing at the scent of gunpowder and wishing that he’d taken his mother’s offer of a candle since you’d be sharing a room with the twins during your stay. George greets you with a flourish into their humble abode and you promise to come help him with whatever he’s been working on in the afternoon that Fred had—in George’s words—abandoned him to collect you.
By the time you’re in the kitchen, his mum’s already setting up to prepare dinner. You startle at the sight of pots and pans cleaning themselves in the kitchen sink, and Fred watches as you take note that his mother is doing nonverbal magic to start preparing supper. He sees the questions you want to ask in the furrow of your brow, but takes notice as the quiet version of you comes out. You’re not used to being welcomed somewhere new. You don’t know the rules around asking questions that some professors might deem pestering.
Thankfully, Molly Weasley has dealt with her fair share of anxious teenagers. She brings Harry Potter back to full health every summer before he goes to school. When she catches your questioning stare, she’s interjecting before Fred can start to explain.
“Is there something I can get you, dearies? Fred, are your manners so lost that you wouldn’t offer her a bite to eat or a drink? Or tell her where to put her trunk?” The knowing stare she fixes Fred with seems to have thawed away at some of the hesitance you were feeling.
“Actually, Mrs. Weasley—”
“—it’s Molly, dear, no need for such formalities—”
“—right, uhm, Molly,” you go on, biting your lip as you take a moment to try not to lose your courage at being interrupted. If Fred could survive the aftermath of yelling at his mother, he’d reprimand her and remind her of your reticent nature that he’d tried to warn his entire family about. “I hope you’ll excuse me saying this, but you’re…to do all of these spells at once, you’re an incredible Witch. Talented, I mean. If that’s…okay to say?”
It’s rare that Fred sees his mother stunned into silence, and rarer still that it’s not because of how angry he and George had made her. And while Fred’s never thought of his mother in such a light as you’re seeing her, he finds himself ashamed to admit that it’s true in a way he’s taken for granted.
“Well…” Molly struggles for only a minute longer, and it seems an apology is about to tumble from your lips before she’s rounding out from behind the counter to pull you into one of her all-too-warm hugs. “What pleasure has Fred gotten hiding you all to himself these past few years? Thank you, dear, but it isn’t too much work when you’re used to it. In fact, there’s a few books I could lend you if you like about the common household spells. Did me wonders when I moved out on my own.”
You beam at her as she lets you out of the tight hug. She takes you from Fred then to show you what she’s doing. While you might not be able to do magic outside of school, you’re an apt study based on the way you mimic her wand movements under the counter as she exaggerates them for your benefit.
In the meantime, Fred thinks of the question his mum had asked, about how much of a pleasure it has been to have you as a private piece of his—and to a lesser extent, George’s—life at Hogwarts. But, he reasons, he would give it all up for the way that you’re fitting in with his family.
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He isn’t brave enough that Christmas to broach asking you more than he already has about yourself. He keeps his questions in a vault in his head to the best of his ability for the rest of the year, except for the ones that slip through the cracks. He mainly asks about your Muggle parents, your sister and her family. He tries to keep the questions casual so that when a more serious one slips out, you won’t startle and go quiet.
He can’t help it, though, when you come to the Burrow for the summer between fifth and sixth year. You’re beatific in the sunlight of the Burrow’s lawn, having helped him and George pull up gnomes for the better part of the afternoon despite his mother’s insistence that you take the afternoon to relax. Your hair fans out around your head and catches sunlight in the strands in a way that Fred wishes he was able to properly wax poetic about. As it stands, though, he’s only sixteen. All he knows is that his breath stutters at the picture before him and he feels it catch behind his ribs.
To distract from the feeling, the question he’s always wondered slips out. “How have you always been able to tell George and I apart?”
Your eyes crack open to study him from your spot on the lawn, your teeth drawn over your lip as you take a moment to think. He almost apologizes for having made you sit up as you do it, leaning back on your hands as you appear to chew over his comment for a moment.
“I don’t know how anyone who knows you two can’t,” you answer honestly after a moment. “It’s…you smile differently, did you know that? And…your laughs. They’re similar, yeah, but…yours stutters out of you. George’s doesn’t.”
You say this like it doesn’t fundamentally shift his sixteen-year-old-world on its side for a moment and leave him sprawling in the aftermath of such a casual confession.
Fred Weasley, who had struggled to catch your attention and hold it for the better part of four years, has been recognized as himself. He’s been seen as more than a package deal, and you’ve said it like it’s nothing. He doesn’t know where to go from here.
So, he does what he thinks he often does best—he attempts to deflect.
“You should really tell mum that, y’know. Maybe she’d have an easier time when she’s mad at telling us apart…”
His easy grin must suffice in showing you that he’s joking, because you let the conversation die as you lay back down in the grass and let the sunlight stream into your hair again.
Beatific, he thinks, and resolves himself to find synonyms for the word by the end of the summer holiday.
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By his final year at Hogwarts, Fred’s started a mission. A quiet one as he and George prepare to leave Hogwarts during your shared seventh year.
Amongst themselves, they call it Operation Be Okay. Because the truth is, despite how supportive you are of their need to leave Hogwarts, Fred is terrified that leaving will ruin everything that the two of you have built. And beyond that, he’s terrified that you’re going to feel the absence of himself and his brother in ways that you’re not allowing yourself to adequately prepare for.
Your first Christmas with the Weasleys started a tradition that saw you spilling into the fabric of the Burrow. His mum often jokes that you need your own spoon on the clock, as do Harry and Hermione. You come over in the summers for weekends and steal moments whenever you can. He spends time with your family, too, and George often tags along to make sure you leave room for Merlin. Of course George knows how he feels about you—they share a brain most days and have since they were born. To your credit, if you hear anything George says when it’s being not-so-quietly whispered, you keep your face neutral and never comment.
