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dead of night

pairings . virgin!fred weasley x virgin!reader

cw . slight worshipping kink if u squint .. soft dom!fred if you squint .. bsf!fred lowk but its never specified.

a/n . i haven’t written in a while forgive me. not proofread, probably w many grammar and spelling mistakes. also i love just em dashes i promise this isnt ai #boycottgpt

#— fred !#harry potter #hp fandom #goblet of fire #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasly x reader #fred weasly #george weasley #george weasly x reader #fred weasly smut #fred weasley smut #george weasly smut #george weasley smut

Hello hello! I found ur page and I am very intrigued 👀🙂‍↕️ I was wondering if I could request a ootp fred weasley x reader? 🥹🙏 fluff with maybe lil hints at smut, ofc if not feel free to ignore this ty in advance -🖤💜🔮

Contraband

part 2

One: The Weasley Problem

The problem with Fred Weasley was not that he was annoying.

You could have dealt with annoying. Annoying was manageable. Annoying was something you could build a defence against and maintain with reasonable consistency.

The problem with Fred Weasley was that he was annoying and funny and he knew it, and the combination of those three things meant he operated with a kind of confident ease that made it very difficult to look at him without your brain doing something you hadn't given it permission to do.

He sat two rows across from you in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'Sat' was generous. He occupied the space. Sprawled into it. Took up exactly as much room as he felt like taking up on any given day, and somehow Umbridge had never managed to make him sit up straight, which you suspected was a source of genuine personal anguish for her.

He'd first spoken to you properly in September. Not counting the years of existing in the same castle — you'd been in the same year since first year, you knew who he was the way you knew who everyone was, but knowing wasn't the same as speaking.

September. Umbridge had just handed back a particularly insulting essay grade and you'd made the mistake of muttering 'this is actually educational malpractice' under your breath, and from two rows across Fred Weasley had said, without looking up, 'educational malpractice. I'm using that.'

'Please don't,' you'd said.

'Too late. It's mine now.'

'I coined it.'

'And I've claimed it. Spoils of war.'

Umbridge had looked over. Both of you had looked very interested in your parchment.

After class he'd fallen into step beside you in the corridor and said, 'Fred Weasley. In case you didn't know.'

'I know who you are.'

'Good. What's your name?'

You told him.

'Right,' he said, like he was filing it somewhere. 'I'll be needing that.'

'For what?' you'd asked.

He'd grinned — that specific Fred Weasley grin, the one that meant something was already in motion that you hadn't been informed about — and said 'you'll see' and turned down a different corridor.

You had, in retrospect, been doomed from that moment.

It had taken you several more weeks to admit it.

✦ ✦ ✦

The thing about fifth year was that everything had a weight to it that the previous four hadn't.

You felt it in the corridors — something taut and low, the way the air felt before a storm. Umbridge in the castle and her decrees going up on the noticeboard one after another, each one landing like a small controlled explosion. No gatherings. No organisations. No independent study of defensive magic. The Ministry's hand reaching all the way to Hogwarts and closing around it, slowly, like it had all the time in the world.

You'd heard about the DA from Ginny, who had heard about it from Hermione, who had looked at you with the very specific expression of someone deciding whether to trust you with something important and deciding yes.

'It's risky,' Hermione had said.

'Most worthwhile things are,' you'd said.

Hermione had nodded once, like you'd passed something.

The first meeting was in the Hog's Head, which smelled terrible and was clearly chosen because nobody sane would linger there. You'd filed in with the others, found a space, and were trying to look like someone who attended clandestine anti-Ministry meetings all the time, which was the exact kind of thing you thought about, when Fred Weasley appeared at your elbow.

'Educational malpractice,' he said, very quietly, into the space beside your ear.

You startled. He was closer than you'd expected. Close enough that you could smell the particular Fred Weasley combination of something smoky and something sweet, which was presumably the product of spending every available hour working on things that occasionally exploded.

'You're still using that,' you said.

'It's a good phrase. It captures the full horror of the situation.'

'I want credit.'

'You'll get a footnote,' he said. 'In the official account of the revolution.'

'The revolution.'

'Someone's got to call it that. Might as well start now.'

Harry had started talking at the front of the room. You both turned to listen.

Fred didn't move away.

You didn't move away either.

You told yourself it was just the room being crowded.

The room was not, especially, crowded.

Two: The Room of Requirement

DA meetings became the fixed point of the week.

Everything else was Umbridge's Hogwarts — the decrees, the inspections, the Educational Authority nonsense that had settled over the castle like a particularly vindictive fog. But the Room of Requirement was something else. Warm and lit and full of people who had all collectively decided that learning to defend themselves was worth the risk of being caught, which was, you had decided, one of the braver things you'd ever been part of.

Fred Weasley was, reliably, at your elbow.

Not in a way you could call him out on. Not in a way that was obvious. Just — there. When you were practicing Expelliarmus, there was a Fred-shaped presence somewhere nearby making commentary. When Harry was explaining Patronuses and you were frowning at your wand trying to find the right memory, a voice appeared beside you saying 'you're overthinking it.'

'How do you know?' you'd said.

'Your face does this thing when you're overthinking.'

'My face does not do a thing.'

'It does. It goes — ' he'd pulled a face that was a completely unfair impression of your concentration expression.

'It does not look like that.'

'It looks exactly like that. You look like you're trying to do sums in your head.'

'I'm trying to access a specific memory, it requires concentration — '

'What's the memory?'

You'd stopped.

'Sorry?' you'd said.

'The happy memory. What is it?' He tilted his head. Not joking now, just — asking. Looking at you with an attention that was different from the banter, steadier. 'The best ones are specific. Not big things. Small ones. Moments.'

You'd looked at him for a second. 'How do you know that?'

