Hii, loved your Fred headcanons. I've seen you want requests, could you maybe do headcanons of him falling for a Slytherin girl and/or dating her? Like she's actually nice and not a bigot. Only if u want.
Thank uuu
fred weasley x slytherin!reader headcannons
hello sorry for the late reply, i've been a bit busy this week, i hope you enjoy! i have a fred weasley x slytherin!reader wip too so look forward to that. 👀
set in their 6th year (just pretend the whole gob and moldy voldy stuff doesn't exist shhh)
a/n: oliver wood has been added to the list of characters i write for, i'm trying to get how to write him so send some requests and i will write something short for it as practice.
- fred weasley defaulted to hating all slytherins, he thought they were all slimey scaley snakes.
- so of course when he first saw you he immediately didn't like you. then he saw you in your shiny new robes and your arm around adrian pucey's who was one of the gryffindor quidditch team's mortal enemies. he decided he didn't just dislike you, he absolutely hated you.
- his hatred didn't last for long though, not when ginny absolutely adored you.
- ever since when ginny got her first period, she had no idea what to do. it was you who heard her crying in the bathroom and went to help. you had guided her through the shock and went with her to madam pomfrey to get period supplies. since then you and ginny had been as close as ever. you brought her candies took her out for ice cream and treated her like your own little sister. you would answer any of her questions that she was too embarrassed to ask anyone else and you would sit with her when she was feeling down. she always said you were like the best big sister she never had. you would even let her tag along sometimes when you and your friends went out.
- well naturally your closeness with ginny in turn made you see her brothers quite often.
- at the start they gave you suspicious looks and told ginny not to hang out with you too much.
- eventually ron came around after you bribed gifted him a big bag of candy from homeydukes.
- the twins were much more difficult to win over, they suspected that you were a spy sent by the slytherin team to figure out their plans for the next game.
- but after ginny got angry at them for being mean to you. she gave them a stern talking to with a tone that resembled mrs. weasley's a little too much they started being less hostile when they realised just how much you meant to ginny.
- you became closer to the twins since you guys were in the same year and had a bunch of gryffindor-slytherin joint classes.
- you also started tutoring fred in transfiguration after professor mcgonagal threatened to kick him off the quidditch team since he was failing so bad.
- during your once a week studying sessions (sometimes ginny popped in to say hi to you and laugh at fred) in the library that you practically had to drag him to. he started to realise that maybe you weren't so bad after all if you were willing to help a player of the opposite team.
- fred weasley who famously hated slytherins was now willingly hanginh out with one of them.
- you two started hanging out more outside of study sessions. he shows you the secret passages around school and you take him to the lake to feed the colourful fish. sneaking into the kitchens for a piece of cake became a regular occurence for you two (and sometimes george)
- over the weeks a silly little crush blooms.
- at first fred didn't pay much mind to it, he thought it was silly and would fade soon so there would be no point in saying anything.
- but boy was he wrong
- the crush that he had expected to be rid of within a week expanded instead. his thoughts were completely and utterly full of you.
- fred doesn't know what do to
- the feeling was new, sure he had liked people before, but none that had quite the effect you had on him.
- he never thought he would feel this way about anyone really, and especially not a slytherin. you made him nervous, he fixed his hair before he went to see you, and he even started wearing cologne (he thought it smelt funny but all the guys with girlfriends wore it so maybe theres a connection there.)
- he didn't tell anyone out of fear of being teased to death. he really hoped it would pass soon.
- spoiler: it didn't, he only fell deeper with every shared moment, every laugh he pulled out of you and when your eyes would meet his in classes
- there was just one problem, you were adrian pucey's girlfriend.
- he spent days and nights mourning the relationship you would never share because you were already with the slimey git.
- he thinks he could treat you so much better than adrian. he's watched adrian practically ignore you countless times to talk to his teammates and friends.
- you tell him that "adrian's nice he's just passionate about quidditch that's all" but he sees the way your eyes get misty when you say it.
- at this point he's come to terms with the fact that he likes you and his twin is well aware too.
- so he tries harder, not to forcefully snatch you away but to prove that he is the better option.
- he makes you silly inventions, walks you to class when your own boyfriend doesn't, lend you his scarf, drop by the library when he knowd you're there and brings you sweets between classes.
- this resulted in relentless teasing but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care.
- and well you can't help feeling butterflies in your stomach when you see him can you?
- you notice the little things he does, the attention to detail, the habits he notices about you that you never noticed yourself. you realise that if someone really did like you they would pay attention and spend time with you. so you broke up with adrian and ask fred out to his absolute delight.
- he is very happy and in love with you.
- he still does the things he did before but with the added bonus of getting to pull you into broom cupboards to make out.
- his friends were skeptical of course, hourse rivalry and all. but they warm up to you after getting to know you better.
- you give him one of your hairties to wear on his wrist.
- you bring him little trinkets everytime you go somewhere.
- you like to sneak out with him after curfew to explore the grounds.
- and of course nicking dessert from the kitchen is a must.
- you guys mostly hang out in the gryffindor dorms since they're mostly accepting of you.
- you find notes from him everywhere, sometimes they're about how nice he thinks you look today, and sometimes just about something that happened to him today.
- all in all he is a happy man and wouldn't want it any other way <3 🐍
It was the first night of break, and you had just been dumped by your boyfriend. He had told you he was bored and wasn't into you anymore, even though he was the one who approached you first. He was a total douche anyway. But the way he dealt with the situation was totally messed up. You were humiliated by the whole ordeal. And now you were alone for break, you weren't able to come home and all your friends had left earlier that day with the majority of your fellow Hogwarts students.
So there you sat in the Three Broomsticks on your fourth butter beer, sitting by your lonesome trying to forget your sucky reality.
But you weren't the only Hogwarts student in the pub; in fact, there were a decent number considering most had gone home for break.
You hadn't really taken into account who exactly was there, given your preoccupied mind.
But sat in a booth to your right were a few Gryffindors and there were a few other groups distributed around the tables.
While you were focused on attempting to drown the world out, someone was oddly focused on you.
------
As the evening grew into night, the small friend groups dwindled down until it was only you and the group to your right.
At this point, you were pretty far gone, slightly red-faced, and feeling hazy.
But somehow, in the back of your mind, a rational voice convinced you it was time to go and stop drinking.