All of this is to say that Fred is worried that you’ll slip back into old, quiet habits when they leave. He tries to set you up with Luna Lovegood, but as lovely as she is and as well as the two of you get on, you’re both quiet creatures who rarely share thoughts until you feel comfortable.
Hermione doesn’t know how to talk to you about anything else besides school. Ron is still at a point where he’s intimidated by you from a prophecy you claimed to see about spiders in his future, though Fred’s told him you haven’t ever had a prophecy come true because none of them were real.
When he’s about out of options that don’t involve him staying in school and sitting his N.E.W.T.s—a thought he never believed would ever cross his mind—he comes to breakfast to find you sitting next to Harry Potter. He’s almost worried for a moment that Harry has taken you on as a charity case, or someone he needs to be friends with on behalf of his best friend’s brother, but when he approaches the table and takes the seat next to you with Harry on your other, he hears you speaking in whispered tones and looking at something in his palm.
Fred does his best not to startle at the sight of a snake in Harry’s hand. He tries even harder to stifle the chill that runs up his spine without his permission at the sound of Harry speaking Parseltongue. Still, he can’t stop the whispered, “Blimey,” that leaves him at the picture painted before him. Harry instantly stops talking and looks hesitant to continue. You, however, reach out and stroke the snake’s nose in an attempt to soothe it. Its eyes catch Fred’s as if knowing that he was the reason Harry stopped speaking.
“Isn’t it so cool, Fred?” You ask in a tone that tells Fred you’re not joking at all—not that you ever would with the way your gaze catches the reproachful expression painted on Harry’s face. “Harry’s been helping me talk to her. I found some students destroying her little nest that she was trying to make to lay her eggs, Harry said, and they were just tormenting her…she was being flung around in the air, oh, it was awful…”
Fred doesn’t think the snake can understand you, but she must sense the jagged edge of your tone as she slides into your outstretched hand. She slides up your sleeve, evidently happy enough with you to be burrowing into your clothes. “Harry said she doesn’t think she needs any special attention or help, but she’s happy to be away from the torture. I was going to let her out by the Black Lake before Potions—apparently there’s lots of rotted logs there for her that she really likes, and sometimes the merpeople sing to her at night. I tried to give her some bacon, but she likes live food better…”
To Harry’s credit, he’s not outright appalled by your apparent care for the snake in your sleeve. In fact, he seems endeared by the way you’re talking to her. Fred supposes that he doesn’t often get people asking him to speak Parseltongue, nor does he often get such rave reviews about his ability to do so. And how so very like you, Fred thinks, to see how you can solve a problem and set out to do just that.
“I should take her there now,” you decide after quickly finishing the last of your breakfast in a few succinct bites. “Harry, can you tell her that, please? That I’m taking her to the water with the rotted logs and warm sun?”
Harry leans down and whispers something in Parseltongue. Whatever the snake says has Harry grinning while you stand, clearly sensing that the brief exchange has ended. Fred wouldn’t put it past you to have learned a bit of Parseltongue in this small time, or at least the cadence of a conversation in it to know when an exchange is over.
“She says that she’d like to show you her babies when they hatch, if you’d like. Where you leave her is where they’ll be after three full moons—uh, three months—from now. She doesn’t…know what a month is, so I guess maybe go by her timeline.” Harry seems to sense that Fred has been listening to your exchange and sees the moment that he realizes that others have probably heard him speaking Parsletongue, people that would judge him for it. Fred knows well how easy it is to get wrapped up in the starlight that you seem to possess, the bubble that you carry that makes it feel like no one hears what shouldn’t be divulged. He also knows that you won’t let anyone give Harry a hard time for it.
You prove this when you catch Dean Thomas’s disgusted stare towards your sleeve and his incredulous look to Harry himself. Catching his gaze with your own, you tilt your head to the right ever-so-slightly and let your eyes glass over. “Mousetraps…how odd. And a bloody sketchbook. Though it doesn’t stop you for long…you have a beautiful sketchbook, don’t you?”
Shaking your head, you walk away without a further comment. Fred does his best to smother the grin that’s threatening to overtake his features at your fake prophecy. Word had gotten around about everyone’s boggarts, surely, and you’d still been kind enough to make it so Dean knew he wouldn’t, had this been a true moment of Sight, lose the function to draw forever.
When Fred catches Harry’s eye, he knows that he’s having a similar moment of self-control.
The moment passes when Dean gets up, looking markedly greener than he had before. Harry’s grin splits his face into something younger than he often seems, boyish in a way that Fred rarely sees him. With the weight of the world hanging on his shoulders, Fred reckons it’s hard to get to feel normal, to have a moment of reprieve.
“...She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” Harry says. “I mean, you do, but…no one…” Fred lets Harry trail off, knowing that this isn’t the time to give him words to let him choose from. “I just mean that it’s rare I get someone coming up with a snake and asking me to talk to it. I almost thought she was taking the piss at first, you know? I know she’s your friend and your mum says she isn’t like that, but, I dunno…”
“I get it,” Fred says when he senses that Harry needs him to supply something more than understanding glances and knowing silence. “She’s one of my best mates, Harry, but I know how intimidating she seems at first. She doesn’t like to be fucked around with, y’get it? And it isn’t anything personal. She just…takes some warming up to.”
Harry nods when he takes that in. “I knew she wasn’t taking the piss when I went to yell at her. She was almost crying, I think, and told me everything she told you—injured snake and students throwing it in the air. And when the snake started talking with me, she…she seemed to be really relieved.”
The boys go quiet for a few moments. There isn’t much Fred can say to that, he reasons, when it’s what he’s known about you all along. You’re a hard shell to crack, but you wouldn’t have gone to Harry if you didn’t know he wouldn’t give you a hard time. He thinks that, maybe, introducing you to Luna might have given you this perspective. He makes a mental note to thank her later.
“Say, mate, can I…” It’s Fred’s turn to trail off for a moment, hesitant to ask Harry to take on any more responsibility than the Wizarding World is giving him. “...can I ask a favor of you, actually? I know it’s more than I should ask with everything you’ve given me and George already, but…”
Harry nods, as if telling him to go on. Fred takes a breath before he does.
“George and I are going to start our own joke shop this year. We’re…with Umbridge, we’re planning not to sit N.E.W.T.s. And I…”
Fred didn’t think he’d get this far with anyone, really. He didn’t think about how to ask for this.
“What I’m getting at is that…I care about her more than I really have the words for. I know she’s capable of surviving half a year without me, but I also know she wouldn’t tell me if the rest of her year is shit because of our leaving. And, so…I was hoping, maybe, you’d keep an eye on her.”
At the look Harry fixes him with—the are you sure she’d let me? look he knows so well—Fred presses on. “I’m not saying you have to suddenly be her best mate or anything. I just…ask her about the snake in three moons. Or the Potions she’s learning to brew. Merlin, whatever…I think you’d both have more to talk about than you think.”
Harry stews that over before he adds. “...you really love her, don’t you?”
Naming the feeling behind his ribs is a terrifying thing. It’s anxiety-inducing to give the force a name to go by in front of the Boy-Who-Lived. Fred has known what it is for a while, known what to call it and how to define it for longer than he’s really understood what it implied, but he finds that, despite the anxiety, it isn’t scary to realize.
“I do,” he admits, firmer in his tone than he’d expected. “And…again, I know I don’t have a lot of room here to ask you for anything. But what…I’d appreciate it, Harry. She’s not that bad when you get to know her.”
He does his best to ignore the smarmy look Harry Potter fixes him with, and instead takes it as a vow that he’ll keep you in sight for the better part of the next year. He also, maybe foolishly, trusts him not to tell anyone that he loves you. He thinks, as Harry looks at Ginny when he hears her laugh a few seats down, that Harry might know a thing or two about holding out hope for someone to return the feelings you have.
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Harry writes to Fred and George every few weeks after they leave Hogwarts. He tells them that, shockingly, even Peeves has taken a liking to you now that the twins have left. You’re still quiet, but you don’t tell Harry to leave when he sits next to you every few meals. You don’t seek him out, though. Fred thinks you’re too scared to hope that someone might want to be friends with you of their own volition when there’s a common link between you.
Your letters tell Fred that you know he asked Harry to look after you. You don’t seem to mind, though. He’s teaching you about Quidditch, and you’re helping him with some of his coursework. Fred wonders if you’re one of a few people who can make Harry Potter feel like a normal teenager every now and then.
Fred and George corner you every month at Hogsmeade. Harry joins sometimes, as do Luna and Hermione. Your circle has been expanding in a way that surprises Fred, in a way that makes him wish he would’ve known how willing you were to be introduced to others. He does, however, wonder if Harry has something to do with it.
Harry Potter has a way of pulling people together. Be it his reconciling with the fickle way that life seems to be or the world’s weight on his shoulders, he’s never been one to shy away from connecting his friends with one another.
It’s on a Hogsmeade outing that Fred is approached by Harry. You’re standing farther back with Luna, and the two of you are talking in hushed tones that he can’t decipher from a distance, but Fred can tell that something’s wrong.
Before he can go to you, Harry’s stopping him with a gentle hand to his arm. George lingers and tries and fails to look entirely uninterested with the conversations that are circling around him.
“She’s…” Harry trails off for a moment. “She’s seen something, I guess. She won’t talk to anyone about it but Luna, Trelawney, and Dumbledore, and you know what it’s like to get an answer out of Luna…”
Fred visibly starts at that. He’s shocked by the idea that your time with Trelawney has been for some reason other than mere interest—he’d never thought to ask if you had the gift of Sight. He’d always written it off as a hack branch of Magic, but he’s startled to realize that you might have it.
“Anyways, mate, she’s feeling like she won’t be very good company today. She’s more…like she used to be, if that makes sense.” Harry seems reproachful at that, but Fred doesn’t blame him.
You’ve always had a tendency to slip back into your quiet ways and muted nature. Fred tries not to take it personally, but he does feel awful to think that these episodes have been a result of any visions.
Fred thanks him and moves on to go see you. Hack branch of Magic or not, he hates the idea of you upset. He expects you to go quiet when he approaches you, but he’s startled once again when the sight of him brings you to instant tears.
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The truth won’t be brought out of you then. You tell Fred that there’s some things you can’t share, not really, and that he has to trust you enough to let it be for now. He tries to, at least.
He sits next to you in a clearing in Hogsmeade and remembers the day that you’d laid in the Burrow’s lawn. You always seem more at peace when the sun’s on you, shining and warm, casting a halo around your hair. You’re calmer now, though you seem exhausted.
“I have…dreams,” you admit. “I don’t like talking about them much. People don’t…I get how everyone sees Divination, and half the time I don’t know what I’m seeing until I live it later. I’ve had a few, uh, potent dreams, if you’d call them that, but…” You trail off, biting your lip, and Fred lets the silence hang. He knows you’re just struggling to find words for what you want to say.
You take a deep breath before you go on. “I had one of the potent ones last night. I talked to Dumbledore, but…I mean, Harry will tell you that he’s not always a great source of wisdom like people think. The good thing about the dreams, though, according to Trelawney, is that they’re not set in stone. I’ve done it before, y’know, little things—I once won my parents a lot of money on the Euromillions because we got so many numbers right, but I’d known all of the numbers. Nothing bad happened when I didn’t give all of the numbers.”
At the confused look Fred is fixing you with, you rush out, “Muggle thing, uh, like betting, almost? I’ll show you someday.” You take another breath before you add, “...I’ve been having more dreams about the War.”