So you clumsily got to your feet and managed to drop the correct amount of coins on the table to pay for your butter beers.
You snatched your coat and turned to head out. During your packing up, the group of Gryffindors had been doing the same; they were a few steps ahead of you, with one in particular keeping an eye on you.
As you shuffled towards the door, the majority of the Gryffindors had just exited, with the exception of one red-haired boy.
In your inebriation, you didn't notice him until you stumbled over a stool and nearly crashed into a column. Narily missing bashing your head on it only because Fred Weasley caught you before you could.
His powerful frame supported your floppy limbs as you fell into him. His hands steadied you, as you akwardly attempted to scramble up.
Your hands reached up and held onto his muscular shoulders as he peered down at you with a sympathetic look.
"You alright there?" He asked in a deep, level voice.
You gazed up at him in drunken awe as if he were a guardian angel who descended to save you.
You grew pinker still in the cheeks, flustered by his handsome face and figure.
You opened your mouth to speak then closed it. Glassy eyes blinking a few times before finally uttering a softly slurred,
"I'm fine, fine. You s-saved me." He grinned, amused by your unusual behavior.
"Right then, do tell how many butter beers you have had tonight?" His brow furrowed.
You made an exaggerated, shocked, and then thoughtful expression.
"Hmmm, I don't know.. only a couple." Fred's face creased in concern. Clearly, you had way too many to handle. And now you were catching the attention of a few adult patrons of the pub.
Fred noticed a creepy older wizard peering at your backside with a gross expression. He decided it was time to get you out of there. He was glad he had stayed back to watch you. Now seeing that you could have easily slipped into a sticky situation.
Fred hoisted you up onto your feet, but soon it was clear with the lift in your shoes that it would be easy to twist an ankle on the cobblestone of the streets of Hogsmeade, given your current state.
So Fred wrapped his arms around your back, then, under your legs, and lifted you off the ground. You smiled adoringly at him as he did so, half-lidded eyes blinking slowly up at him.
Fred adjusted his grip so that your skirt was covering you properly and he gave the old creep a death stare as he turned for the door.
You wrapped your arms around Fred's neck and rested your head against his chest.
"Mmm, you smell nice," Your eyes had drooped closed now and you still had a dreamy smile on your lips.
He grinned to himself, the compliment making him feel warm inside despite the cool night air.
"Do you even know my name?" He asked in a low voice.
You now had an almost pained expression on your face, seemingly offended by the queston.
"Of-of course I do, you're F-Fred Weas-sley." Your speech was broken but somehow assured.
He looked down at you in his arms; your droopy eyes were already locked on him. He couldn't help but think you looked beautiful. The way you were not your usual gaurded self, whom he had thought didn't know his name when sober.
Fred hadn't just started watching you that night. He had been infatuated with you for months. You just seemed so out of his league. You hadn't ever spoken to him; you had seemed untouchable. Not to mention the fact that you had a boyfriend until recently. But of course, he had heard what happened between the two of you. Everyone had. That's the reason he'd thought you were in the Three Broomsticks by yourself in the first place.
He felt like the luckiest guy in the world at the moment. When you said his name and the way you looked up at him, he flushed.
You also smelled great. Your scent was swirling around in his head, making him a little weak. The way you were holding onto him didn't help either.
-----
Fred made his way up the stairs into the castle with you still secure in his arms, holding on tight.
He turned towards Ravenclaw Tower but stopped short when he felt you tugging on his jumper.
"No, take me to your dorm." Your glassy eyes were pleading and tired looking.
He frowned, "Uhh- well I don't know if that's-"
"Pleaseee Freddie, I don't want to be alone." You pouted and ran your fingers up the nape of his neck anf through his hair.
He shuddered.
He wasn't totally comfortable with you being in his room, but he couldn't get you into your dorm without you letting yourself into the tower and you seemed strongly apposed to going anyway.
So, seeing no other option, Fred turned and headed towards his dorm.
-----
As he ascended the stairs that led to his room, he felt an uneasy knot in his chest tighten as he was reminded of your vulnerability as you hummed and played with his hair.
He had watched you enough to know this isn't even how you had shown affection to your boyfriend, let alone a vertual stranger you had never spoken to.
It made him feel like a dirtbag the way you were all over him while being this drunk.
Fred carried you into his dorm, which was dimly lit and cozy. Also vacant, George and Lee were in another room for the night, working on a new prank idea they had cooked up that night in the pub.
They knew Fred had stayed back to make sure you got to the castle okay so the two of you weren't going to be bothered.
This fact made Fred feel even worse.
He crossed the room and lay you down gently on his bed. You gazed up at him with a more intense look than before. Like you wanted something.
Fred turned and grabbed a glass from his desk and took out his wand from his pocket.
"Aquamenti," he muttered. The glass magically filled with water.
"Drink this." He handed the glass to you as you sat up. You took it and guzzled it down quickly. Wiping your lips with the back of your hand when you finished it. You placed the glass on the bedside table and turned your attention back to Fred.
That same dreamy smile played across your lips once again, making Fred flush slightly. The sight of you gazing up at him like that from his bed with your skirt riding up your thighs was getting to him.
He averted his eyes and was about to turn and go take George's bed when he felt you grab his wrist.
He looked down at you as you tugged on his arm,
"Come sit," You badded your eyes flirtatiously at him. He obeyed and sat down next to you, still uncomfortable with the situation. He desperately did not want to take advantage of you. Not to say he didn't want you, he certainly did, but not like this.
You scooted closer to him, reached out a hand, and began running it through his fiery hair. He inhaled sharply and glanced your way. You were very close to him; he could feel the heat emulating off your body.
His eyes drifted down to where your skirt was high enough he could see your panties peaking out from under it. He grew red and averted his eyes. You pouted at his avoidence and scooted closer still.
"Come onnn," You huffed, frustrated that Fred wasn't touching you.
He inhaled slowly, trying to keep his composure.
You brought both hands to his face and turned his head to look at you. His eyes were filled with determination and what looked almost like pain.
You tried to bring his face closer to yours, but he wouldn't budge. So you started leaning in closing you eyes as you got closer to his lips.
He suddenly grabbed your wrists and firmly held you in place. Your eyes opened; you were now clearly put off. Unhappy that Fred was not indulging in your advances.