“You’ve what?” Fred asks, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say anything? And—And more dreams? You’ve had enough of them before to have a baseline?”
The groan you let out is so unlike you that Fred nearly laughs. “And say what, Fred? That I probably have some version of the gift of Sight and sometimes I have dreams that come true? Or that I can tell a lot from tea leaves and sage signals?
“No one would take me seriously. And they already don’t. Shit, Dumbledore barely believed me until I knew the password to his office without being told. I don’t…I don’t get access to the information all the time. I’ve been working with Firenze, too, but…most wizards don’t get access to True Sight until after they’re of age. It’s hard to explain, and I sound fucking crazy, I know—”
Fred takes your hand in his at that, holding it tightly in his own to stop your rambling in its tracks. “I don’t think you sound crazy,” he tries to mollify you. “You’re one of the brightest witches I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. And you’ve spent way too much time with Trelawney to be doing it for the love of tea, right? I should’ve known.”
“You couldn’t have,” you say, your voice taking on a far-away quality that reminds Fred so much of the quiet fourteen-year-old who taught him Potions and took the time to make an effort. “You can’t know what you were never told, Fred. Don’t take it personal. I just…it’s hard. I see…”
Your voice catches as you seem to remember whatever it is that you’re holding close to your chest. “I see a lot of loss. And it’s shit to be the one to see it all. Harry…he knows what he can. I try not to tell people the dreams unless they’re not in them, but…Merlin, he already has so much on his plate, y’know? What good does it do to tell him about the loss that he knows is coming? Why hurt him by making it something tangible?”
You shake your head at that before going on, “Anyways, I’m not…I’ll be okay. It just rattled me, I guess. I haven’t had this dream in a while, and it’s been the longest one I’ve had. Like, I’ve been having it since before I knew I was a Witch. I dunno.”
“...Dumbledore’s going to let me in on more Order meetings, though,” you confess. “I need to talk to Shacklebolt about some stuff, and Lupin.” You heave a sigh and let your head fall to your knees, forehead kissing the skin your skirt is rucked up above. “I don’t know how Harry does it all, really. It’s just a fucking dream, y’know?”
Fred doesn’t comment on that, because he doesn’t know. His nightmares have seemed to take on a pale edge in comparison to the real-life preludes you get. He’s hardly been immune to the idea that you’d spend time with Harry and want to join the cause, but he’s surprised to know that your involvement is likely more of a result of something intrinsic to you.
“Can I ask something?” Fred wagers after a few moments of silence.
You nod, turning your cheek so that you can peer at Fred without lifting your head. Your arms wrap around your legs to pull them a bit tighter to yourself, which makes Fred realize that he’s been holding your hand this entire time as you let go of his in the process. He tries not to dwell on it or be embarrassed.
“So, it makes sense why you’d be drawn to Divination, y’know, all things considered…but Potions?” He queries, feeling his brow furrow. “Spending time with Snape?”
You sit up fully as you think about what to say, teeth meeting your lip to worry it for a moment as you start to parse it out slowly. “I’ve known there’s going to be some form of a battle since I was a kid,” you supply. “But once I realized what I was seeing, or what I was, y’know, imagining it all to mean…I knew I needed to help make salves and medicines for whatever came. I knew I needed to be good at it, too. I dunno. It felt like something tangible I could do, even if I was having those dreams. It was something I could do in the moment to prepare.”
Fred feels hollow now that you’ve explained it. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He lets the moment play out around you and heaves a breath at the realization that you’ve always been preparing yourself for something that no one really knew was coming and how heavy that must be.
He wonders, then, why it had taken him so long to introduce you to Harry Potter.
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Harry Potter keeps you safe that year. He sees you through the end of your Wizarding education, stands proud at your graduation with the rest of the school. In a lot of ways, Fred was right to involve you with him. He was right to bring you closer.
Your dreams only increase in frequency as the War draws to a head. Fred watches them yield real results—a warning to Fletcher and Moody to be safe, a carefully clipped edge to your tone when you tell them to stay together. Moody comes back from the Battle of the Seven Potters ashen. Fletcher didn’t Disapperate without grabbing hold of Moody, and they were able to escape together.
Moody isn’t one for theatrics, nor is he one for grovelling. But the look he fixes you with—both eyes seeing you—and the way he grumbles out, “...I’m sorry for doubting you,” tells everyone more than any platitude would’ve.
You don’t, however, see George losing an ear or Bill’s attack from Greyback. You’re inconsolable as you sit by George’s bedside, and no one can move you from his side, but the worst part is that you aren’t crying. There’s just a general unease about you, some magic that feels like it’s vibrating as it surrounds you. It’s a raw energy that you don’t seem aware you’re harnessing into the Potions you’re brewing, and it’s not a wonder to him that they’ve all turned out better than even your best batches. Your grief of not knowing has channeled into something tangible.
Fred has to be the one to bring you food—you spend time changing George’s bandages and reapplying the salve you’ve made under Snape’s guidance and preparing Wolfsbane for Bill. At this rate, he’s going to have a lifetime supply of it.
Neither Weasley has blamed you. Bill had shaken you off of him with a knowing glance when you’d tried to tell him about the various salves and potions he could try. As a Curse Breaker, he reminded you, he was aware of what could be done, and your supply of what he needed was already so overfilled that to prepare more might be wasteful.
No one in the Order has blamed you, in fact. You’ve spent time with Snape trying to learn Occulumency with Harry, as it wouldn’t hurt to be able to talk to your Inner Eye. You seem to be terribly convinced that the casualties of War could be prevented if you just had a way to See.
Fred’s belief is more modest. He thinks, though he hasn’t told you, that you can only See when it’s a matter of life or death. George missing an ear is hardly a great loss. Nor is it a great pain for Bill to experience a fraction of what Remus experiences every month. Worse, Fred’s worried that the stress you’re putting yourself under could hurt more than it helps.
George sends you away after a week of constant vigilance and more salve than he knows what to do with. “You’re hovering worse than mum,” he admonished, though there’s no heat behind his words. It’s the same exasperation that he shows towards Ron or Ginny when they linger for too long. “You need to go be something other than a Witch for fifteen minutes, seriously. Go…read a book, or pull gnomes, or something!”
Fred follows you out into the lawn of the Burrow. Early evening is casting golden light across the lawn as you plop down and draw your legs up to your chest. There’s chairs behind you, though Fred thinks better than to mention this.
He doesn’t know how to do this part. He’s reminded of the time in the Hospital Wing, where you’d been teary at the prospect of being friends, and then thinks of how much has changed since then. How much your relationship has changed, at least to him, or how much he wants it to.
There’s so much unsaid that Fred is nearly bursting with it. But he plops down next to you and chooses, for a time, to say nothing at all. Because there is no easy way to do this—it’s War, and it rarely feels like there’s time for selfish whims. There’s hardly time for him to breathe before there’s another Order mission, let alone confront the named feeling behind his ribs and give it space to breathe between the two of you.
Instead of saying anything to that effect, Fred looks over at you. Your head is pressed into your legs, and he takes a moment to realize how run-down you’ve become. It doesn’t look like you’ve taken much time for yourself in the past week, let alone made time for basic self-care.
“Can I do a hygiene spell?” He asks, taking the coward’s way out.
The question must be as unexpected in content as it is in its delivery, because a laugh tumbles out of you before you can tamp it down. “You really know how to charm a girl, Weasley,” you say, though you motion for him to do what he’d said.
The relief it gives you seems immediate. “Jesus,” you cringe as you take a new whiff of yourself. “Have I been that bad that I didn’t even notice?”
You once tried to explain Jesus and Christianity to Fred, though all he really took away from it was that he knows that to invoke the name of the Son of God is equivalent—in some ways, you’d hedged—to invoking the name of Merlin.
“...to be honest, I hadn’t noticed, either,” Fred admits. “I think we’re all a bit…run down.”
You nod at that, dragging out a breath until you appear empty, deflated against your own body and somehow smaller than you were before. When you don’t say anything, Fred goes on, “...you’re not responsible for everyone’s well-being, you know. You don’t have to know everything.”
That seems to set you off. It’s rare that Fred sees you so desperate to convey a message, let alone have the ire of a misunderstanding directed towards him.
You sit up straight and turn to face Fred, sitting cross-legged on the lawn as the sunset paints your shadow red. “But who else will?” You press, desperation bleeding into your tone as you try to get him to understand. “Really, Fred, if it’s not me, who else? Trelawney? Firenze, when he’s not being hunted by his own kind in between episodes of being ostracized?”
You scoff at that, shaking your head. “I know I don’t have to. But I didn’t get to choose this, Fred. I didn’t ask for it, and if I could turn it off I would!” You suck in a shaky breath at that, and Fred finds himself startled to realize you’re about to start crying. “But I can’t, so I have to do something. And it fucking sucks that it still isn’t enough—people are getting hurt, and I didn’t see it. And isn’t some pain worse than death? Isn’t some pain worth Seeing?”
Just as quickly as Fred’s realized that you’re going to start crying, you do. It’s not a heaving thing, nor is it a gasping shudder that he expected. It’s quiet, pressed into your hands as you try desperately to get it to stop.
He will later chastise himself for hesitating so long to hug you. He scrambles to do it once the thought crosses his mind, folding you into his grasp. And he doesn’t know what to say to that, not really, because there isn’t really anything to say. He’ll never know what it’s like to See with stunning clarity the pain that will come to the people you love and still not be able to See other pain that you would’ve done anything to prevent.
“I don’t know,” he admits, earnest as he presses a quick kiss to the side of your head. His hand rubs up and down your arm in a steady path. “But I know that you don’t have to hold all of this alone. I know you don’t like talking about what you’re dreaming, but…I’m good at sitting with you, I think. Even if we don’t talk about it—put me to work. Make me useful in making Potions, or even I can just remind you to shower. It’s a lot to hold, and I don’t want you to think that you have to hold it alone.”
He tries not to cringe at how you only seem to cry harder at that. Most of all, he tries to take the release of emotion as a compliment and not a criticism.
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To your credit, you do try to take care of yourself better following your breakdown. It isn’t perfect, but Fred supposes he can’t blame you for that. With Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the run, it’s hard for anyone to feel totally at ease. It’s especially difficult following the disaster of a wedding party that Bill and Fleur had, and Fred imagines you shoulder some of the blame for that despite not needing to.
He catches you in his mum’s garden more often than not as the weather starts to turn to the simmering temperatures that August often brings. He finds you there tonight, weeding by hand despite knowing the spells to tend to the garden. He doesn’t point this out, but instead takes a place by your side and starts copying your movements in pulling out weeds.
“I don’t think I’ve ever done this by hand before,” he muses after a moment. “Mum never used it as a punishment, at least.”
You shake your head at that, though a small smile is working its way over your face. “...My dad has a garden at home,” you admit quietly. “One of the first incidents of accidental magic I did was when we were out weeding, actually. I wanted so badly to be done and to get to go in and watch a movie with my mum that I just…got rid of all the weeds.
“And he wasn’t even mad or scared. He just sat back and said, ‘Well, if you wanted to be done that badly, I would’ve let you go in a long time ago,’ and we went inside and watched telly.” A small laugh escapes you, and Fred can tell that you’re in the pleasant memory as much as you can be at a time like this. “Every summer after Hogwarts, I’d help him with the weeding, and he’d ask me if there was a spell for gardening that I could use again. But I liked the routine of it, to be honest, and the excuse it gave me to spend time with him.”