He held you at an arm's length with sad eyes. Concerned for you, wondering why you were acting this way. Wanted so bad for you to be sober and wanted him, but not like this- never like this. You weren't yourself.
He looked longingly into your drowsy eyes, still holding onto your wrists.
"Look, we can't, not now." He looked away, feeling like he would never get this close to you again. But confident this was the right thing to do.
You pouted again, sticking your bottom lip out.
"Pleaseee, you were so nice to me tonight, Freddie. I want to repay you." He tensed at your pleading, but his restraint held.
"Your thanks are enough, I promise. You should get some sleep." He slid off the bed and crouched before you and began taking your shoes off.
Your fingers were soon tangled in his hair, and he let out a shaky breath. Struggling to focus on his task at hand. When he finally took them off, he stood up and opened one of his dresser drawers and retreaved a pair of his pajama pants and matching shirt.
He set them in your lap and retreated to George's area to give you privacy while you changed.
Unfortunately for Fred, he unintentionally caught a glimpse of you in the reflection in the window just as you were without shirt and skirt.
He felt his pants strain slightly and shut his eyes tight, covering them with his hands. Embarrassed.
"I'm uh- I'm done." You murmured from next to his bed. Looking sheepish now.
Fred turned and stared at you standing in his room in his pajamas. He cleared his throat and took a few steps toward his bed, pulling back the covers and fluffing a pillow for you.
Your eyes followed his movements intently, stepping closer to him. He turned to you and noticed you had nearly closed the gap between your bodies.
He gulped and held your gaze. You smiled up at him, and before he could react, you reached in and gave him a tight hug. Your arms snaked around his strong torso as the muscles contracted at your touch. After a second his arms rested lightly against your back, returning the embrace.
You detached yourself from him and climbed into his bed. He watched you do so, longing still beating in his heart. He swallowed and pulled the covers over you, not meeting your eyes.
----
You quickly fell asleep; Fred, on the other hand, struggled for quite some time. Your scent and presence were so fresh in his mind.
----
The next morning, you woke with a start. Unsure where you were for a moment, then it all came back to you. You groaned.
Fred turned from across the room, where he had just finished making you tea. He looked at you awkwardly as he carried the mug over to you.
He set it on the bedside table and stepped back.
"Hey, I know this is kinda weird, but nothing happened, and I promise this wasn't my plan or idea or anything. And if you think it's weird, you can leave and never talk about it, and I won't either and-"
"It's okay, Fred, I remember what happened." You smiled weakly at him.
"You do?" He looked relieved.
"Yeah, I do. And I'm so sorry for throwing myself at you like that. It wasn't cool; I was just- I don't know. Messed up."
"Don't worry about it." He looked away then, somehow even more embarrassed by the situation now that you were sober.
"And thank you for everything." He met your gaze, and you smiled. The tips of his ears grew pink.
You sat up and reached for the mug of tea next to you. You blew on it and took a sip.
"Mmm, it's good. Thanks." He nodded. After what felt like minutes, you stood up and walked to the window. His eyes followed you as you turned the latch and opened it. Then sat on the sill.
You looked over at him and patted the area next to you. He hesitated, then walked over and gingerly sat down.
For the first time, you took in his features. He had freckles covering his face and neck, with a head full of bright red hair. His deep brown eyes met yours as you stared at him. You held his gaze, then looked out the window and set your mug down on a nearby table.
"You're such a good guy." The statement hung in the silence for a moment before he responded.
"Oh- uh, thanks." He kept his eyes locked on the window, avoiding your eyes.
"I mean it, you didn't try anything last night. Even when I was all over you... I don't know; I just thought no guy would ever do that." You looked back out the window. Closing your eyes as a cool breeze swept through the opening.
He looked down at his hands.
"It's not like I didn't want to. I did. It's just not like that." He was fidgeting with his hands now.
You looked up at him, surprised.
"You did?" He met your eyes.
"Yeah." A moment passed.
Something shifted.
A gust blew through the open window, and your hair moved into your face slightly.
Fred's hand reached out and tucked the strands behind your ear.
You leaned in ever so slightly.
Fred did the same.
You could feel each other's breath.
All you could hear was your heart, which seemed like it was beating inside your ears.
Fred's hand cupped your cheek and your hands lifted to his jaw.
You both moved forward and his lips pressed into yours.
You could feel his passion; he tasted like tea and something more special that you couldn't quite place. It felt like something charged.
His heart was racing; he had waited so long for this moment. And it was as perfect as he had imagined.
Summary: During the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred dies. The Order falls. There is no spell to bring back the dead; every witch and wizard knows that. But you’re desperate and determined enough to defy one of the most intrinsic laws of magic to bring the man you love back…or stop him from dying in the first place.
Word count: 2.4k
Tags: Time travel fix-it, grief/shock, angst with a happy ending
Guys I swear I have the requested george fic and part 2 of midnight sweetheart coming but this possessed me and I had to get it out :/
“You’re joking, Perce!”
Fred’s glee was mean and more than a little manic. The Death Eater collapsed in agony and he marveled, “You actually are joking, Perce… I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were—”
The air exploded.
You had been grouped together with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy; two Death Eaters at your feet, one Stunned and the other slowly turning into a sea urchin, and in an instant the world was rent apart.
You flew through the air, and your right eye burned with what felt like Fiendfyre, and something hot and sticky ran down your cheek. The corridor’s stone floor stopped your trajectory and punched all the air from your lungs, but a cold wind raised the hair on your arms and you choked down a lungful. The side of the castle had been blown away.
Someone screamed and the sound was barely human, wrenched out by a pain that not even the Cruciatus curse could rival, and a terrible fear clenched your stomach like an iron fist.
“No—no—no! No! Fred! No!”
Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.
The war was lost in the forest, not that anyone knew it at the time.
The same explosion that killed Fred gouged out your eye, so in the Hospital Wing next to a crowd of sobbing Weasleys, Madam Pomfrey, without the time or resources to grow it back, numbed the bloody socket. She did her job too well. The searing pain in your face disappeared. So did the agony in your heart and mind.
You didn’t cry. There was no point. Anyway, it would just dehydrate you. So you just sat next to the body and its grieving family and fiddled with the chain around your neck. It laced through two simple silver rings. They jingled against each other merrily with every movement, perfect fits for your ring finger and that of the corpse next to you.
Stupid, stupid promise, made just this morning. “If we make it out of this alive,” he’d said earnestly, “I’m going to marry you, you clever, clever witch.”
The words were tempting Fate; he’d practically killed himself.
When Voldemort arrived with his Death Eaters, you joined those who could in greeting him on the front steps. Hagrid clutched Harry’s body: dead, just like Fred was dead, like so many people were dead, dead, dead, dead—
There was no spell powerful enough to bring back the dead.
If there was, you would cast it. No matter the cost. No matter the sacrifice. But bodies could return as Inferi or zombies and souls could return as ghosts. They couldn’t return together.
As Voldemort set the Sorting Hat and Neville ablaze, you wondered how many new ghosts would walk Hogwarts’s halls tomorrow.
Then the creatures of the Forbidden Forest and the house-elves attacked and the battle resumed. Curses shot wildly, striking friend and foe alike. The air burned. The ground cracked. And no matter how many you killed, because any could have been the one to demolish the wall, any could have been the person to steal your past and your future, to snatch away someone that had spent his entire life making people laugh instead of killing or torturing them based on something stupid like blood which ran red no matter who you cut open, pure- or half-blood—the Order began to lose.
It took five Death Eaters to bring down Hermione. Ron died with her name on his lips. Molly killed Bellatrix, but not before the insane witch struck down Luna, and was repaid with a Killing Curse from Voldemort. You aimed at his exposed back, certain that it would not work but knowing that you wouldn’t survive the day anyway. He deflected your curse without looking, sent it straight into the eyes of one of his giants. It bellowed with pain and stumbled, crushing half the house-elf army with one step.
A Death Eater—Rookwood—stepped in your way, and him you could kill. Or he would kill you, and maybe by some miracle someone would put your body next to Fred’s in the Hospital Wing. He needed someone to keep him company. He kept either you or George at his side at all times; he needed people in a way you didn’t quite understand, but he was alone now and that wasn’t right.
Your anger won. Rookwood fell and beneath the thud of his solid body hitting the ground was a delicate metal jingle. Your first thought was that the chain around your neck snapped and cast the rings to the ground, but the metal was still there.
Then you saw the glint. Barely out of his pocket was a golden hourglass attached to a long thin chain.
You knew what it was. Rookwood, despite his prejudice and many other flaws, had been an Unspeakable. He had been brilliant. And he had brought a Time-Turner to the Battle for Hogwarts.
There was no spell powerful enough to bring back the dead.
But there were other, more creative options.
Damaged from falling out of Rookwood’s pocket and surely by several errant spells, the Time-Turner shattered in your hands three and a half turns in. Glass cut your palm and sand ground into the cuts when you clenched your fist around the golden chain that was all that remained of the priceless artefact.
Nothing happened.
No.
Pomfrey’s spell wore off your heart. The pain hit you like a physical blow. You fell to your knees at the weight of it.
It was a good thing you would die today. You preferred that to the thought of spending the rest of your life with this weeping, gaping hole where your heart burst out of the ribcage meant to protect it and laid itself to rest next to the only person you had. Best friend, lover, confidant, rival… too many roles he’d played, too many to count. And, briefly, for an hour, maybe two, he had also been your fiancé.
Voldemort’s slitted red eyes narrowed as he sneered at you. He raised his wand but you didn’t do the same. This was a favor. How often did Lord Voldemort show mercy?
Everything disappeared.
Death had a very specific taste only noticeable by its sudden absence.
The school no longer lay in pieces; dust, sweat, and blood no longer curdled in the air, cloying and sour. The air was fresh and sweet. It stunk of foolish schoolchildrens’ hope.
At the other side of the Great Hall, which was still filled with four House tables, a familiar scruffy-haired boy talked to Professor McGonagall. Alive, and terrified, and filled with righteous determination.
If Harry was still alive, so was Fred.
You didn’t think about how ghastly you must look until Lavender Brown, arms laden with crystal balls, shrieked at the sight of you and dropped every one. Sooty from trying to beat out the fire that consumed Neville, eye socket gaping, clothes singed and bloodstained… She didn’t even recognize you.
There was no good explanation, so you didn’t try to make one up. Her jaw dropped when you turned away and tapped your wand on the top of your head, feeling the Disillusionment run over your body, then continued on your way to the Room of Requirement where people that would be dead at the end of the day gathered.
The chain already hung around your past self’s neck. You wanted to slap the smile off her face. Didn’t she feel the doom? Death, the vulture, circling lower and lower over the boy at her side?
Breathing. Blinking. Fred was terribly, painfully alive.
He tousled his hair carelessly and slung that arm over her shoulders. The movement was so practiced she didn’t even notice. How dare she not? Couldn’t she tell that every second was precious?
She headed to guard the secret passageway immediately, but Fred lagged behind. He looked around, an odd expression on his face. You held your breath. Could he sense you watching? You’d always felt a tug in your chest when he was near.
Fred shook his head and called, “Oi, you tosser, don’t leave me behind!” He hurried to catch up to your past self, unaware that he would be the one leaving her behind in… how long did you have? An hour? Two?
Percy deflected one of Thicknesse’s curses directly at you and even Disillusionment couldn’t hide the obvious movement when the jet of colored light changed directions midair. Still, that wasn’t as eye-catching as the two curses you shot at the Death Eaters battling a group of schoolchildren or young adults very nearly the same. They fell silently.
Reflexes honed by battle and unwilling to take chances, six curses followed from those around you. Your past self’s wand jerked during the casting and hexed the ceiling. You dodged three and shielded yourself against the other, but Hermione’s follow-up “Revelio!” was too quick.
Instead of generic robes that could be interchangeable, you’d put on your lucky jumper and practical slacks that morning and even blackened, bloody, and torn, it was obviously the same outfit your past self wore.
She could have caught flies in her mouth. Fred’s head bobbled between the two of you.
One of the most important rules of time travel was to never, ever let your past self see you.
But that was only if the time traveler wanted to live.
“Leave.” Your throat butchered the word, because you hadn’t spoken since this moment the first time you lived it.
“Wha…” Ron started.