Fred can’t help the questions that he asks next. “Do…Do your parents know about the War? And your Sight?”
You draw in a sharp breath, evidently taken straight out of the pleasant memory. “...When I got my Hogwarts letter, Dumbledore delivered it so he could explain everything to my family. I asked him then if it explained my dreams, if every Witch and Wizard had them. And he’d been startled then, so I’d just kept going, and my parents looked too relieved by the idea that all of this could be normal in some parts of the world that they’d never known about…but he told us what we both know.
“So, my parents have always known. I’d won us some money a few times, like I told you before, but…I told them that I was having dreams about the War last summer, and that I needed to stay away from home for a while because…You-Know-Who wanted to kill people like me, and especially people like them. I haven’t written them—I can’t until this is all behind us.” You let out the sharp breath you’d taken only moments before.
Fred feels bad, then, for bringing it up. He hadn’t realized how much time you’d spent with members of the Order over the past year as things picked up—he hadn’t been keeping close tabs on you and had assumed you’d gone home for a meal every now and then. But you’d probably had your parents’ house disconnected from the Floo Network before the Minster for Magic had been killed. Likely, too, that you’d erased all trace of that ever existing somehow with the help of the Order.
Too unsure of what to say to break the moment, Fred keeps his steady pace of weeding alongside you. You, to your credit, seem to relax as the silence takes over what’s already been said.
“The routine is nice,” he says after a bit, because Fred Weasley has an impossible time staying quiet for too long. You nod in response, and he leaves it alone for a moment to see if you have anything else to say.
“Sorry to…unload like that,” you hedge after a moment. “I know you were just asking, and it’s a bummer to hear about, but I guess…I really miss my family, y’know? Not that the Burrow isn’t great, but I wish I could tell my parents about everything just so they’d tell me how crazy it all is. It feels so odd to think of all of this as normal.”
“You’ll see them again,” Fred reminds you. “This can’t go on for too much longer, can it?”
Fred Weasley learned then not to make promises he couldn’t keep or see through.
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The War does drag on. Far longer than anyone could’ve expected or wanted, even. But the oddest part is that, despite the War, Fred finds himself laughing with you over forced-to-be-stolen Firewhiskey on a late November night.
It’s been months of Order missions and battles and trying to figure out how to buy Harry more time while he’s on the run. It’s been months of planning and scheming and dreaming up ways to throw Death Eaters off the scent of the Golden Trio, months of rewiring neural pathways to say You-Know-Who instead of Voldemort so you’re not discovered at a safe house. And, as Molly Weasley lamented earlier, there hasn’t been much time for children to be children.
He’d jumped in to tell her that you’re not much of children anymore. He doesn’t say this, but the War has aged all of you—he supposes that this was her point, more or less.
George had snuck off with Angelina to the twins’ bedroom, though sneaking seemed to imply that Molly hadn’t all but demanded everyone have a night of normalcy. It also implies that the Firewhiskey the two of you are sharing is anything other than outright given by Molly herself. She’d indulged a bit before bed, but had lamented that she was more of a lightweight than she was at your age before she went to bed. Fred suspects that she’s intentionally giving the pair of you a night alone.
You’re sprawled out on the lawn in a sweater with your initial sewn on the front, made by Molly Weasley for the prior Christmas. You’d saved every variant of the same sweater that she’d knitted you as you’d grown, and this seemed to be the last one you’d need since you’d likely done all of your growing. The moon casts shallow light over the pair of you as you take turns sipping from the bottle, having foregone the pretense of a shot glass after the first few.
“You’re telling me that you’ve never snogged anyone?” Fred asks, incredulous as he tries to tamp down the slur to his speech. You’ve been taking the demand to act normal literally and have spent the evening gossiping like the teenagers you should’ve gotten to be. “Didn’t you date someone for a bit your last year? Harry…”
Fred stops himself a second too late. You sit up abruptly, resting on your knees as you fix Fred with a firm stare. “You’re joking!” You guffaw. “You had Harry reporting Hogwarts gossip to you that year? About me and McLaggen?”
“You went out with McLaggen?” Fred counters, incredulous.
You throw your hands up as laughter stumbles out of you in quick, delighted bursts. “This is why I never said anything!” You argue, though there’s no heat behind your words. You shake your head as a wry smile takes over your features, almost as if you’ve tasted something sour and want to spit it up. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. He was only taking me out once to see if I’d tell him what his future held and if I was as weird as everyone made me sound.”
Fred starts at that. He can’t help the way that his mouth falls open in shock at this development. It hadn’t been crazy for him to imagine someone like McLaggen taking an interest in you, but it’s devastating for him to realize that you’d been used as nothing more than a crystal ball. He has half the mind to ask you if that had happened before, but he assumes he knows the cruelty that teenage boys are capable of.
“That’s awful,” he says. Then, before he can stop the question, asks, “...What did you tell him about his future?”
“That if he didn’t get the fuck out of my sight he’d be lucky to have one,” you state. “And that I’m not a fortune teller at a Muggle fair, but if I was I wouldn’t have told him anything anyways. His future would’ve been too underwhelming to report on.”
It strikes Fred then that he’s never heard you curse like that before. That’s enough to make him laugh, though it’s tinged with remorse. You’d been too blindsided to make up a prediction to tide McLaggen over, too blindsided to do anything besides curse at him.
“You know anyone would be lucky to have you, right?” Fred asks in a moment of rare earnest truth. He’s not deflecting, there’s no punchline that he’s gearing up towards. You seem a bit thrown off by this, blinking at the sudden serious turn the conversation has taken, looking a bit like a gnome caught in the garden.
You scoff when you get enough of your senses together. “Right,” your tone has soured a bit, and even if he wasn’t looking at you, Fred would know that your eyes are rolling. “Exactly, I know, just like my mum says.”