“If you need it again, it’s in Rookwood’s pocket,” you told Hermione. Her eyes widened with understanding. “Now get as far away from this corridor as you can. And… and take care of each other.” That was addressed to your past self, who would leave with two eyes and a troublemaker at her elbow. You would cease to exist. Or maybe Fate would strike again, taking your eye and your fiancé some other way. But Hermione knew about the Time-Turner now, so with any luck you wouldn’t be locked in an infinite paradoxical cycle of loss and pain and terror, trying over and over to save him.
It was as much as you could do.
When the air rent apart, it took you with it, and Death extended a dark, long-fingered hand that burned yours.
“That was… That was you!”
“Yes, she was,” you said shortly. Ron had repeated that at least five times now, as if your answer would change if he asked enough.
“What happened to her?” murmured Fred, stopping again to stare at the corridor where they’d left your future self. He’d done that as many times as Ron repeated the inane.
“War, I assume,” was your answer, but you probed the skin beneath your right eye, just checking that it was still there.
Boom.
The corridor they’d left her in crumbled. Hermione let out a little shriek. Harry, who had always been too… good for his own good, pressed his lips together with sympathy. Fred jumped half a foot in the air and turned to go back.
You dragged him away. “Leave it, Fred. She’s already dead.”
“How can you not care about your future self dying?” demanded Ron.
”She knew what she was doing.” The look on her face was the same one you wore this morning in the mirror before Fred came up behind you and kissed your shoulder, albeit hidden behind several layers of blood and grime and with only one eye.
Besides, she wasn’t you anymore. Whatever happened to her that had been so terrible she traveled back in time would hopefully never come to pass now.
By the way she looked at Fred, you had an inkling of what it might be, but the thought was so terrible that your mind shied around it, hardly able to bear its full weight.
“You really are heartless,” Ron marveled.
Fred rounded on him. “Oi! Don’t talk to her that way!”
“It’s fine.” You touched his arm. Ron was only half-right. You did have a heart, but it didn’t beat in your chest. Fred carried it for you. He always had, even before you knew it.
“My clever, practical witch,” he said fondly, pulling you to his side. “So ruthless.”
True. To achieve your goals, you would do anything. You would kill. You would lie. You would die.
In fact, you’d already done all three.
The war was won in the forest, not that anyone knew it at the time.
Narcissa Malloy made a different choice. The body Hagrid carried back still lived. Neville wrenched the burning hat off his head in time, pulled Gryffindor’s sword from its depths, and lopped off the snake’s head. Hagrid’s brother Grawp and the Hogwarts hippogriffs drove away Voldemort’s giants before they could stomp the house-elves to death, so half of the Death Eaters collapsed with stabbed shins or sliced Achilles tendons. Hermione, Ginny, and Luna battled Bellatrix until Mrs. Weasley stepped in and killed her; McGonagall, Kingsley, and Slughorn did the same with Voldemort until Harry replaced them.
Voldemort toppled.
Harry stood between the columns of light the shattered windows let in, surrounded by dust swirling through the air.
A cheer shook the castle, but you didn’t join in. For some reason, you felt the urge to mourn.
“You all right, love?” Fred murmured into your ear.
You lifted the chain from around your neck. “What was it you said this morning?”
A grin played around the corners of his lips. “You clever, clever witch,” he repeated, “if we make it out of this alive…” The rings tumbled off the chain into your waiting palm. You picked up the larger one. Fred picked the smaller. “I’m going to marry you.”
Mrs. Weasley saw you slide the rings on each other’s fingers and burst into tears.
Sometimes you woke up with your right eye burning. Sometimes Fred looked like he was caught mid-laugh in his unmoving sleep.
Fred pointed out, rightfully, that Mrs. Weasley would murder him if you two eloped. You said she could take it up with you.
not quite matching freaked out; but perhaps slow, sweet, soft fred? light teasing, heavy petting sorta deal?
heavy petting is my weakness softcore will always get me more than hardcore <33333333
this post is 18+, minors dni.
It's not that you meant to end up here. You're on the couch in the common room, for merlin's sake, you hadn't sat down with the intention of sliding your hands up Fred's jumper and grinding against his bulge through his uniform. Alas, it's near-impossible to keep your hands off of each other- maybe you should have known you'd end up like this.
Fred's hands rest against your back, beneath your shirt so that his skin brushes yours, calloused but gentle. Sometimes his fingers dip beneath your waistband but he always remembers himself enough to slip them out before dragging them down to squeeze the flesh of your ass, sending a volt of electricity up your spine each time his fingers dig into your skin. He's kissing you hungrily, messily, but soft all the same, always pulling back before neither of you can turn back. You let out a soft sound into the kiss, not a whimper, not a moan, just a hum of pleasure, and he drags a shaky inhale in between sloppy pecks at your lips.
"M'really that irresistible, am I?" Fred asks, your lips pressing to his teeth instead of his own because of the grin he's sporting between kisses.
"You grabbed me first," You huff, and it's true: he'd been the one to haul you into his lap.
Now both of you are on the edge of a precipice that you can't cross here. Really, you shouldn't be making out at all on the couch, but there's no way you're going to start stripping. This is just barely within the realm of reasonable, so you cling to it, to him, scrunching your fists in his hair and tugging at the auburn strands until his teeth graze your bottom lip.
He nudges your face aside with his nose, kissing down the side of your jaw, your throat, sucking at a patch of thin, sensitive skin that pools warmth beneath your stomach. Your hips involuntarily press further down onto his own, his cock rigid beneath his pants, the fabric restraining what's surely a very painful hard-on. But his own hips jerk up into yours, a groan stifled into the skin of your neck, his tongue dragging up your jaw again until he can stick it back in your mouth.
"You've gotta- hnngh-," Fred pants, "-stop or I'll-"
"Sorry- sorry. Sorry, sorry," You chant, scooting away from him, still in his lap but no longer resting right against his erection. Your nails slide down his bare abdomen and the muscles of his stomach contract beneath your fingers, tightening, clenching, straining.
"We can't get caught," Fred leans in, whispering just behind your ear, kissing the strangely sensitive spot there. He slots his mouth back over your own as his hands reverently roam your skin, ticklish as they brush against your sides, "McGonagall would probably ship one of us off to Ilvermorny or something, She'd never let us be in the same room again."
"We'd better shut up then," You snicker, though you lean gladly into another kiss, Fred's tongue brushing yours in a dizzying stroke of skin-on-skin that nearly makes you forget the end of your sentence, "You'd look horrid in Pukwudgie yellow."
✶ 𝓟airing: Fred Weasley/fem!Reader
✶ 𝓣ags: fluff , giddy makeouts , ← celebratory makeouts , Fred is a quidditch geek , face paint (?) .
✶ 𝓢ummary: silly drabble ; Fred is overly excited after an Irish victory and makes a mess of your face .
@ for anon ; “fred x reader where she gets her face stained with paint after a heavy make out with him celebrating ireland win”
✶ 𝓐/𝓝: this idea is so cute ily … and i do love the irish!
⋆˙⟡
★. He'd hurried you back inside quicker than he meant to. Almost tripped you over into the pile of firewood by the front entrance, apologizing profusely with his hands sitted safely round your waist.
☆. “Sorry 'bout that,” Fred murmured through quick breaths.
★. The rest of the Weasleys filed in, followed closely by Harry and Hermione. George was carrying a large Irish flag behind him, waving it around in Ron's face with a sneer.
☆. “Poor Bulgaria, poor Krum!”
★. Ron lashed a hand at his brother, “Buzz off!”
☆. In your amusement, you hadn't noticed that Fred had now taken you by the hand and was dragging you into an off room inside the tent. You followed leisurely, still giggling at the sound of Ron fighting off the bright green tapestry that had been thrown over him.
★. Fred grinned as he unhooked the flap from behind you two, closing the makeshift door.
☆. “Ron's never had a good betting intuition. You've seen his room, all that Cannons rubbish.”
★. Your eyes traced the room as Fred spoke. It was just as soft and warm as the rest of the tent, a few velvet seats here and patterned pillows there. A tall pole stood at the center of the room, upholding the fabric roof.
☆. “At least he's optimistic. Isn't that the half of luck? Confidence?” You asked, turning back around.
★. Fred had neared, brushing the hair out of his eyes. The clover on his face had smudged in the areas around his mouth and forehead, but you could still make it out.
☆. “Suppose so. But what's confidence to pure winnings? Did you see the way they moved! Like angels. Never seen a game like it.” His lips were wide with an elated smile, and he ignored the way you rolled your eyes when he went down to kiss you.
★. Eagerly, you pushed up into him. His hands moved from your arms to your neck, pawing lightly at your cheeks to pull you deeper. You went for a lick at his tongue, only to pull back.
☆. Chuckling, you wiped your mouth. “Freddie, you taste like paint.”
★. He was blushing under that artificial leaf. His fingers stroked lightly at your temple.
☆. “Sorry. Didn't have time to wash off.”
★. “Oh, like you were being rushed.”
☆. Fred shook his head, not answering. He took you again.
★. At some point, you'd completely forgotten about the facepaint, only caring now that he'd pressed you up into that pole and was now focused on your neck. You let out the quietest noise, sliding a hand through his hair to pull him back up.
☆. Fred pried your lips back open, shuddering softly at how quickly you'd obliged.
★. Your hands snaked down his face, holding him like he'd disappear otherwise. Finally, after feeling like you two might drown, he came up for air. “I think I should have you like this more often, hm? I swear, I feel like a hundred beaters.”
☆. Fred's eyes were still so bright in his excitement. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding like gameshow drums, and admittedly, he couldn't tell if it was due to you or the World Cup. Perhaps both? That seemed right.
★. You'd only just started kissing his own neck when a familiar voice came from outside the flap door. It was Arthur Weasley.
☆. “We've got dinner in five, kids! Come on out before your Mum makes me put out the plates.”
★. You lifted from his shoulder, both of you giggling breathy sounds whilst you tried to pull apart from one another. Carefully, you both made your way to the table, fixing your hair and your hands so that you could look like two very sane friends who'd just been chatting about the game.
☆. Although, when you sat down, you could see nothing but gawking stares right after the other. First it was Ginny frowning away disgust, continued by a cackling George, terrified Molly, and so forth. You turned to Fred, he turned to you.
★. The room had been so dimly lit, now sitting in under a large lamp exposed humiliating smudges of green and white all across your face and down your neck. Some took the shape of Fred's lips, others simple streaks down your cheek.
☆. You looked down at your hands. They might as well have been thrown across a wet painting. Merlin's beard, this might be the most horrendous thing you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing.
★. Head dropping into crossed arms, you could see Fred shrinking in his seat just over your shoulder. George nudged a fork at his brother.
☆. “Remind me again why you had to use up all the white? So you could turn your girlfriend into a clown?”
★. Ron huffed into his bread, glancing shortly at Hermione, “Go Ireland…?”
My Head is Full of Poison | Severus Snape x Reader | Chapter 5 - TIME
Pinterest Board (find images used here)
Work Summary: The year is 1996. Severus Snape has a secret passion project: You, his seventh-year NEWT student. Graduation should put a natural stopper in things, right?
Chapter Summary: Y/N starts her first day as an apprentice healer. The twins celebrate the grand opening of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.
CW: Mention of scars, teacher-student power dynamics, alcohol consumption
Author’s note: Plenty of new characters introduced in this one! It's surprisingly difficult to come up with wizard names... Also don't ask me how the Fred x Reader stuff has come about. It's been a surprise to me too! It just feels right, capisce?
1st August 1996
First day, first day - and the skies were predictably dreary. The sound of disgruntled motorists lingered in the foreground. Thunder grumbled over the horizon, and Merlin only knew how too it rumbled in her gut.
Clammy fingertips clutched and rubbed against each other as Y/N loitered awkwardly outside the building. The Muggles only saw a derelict mall forever trespassed in by eccentric goths. But to the knowing eye, a bustling medical institution was nestled beneath - extension charms and all.
Tick, tick, tick. She let a few seconds slip away. A shallow sigh followed. The anticipation was always the worst part.
Her darting eyes waited on the last pedestrian to slip past her. Resolutely, her body slid through the glass doors and across the mezzanine.
She could’ve sworn the shadows took up more floor space than the lit section itself. Rusting neon lights flickered sporadically from arcade machines once obsessed over. Abandoned mannequins staring through their storefront prisons stood by ominously, doomed to collect dust.
She wondered for a moment if she had turned up a tad too early.