He sighs. “That’s not what I’m trying to get at here,” he amends. “Even Harry has said—”
“—Harry has his eyes on Ginny, if you haven’t realized?” You seem genuinely confused, and you’re blinking owlishly at him. Fred wants to groan at how difficult this is to say—wasn’t there something to be said for liquid courage?
He draws in a breath and lets it leave him slowly. He closes his eyes and tries to think beyond the haze that the Firewhiskey has muddled him with.
“I’d kiss you, if you wanted.” Fred knows it’s a lousy deflection and thinks that you’ll see straight through it. But when he opens his eyes, he finds hurt in your own.
“This isn’t a very nice joke, Fred,” you announce, moving to stand up as your voice takes on a tight quality that he knows means you’re on the verge of tears. “I’m not…you don’t have to pity me, alright? It’s not a good look on you.”
“I’m not joking!” He urges, his hands reaching for yours in an attempt to get you to sit down. “And I don’t pity you! But, listen, we can forget it, alright? I didn’t…I just meant you could get it over with, if you wanted, and it didn’t have to mean anything.” The words are bitter as he spits them out, a shadowed version of the truth that you deserve.
“Maybe I want it to mean something!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up. Fred’s heart stutters at the declaration, and you must sense it from the way that you rush to add, “My first kiss, I mean.”
Now you’re the one selling a shadow of the truth, but Fred’s not about to call you out on it. What he wants to say is who says it won’t? because he knows that it’s going to change everything. There would be a before and after this moment, stark lines drawn in the sand from where your friendship was to where it will have to go and what it will run into on the way.
“Alright,” he hedges, allowing the topic to die instead of addressing the new elephant in the room. As with everything, he tells himself that there’s going to be another time for this conversation—some time where the War hasn’t consumed you and you’re not drinking Firewhiskey that you’re pretending was stolen.
The greatest lie in War is that there could be more than what you have right now—more moments, more youth, more time.
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Time doesn’t come. After your confrontation in the garden, Fred notices that you start to pull away. It isn’t glaringly obvious unless he tries to think of the last time that he’d properly spoken to you, even though you’re living at the Burrow and sleeping in his room. This is the first tragedy.
There’s a gap between you, a divide that he doesn’t know how to cross and close. He wishes he’d never brought up kissing you. He wishes he’d let a sleeping dog lie and keep a good thing that was going for him. It’s better to have you as a friend than to have you as nothing at all.
You, however, see the second tragedy as clearly as you always have. It takes the form of a crumbling wall.
Your gift of Divination wasn’t self-started. You’d been having visions before you knew how to name them, stunning images of things that were yet to come. You dreamed them, more often than not.
Professor Trelawney said the thing about dreams were that they didn’t have to come true. You’d been resolved to keep yours from ever being realized.
Before you knew who he was, you saw flashes of what could be. A smile, a startled laugh, and the resolute stare of a boy who never quite got to taste manhood. Fred once asked you how you could tell him and George apart. You’d told him that it was easy—it was the tone of his voice and the cadence of his words, the way he smiled quicker than George. It was all of those things, admittedly.
The truth, though, was that, had you been anyone else, you’d probably have needed time to tell them apart. You would’ve needed distinction. Instead, the first time you looked at Fred Weasley, the first time you heard his laugh, you knew that he was the person who had haunted your dreams.
You tried to avoid him. You did. You sold him a version of the truth years ago, that you had thought he was going to pull some prank on you, that you’d kept your distance as a protective measure. As it often is, the truth is a more convoluted enterprise. You hadn’t known what to do with the anticipation of grief, of the knowledge that he was here now and might not be at a date to come far sooner than anyone would like. If you’d known how badly he’d be torn up about it, you might have let him know the real reason—or some version of it—a long time ago.
The rearview mirror is always clearer than the windshield, you think, even with the added gift of Sight. It’s why you pulled away after the conversation in the garden—you didn’t want to know what you could lose. You didn’t think you’d survive it if you knew what it was like to be allowed to love him and still lose him, as selfish as that thought was.
After many discussions with Professor Trelawney in your youth, you’d been directed to Dumbledore. The visions, as she called them, that you were having were preventable. You’d done it before—you’d been at the right place at the right time to stop a broken glass, a cruel word, or an untimely hex. But those were inconsequential—moments that wouldn’t have destroyed the fabric of an entire family or dropped a spoon from a clock had they occurred.
Dumbledore hadn’t denied that True Sight was rare. Rarer, still, was there so obvious an influence of change to be held. But, he hadn’t denied that what you were seeing wouldn’t occur.
“It’s important that you allow whatever happens to take place if you wish to prevent it from happening,” he’d instructed. “Professor Trelawney isn’t wrong in saying that it seems as though forcing a connection would be to overstep the bounds of what’s to happen and where the choice occurs. I do think, however, it’s important to let it come as close to happening as possible. And I think it imperative that you not alert Mr. Weasley to what could happen.”
You’d hated it at the time. Really, you had. You’d pushed yourself as far away from Fred Weasley as you could. In fact, you made it your mission to stay away from him at all costs. But he hadn’t let that happen. Of course he hadn’t.
You wouldn’t trade the past seven years for anything. For all of the mischief and anguish you’d held at once, you’d never let it cloud what you felt in the moment.
You love Fred Weasley. You would not let him die.
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It comes to a head as all things could—with some form of a Battle.
The Battle of Hogwarts is messy. It’s hard to stay close enough to Fred and George without having them ask you to leave, especially when your recent reticence to spend time with Fred is taken into consideration. If he’s surprised by your sudden change of heart, he doesn’t show it. There isn’t time to address it, either.
You find yourself wand-to-wand with more than a few Death Eaters of note. You’re not sure if they’ve heard about you, though you don’t allow yourself to believe that you’re so important as to be the topic of Death Eater meetings. For all of your success with Potions and Divination, you’re not as good with your fighting. This should’ve crossed your mind before today, before the end of a very long chapter, but it gives you an excuse to stay close to Fred and George.