“Here for the induction, love?” An amiable nurse smiled up at her from a modified cashier counter.
“Yes!-Yes.”
“Splendid,” hummed she, motioning her arm towards a stonework arch, “just this way.”
The archway itself brought enough of a presence to distract from the expanse at the other end. Burned orange and mauve corridors had been wrapped like arteries around tall staircases, Edwardian wards, and a single, blossoming courtyard in its chest. There, two older patrons stood in measured conversation in front of a central fountain.
The greying man had cracks etched into his face like ridges.
The woman he spoke to had ‘Chief Patron’ embroidered into her length work robes. A large nurse’s cap emblazoned with the St Mungo’s signature bone and wand logo sat neatly atop her pristine bun.
Neither seemed to wear courteous bedside manner on their sleeves.
There was only so far into the courtyard her Mary Janes could take her before they took some notice.
“Ah!” gesticulated the man, “Have we our first apprentice?!” For his enthusiasm, the Chief Patron whipped his shoulder with a handkerchief.
Y/N nervously beamed up at them and nodded.
“Healing Apprenticeship? Fast Track?”
“Quite, my dear. Don’t mind Dr Ludwick’s loss of self-control,” her thin eyes glared him down before refocussing on Y/N, “May I take your name Miss…?”
“L/N.”
“Ah,” Ludwick affectionately sighed, “what a name.”
“Miss L/N is an ordinary enough name, Eli,” she retorted, landing him a second, more severe glare this time, “Please do take a seat by the statue. We’ll be with you once the rest of your cohort arrives.”
“Thank you.” Y/N promptly took an aisle seat, careful not to get caught up in their strange dynamic. Fragments of blue sky hovered above teasingly only to disappear back beneath the incoming storm.
Head returning to face the statue in front, Y/N took note of how the figure’s arm outstretched towards her, beckoning. He was shaped to be a bald man with Patron’s robes and welcoming eyes, waist hugged by what seemed like orphaned children surrounding him. An inscription by his feet read ‘Mungo Bonham (1560-1659)’.
The audience filled up swiftly with fellow bags of nerves alike. The odd member would swagger in with all the pride any child of a Healer would have, but Y/N was thankful this was few and far between.
As the bell tower looming above struck 8 o’clock, the two staff members made their way to either side of the statue.
Dr Ludwick dramatically opened his arms.
“Dear Apprentices, a warm welcome to you all! You should be very proud of yourselves for getting this far!” Nervous chuckles and faint claps resounded, “The next two years of your life will be dedicated to the art of Healing in these very halls. When you are not on rotation on the wards, you will be under the care of our wonderful array of staff, and specialising beneath them in advanced forms of magic.” The man lifted his arms, summoning further cheers and claps, before nodding at the Chief Patron.
“But before we get too ahead of ourselves,” her voice cracked, “we are your course organisers, amongst many other things at this Hospital. My name is Chief Patron Thornquill, and I am in charge of your rotations. Our infamously enthusiastic colleague to my left is venerable Doctor Ludwick-”
“-who is more than happy to go by Eli-”
“-and who will be overseeing your training schedules. Any questions on either, please come to the respective member of staff.”
“Speaking of schedules,” Eli interrupted once more, “please reach beneath your seats now. You should find a Welcome Pack of sorts with your name on it!”
Y/N did as instructed. A velvet ribbon, not too dissimilar to one Snape wrapped around her textbook, had been tied around various heavy stacks of parchment. To her own surprise, Dr Ludwick had been right about the name thing. It seemed, once seated, someone had apparated the papers beneath the correct seat.
“You will find your schedule for the rest of the week at the top, just under your Oath card,” he continued, “Please keep a hand of these both for the end of the session! The rest of your welcome pack is composed of a programme overview, building guide and your employment contract. We will require the latter to be returned to Madame Thornquill by the end of the week."
“Similarly,” began Thornquill, “please take a minute to read through your Oath card. We will be spending this session discussing with our neighbours what the Healer’s Oath means to you. There will be opportunity at the end of the session to take it, but equally we stress that you can take the oath whenever you are ready before the week’s end. All of this is to ensure our patients are safe and you understand the weight of your responsibilities going forward.”
The card in her hand had been freshly typewritten on what appeared to be telegram paper. Her fingertips ran carefully across the letter indents on the back, mesmerised by the texture.
But Y/N didn’t need a seminar to know today was the day and now was the hour. As the session drew to a close, she politely queued in front of the statue and waited her turn.
Her peers in front all took turns slinking their hands into the statue’s own as Patron Thornquill conducted the ritual. Careful rings that left subtle lines around their forearms would settle at once, evidence of the agreement they had made with the founder: try your hardest, or perish.
Next in the queue, she carefully decanted her belongings into the arm of a House Elf and reached towards the outstretched hand.
She cleared her throat and focused on the Oath card.
“I, Y/N L/N, solemnly vow before Saint Mungo the Unbreakable Oath of a Healer:
I will treat for the benefit of the sick, and enact all measures I deem satisfactory to prevent further harm. Nothing more, nothing less.
I will remember that medicine is a discipline of both heart and mind; to act only with logic is to neglect compassion; to act with emotion is to neglect reason.
I will honour and uphold the independence of my patients in their decisions and actions, whether from yesterday, today or tomorrow.
I will remember that to treat a patient is to treat a member of an intertwined community.
I will uphold the virtue of prevention, for prevention is a drop of pain, and a cure’s is a flooding well.
I will respect the discoveries of the past, and openly share my insights with the present.
I will ask for help when I do not know; I will ask for aid when I cannot do.” Thin twirling tracks settled like scars around her wrist. Her path was definite, at least for the foreseeable future.
⋈
The rest of the working day was spent in observations. Those who had not yet taken the Oath were ushered over to the laboratory, whilst the rest were split amongst wards, the pharmacy and the morgue.
The pharmacy took up a large alcove to the right of the stonework archway, separated between the counter and the dispensary at the back. Prescriptions were printed from one of two enchanted typewriters: one for the immediate collection and another for those on repeat.
Y/N nervously adjusted her nurse cap before rounding the alcove.
She reached the empty counter and craned her neck inside, “Hi there!”
“Ah!” A young woman in red robes scuttled into view, sandwich half stuffed down her gob, “So sorry! Pink robes - you’re here for observations, aren't you?”