“Really, you should go to the Great Hall,” Fred urges when there’s a moment of respite, leaning over the ledge of the perch you’ve all found. You’re shaking with the effort to stay standing in front of them, to maintain any sense of normalcy when you’re on edge for what you know is coming.
“Right!” George agrees. “You could help make Potions and treat the wounded, and we’d find you after.”
You shake your head at that. You’re wary of where you’re standing and the sense of deja vu that it gives you—you’ve dreamed this moment enough to know every nook and cranny of it. It feels like you’re standing outside of your body, but you force yourself to go along with it. “Madam Promfrey won’t make a Medi-Witch out of me no matter how hard she tries,” you lament, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “Besides, I think she has enough trouble without me annoying her by asking what she needs.”
When it happens, it’s so quick that you almost miss it. Fred’s smile quirks up at what you’ve said—though you’ll later reckon it wasn’t really funny enough to warrant any sort of reaction, that maybe he was throwing a bone for you to catch and hold onto in an attempt to close the distance between you—just as you feel the wall you’re leaning on begin to shake.
You’re painfully aware of yourself as you watch his mouth move as if to say something else, painfully aware of the way that he’s yet to notice what you’ve spent a lifetime waiting for. You’ve prepared for this moment for the better part of your entire life, and still, you barely find yourself, on edge as you are, with the time to shout, “Reducto!” in a startled scream.
The blocks that should have killed him are reduced to nothing more than ash. The force of your magic has knocked the wind out of you, and you crumple from the energy that it took out of you. You catch Fred’s startled glance, the fear etched into his face that morphs into understanding, before you collapse.
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You wake up to the end of a war. The Great Hall is a medical refuge for the injured and you’re among them. You do not wake slowly, nor is it peaceful. You wake up frightened, bolting with a start to look around the Great Hall. You don’t look to your side, don’t see anything tangible as you gasp his name, “Fred? Fred, oh, Fred?”
It’s a gentle hand pressed to your cheek that reassures you. You grasp the hand with frightening force and look into eyes—alive, no startled laughter etched on the harrowed face of the boy before you—and a sob wretches out of you. “Oh, God, Fred,” you’re gasping for breath, panic ebbing into something tangible behind your ribs that occludes your ability to suck in a full breath. “Oh, Jesus, I…I’ve seen it. I saw it before…before I knew…before…”
You’re gasping the names of Muggle religious figures that he wishes he had taken better notes of when you’d first tried to acquaint him with them. He doesn’t know how to comfort you, it seems, as it all comes crashing down on him. You don’t care if he’s mad. You don’t care if he hates you for keeping this from him if it means that he’s alive to feel it. You’d take a lifetime of knowing who he was without having to hold a candle to the ghost of him—you’d take it all just for the relief of knowing he’s still with George in the store unpacking boxes.
“You knew,” he surmises, no surprise in his voice as his thumb traces a path along your cheekbone. “You’ve seen it—how it could’ve been.”
You’re nodding through your tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” your voice is trembling as you go to move away from his touch. Better to lose it on your own accord than feel it be retracted, you surmise. Better to have the last touch he ever gives you end because you moved rather than because he took it away.
But he doesn’t let you. He squeezes your cheek to keep you where you are, eyes boring into yours. Oh, his eyes—they’re so alive. The eyes of a boy who gets to become a man. The eyes of a man who didn’t die with the ghost of his last laugh etched into his face.
“...Dumbledore wouldn’t let me,” you go on. “I’m so sorry. I…I’ve been spending seven years trying to figure out how to change it. How to keep it from…how to stop it. I…I never wanted to know you. I didn’t…I didn’t know how to get close. I didn’t know how to stand to lose you.
“It’s why I couldn’t…in the garden. It’s…I knew what was coming and I was too selfish to try and let myself love you while I knew I could lose you.”
Fred’s own choked sob comes tumbling from behind his lips at that. He gets onto your cot with you and tugs you into his arms, and you sit like that for a while in a pile of clumsily assorted limbs. You’re both crying, you think. You, from the relief of saving him and getting to keep him. Him, from the realization of why you spent so long trying not to get close, from the understanding that it was always meant to happen this way.
It’s an eternity later that he lets you go, but his hands don’t leave your cheeks. “I love you,” he says, resolute in his words. Sensing your imminent protest, he goes on before you can cut in. “I’m not saying it because you saved my life, or because you chose to be my friend in spite of this, or because you saw me die and still got close to me. I’ve loved you since we were fourteen. I’ve loved you since you tutored me in Potions and since you let Harry watch over you for my well-being. I don’t love you because you saved my life.
“I love you because you’re my best friend, and because I’ve been too chicken-shit to say it for lesser reasons than you might have had to let yourself feel it, too.”
Your sob is a gasping thing, a visceral reaction that Fred feels in the lurch of your jaw as you try to form a response.
“...This isn’t normally how you want the girl you’ve fancied since you were fourteen to react when you profess your love for her, you know…” He tries the joke on for size, startled by the way it rattles a laugh loose from behind your ribs and gets a smile to crack through the haggard expression you’ve been wearing since you realized he was alive to be angry with you for saving his life.
“Fuck, Fred,” you gasp, still struggling for breath. “I love you, too. How…how could I not?”
He thinks he’ll have to tease the truth of that sentence out someday. He has a life to live, after all. He intends to spend the better part of it figuring out the cosmic forces that drew you to him, but he doesn’t think either of you will make much headway on that front. If he can’t do that, he reasons, he’ll spend the rest of it loving you.
What a frightening concept the rest of a life almost cut short is. What a tender realization it is to know you have the rest of it to breathe in.
ᢉ𐭩ᢉ𐭩ᢉ𐭩
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