“Yes! And it’s no worries. There’s no rush for me, honestly.” The pharmacist shook her head, still chowing down.
“Nonsense,” she mumbled, opening a side door, “come on in.” The dispensary was far less sterile in look than she had imagined. Warm pastels adorned both the patterned linoleum and walls. Shelves painted to match the former were orderly lined and filled with labelled boxes, vials, and pouches alike. Burn salves, Wolfsbane chews, Contraceptive vials and all the like were labelled alphabetically and dispensed into baskets with their corresponding prescription sheets. A stock room, as the pharmacist explained, was also hidden away at the back behind a tall portrait of a snake.
“But you’ll come to know this as second-nature in time,” she concluded, “just like you’ll come to know me. The name’s Penny, by the way,” her hand outstretched to shake Y/N’s, “or as the Patrons like to call me, ‘That bloody pharmacist’!”
They chuckled in unison, Y/N’s more so in surprise.
“Mine’s Y/N. A pleasure to meet you, truly.”
“I’m sure we’ll be pals in no time. Now, grab yourself a basket and a script and I’ll show you the ropes”.
⋈
As the evening came to grace the summer skies, Y/N set aside her new scrubs for a bright red evening dress. Today hadn’t just been a big day for her, as tonight the twins were hosting their Grand Opening for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Neighbouring business owners and long-time comrades alike were all venturing down for a night of no doubt chaotic celebrations.
Y/N checked herself over in a freestanding second-hand mirror Molly Weasley wanted rid of. She had always admired her maximalist style and was even more enamoured that furniture with such detailed Victorian edging had made its way into her hands.
Time hurried on. She scurried into the living room to hunt out her heels, pausing momentarily to smile at the framed note she had hung above her mantelpiece. It amused her deeply thinking of how irritated Snape would be if he had known of her involvement in Weasley product development.
No, she had to shake herself out it. No dewy-eyed schoolgirl. No more Snape talk. Only enjoying her own life and her own evening. She had to. To be hung up was to be held back, no matter how much it seemed he wanted her companionship.
Y/N quickly chopped some flower stems from her windowsill and used her wand to wrap them neatly in a newspaper bouquet. She hoped, at least until her pay slip came in, that this was enough to express her excitement for them.
The sunset that evening had been obscured by gloomy clouds that couldn’t quite make up their minds as to what to be. As she approached the storefront, they grumbled once more, edging upon a predictable decision.
“Y/N!” Fred’s voice erupted from the crowd inside. She wondered, for a moment, if he had been looking out for her arrival.
“Fred! Oh, I’m so happy for you two!” He pulled her into a tight squeeze as George followed, chuckling to himself. Y/N rolled her eyes at him from over Fred’s shoulder.
“I bring celebratory flowers for you both. I cannot wait to see what you’ve done with the interior.” Fred’s eyes twinkled in the wakening glow of the streetlights. His hands held onto the tips of her shoulder a moment longer than usual, before trailing down her arms and accepting the bouquet.
George poked his head above the doorway to get a better glance at them.
“Wow. These are amazing! Aren’t they the tulips you were growing?”
“The best of the lot!” Y/N beamed, clapping her palms together, “I hope they brighten your days as much as they brighten mine.”
“Oooh, mulllllltiiiii-coloooooured,” George cooed. Fred tutted.
“You’re not even two drinks down yet, mate.” The interior was characterised by the towering middle view of all three floors. As if a farmhouse, the middle edges and staircase was all fenced up with polished wooden railings. A distinct varnish smell still lingered in the air. It was clear they had properly invested in it.
Secondary colour balloons brimming with glitter and confetti were wrapped in winding wreaths around the bannisters. Triangular banners painted with the letter W had too been wound around the columns.
Upon a small table by the staircase balanced a tree of bubbling martini glasses. Firmly taking her hand, Fred led her up the stairs and presented both herself and George with those glasses at the top. From a quick sniff, Y/N could detect unsubtle notes of elderflower and popping candy.
“George,” the ineffable Molly Weasley called from above, “grab me a glass, too. I want to see if your horrid concoction has actually worked.” The surrounding parties chuckled, moving to make a path for the spirited mother. Y/N leaned against the balcony, Fred’s hand accidentally brushing against her own.
Molly took a curious sip and pressed her lips together a couple of times.
“I hate to say this is rather good.” The room burst into cheers.
“Oi, Weasley!” jeered Mr Fletcher from below, “‘and us a glass then!"
“Right, right, right! One at a time!” As George disassembled the tree for the curious crowd below, Fred leaned in and muttered.
“I’ll be spending much of tonight networking, but I want to let you know now that I’m really fucking happy that you came tonight. It means a lot to us. Nah, it means a lot to me.” Y/N’s eyes softened as her face turned up to meet his.
“You softie,” she muttered back, “are you sure you’re not George in disguise?”
Fred sniggered to himself.
“George wishes he could have my charisma.” The family ascended back upstairs, leaving Y/N to the mercy of the crowd. Sipping at the sweet drink as she perused the cheeky displays, she found herself wondering just how bored she would’ve been at school without them.
And that’s when she saw him there. Him: stripped bare of his calloused exterior, an anxious watching of her mingle in the crowd, melting into visible, gooey relief. Him: jet black anorak wrapped loosely around his torso and ankles despite the thundering storm ahead. Him: his soft locks, once a well-maintained helmet, now a tousled mop resting gently against the lamppost.
Her arm reached out into the crowd, and with it too did her feet betray her. She was Mother Moses, dividing the gravity between tipsy wizards and etiquette to lead her heart to promised shores. Y/N ducked beneath balloons and exploding confetti alike, heart now thundering in her chest.
Heels clicked and shuffled towards the front door, sweating palms wrestling with the flaking paint on the handle.
The door swung open; the woman in the red dress sprang out into the unforgiving humidity.
Anticipation that once electrified her every thought had abruptly turned to doom.
The spot by the lamppost was empty.
At once, Y/N wildly yanked her neck down any side street or alleyway he could have retreated down. But they were empty.
They were all empty.
A bitter drop of rain splashed across her face.
As she wiped it from her cheek, her dampened gaze turned towards the pavement. Her vision narrowed.
The proof she sought emerged from the drain gate: a tall, unexplained sprig of asphodel.