'Because George's Patronus is our mum's cooking on Sundays,' he said. 'And mine is — ' He stopped. Looked briefly like he hadn't meant to say that much. 'Anyway. Small moments. Try that.'

You'd tried it.

The Patronus had come — silver, substantial, more than the wisp you'd been managing — and Fred had made a sound of satisfaction beside you that you felt more than heard.

'Told you,' he said.

'You did,' you agreed.

He was already grinning. Back to Fred, the version you were used to. But you'd seen the other one, just for a moment, and you were not going to be able to un-see it.

Which was, you were beginning to understand, rather the problem.

✦ ✦ ✦

The Decoy Detonators incident happened on a Thursday.

You hadn't been involved, technically. You'd been in the corridor adjacent to the one where a small army of Fred and George's prototype devices had gone off simultaneously, which technically put you in the wrong place at an extremely interesting time.

You'd been pulled into an alcove by a hand around your wrist — Fred, appearing from nowhere the way he always seemed to, George immediately behind him — just as Filch came thundering around the corner.

The three of you pressed back into the shadows. Fred's hand was still around your wrist. Filch stood in the corridor for approximately thirty seconds that felt significantly longer, peered at the smoke still curling from the Detonators, muttered something unprintable, and left.

Silence.

George looked at the two of you, looked at Fred's hand on your wrist, and said 'I'll meet you upstairs' with the energy of someone exercising enormous self-control, and left.

Fred's hand dropped. He had the grace to look slightly caught out, which was not an expression you saw on him often.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Reflex.'

'Pulling people into alcoves is a reflex?'

'Pulling people out of the path of trouble is a reflex.' He glanced at the corridor where Filch had been. 'You were about to walk right into that.'

'I was going to the library.'

'You were going to the library via a corridor full of our finest work.' He said it with complete pride. 'You're welcome, by the way.'

'I didn't say thank you.'

'That's what the 'you're welcome' was for. Pre-emptive.'

You looked at him. The alcove was not large. He hadn't moved back, which meant the distance between you was the distance of two people who had just been pressing themselves into shadows trying not to get caught, which was to say: not much.

'Were those the Decoy Detonators?' you said. 'The ones you were testing last month?'

He blinked. 'You remember that?'

'You mentioned them. In the Hog's Head, that first meeting. You said you were working on something that would cause a diversion.'

Fred Weasley looked at you the way people looked at things that had surprised them.

'You were listening,' he said.

'I listen to most things.'

'I talk a lot.'

'I know. I still listened.'

Something moved across his face. There and gone. He stepped back, gave you the corridor distance back, and the moment was over.

'Come on then,' he said. 'Library's this way. I'll walk you, make sure there aren't any more diversions en route.'

'That you caused.'

'Details,' he said, and gestured for you to walk, and fell into step beside you, and you went to the library with Fred Weasley as an escort and tried very hard to think about books.

You thought about him the whole way.

Three: Umbridge Makes a Mistake

Umbridge inspected your Defence class on a Wednesday.

You had been warned it was coming — the whisper network in Hogwarts was efficient in the way of all things that formed in response to something intolerable — and so most of the class had arrived prepared to look precisely as obedient and useless as she wanted them to be.

Fred and George had other ideas.

It started small. A question asked with perfect, polished innocence about whether Ministry-approved theory was consistent with the spells used in documented dark wizard encounters. Umbridge had said yes. Fred had said, with an expression of complete sincerity, that he'd read something suggesting otherwise and could she clarify. Umbridge had clarified. George had asked a follow-up question. Fred had countered with a point. The whole thing had the quality of watching two cats calmly bat a vase toward the edge of a table, and Umbridge's smile was getting tighter by the minute, and the rest of the class had gone completely still in the way of people witnessing something that could go badly wrong and finding it impossible to look away.

You were sitting directly in front of Fred, one row up.

He leaned forward and said, barely a breath, 'she's going to snap in about three questions.'

'Two,' you murmured back, without turning around.

'Bet?'

'What are the stakes?'

'If I win, you have to come to the next DA meeting early and help us test something.'

'That sounds dangerous.'

'Mildly.'

'And if I win?'

A pause. Umbridge was answering George's question through a smile that had become essentially structural.

'Name it,' Fred said.

You thought about it for exactly the length of time it took George to ask the follow-up question.

'You stop stealing my phrases,' you said.

'Educational malpractice is my phrase now.'

'It was never your phrase.'

'I've used it fourteen times since September.'

'That's called theft, Fred.'

He made a sound that might have been a laugh converted into a cough at the last second.

Umbridge snapped on George's second follow-up question.

Not loudly — she didn't do loud. But the smile went completely rigid and she said, in the soft deadly voice she used when she'd had enough, that she thought that would be sufficient discussion for the day.

George sat back, satisfied.

Fred leaned forward again. 'Two questions. You win.'

'Thank you.'

'Educational malpractice is still mine though.'

'You agreed to the stakes, Weasley.'

'I agreed to stop stealing your phrases. I'm arguing that prior acquisition counts as possession.'

'That is not how that works.'

'It's how it works in my legal system.'

'You don't have a legal system.'

'I'm working on one,' he said. 'George is the co-founder. We've been drafting since third year.'

You turned around, just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

He was grinning. Close — your desk was only a row ahead — and looking at you with that specific attention that made it hard to remember what you'd been going to say.

'Fine,' you said. 'Keep it. It suits you anyway.'

He blinked. Like that wasn't what he'd been expecting.

'Yeah?' he said.

'You're the one actually doing something about it,' you said. 'You've earned the phrase.'

Umbridge dismissed the class. People started moving. Fred didn't, for a second, just looked at you with an expression you couldn't entirely decode.

'Come to the next DA meeting early,' he said.

'I won the bet.'

'I know. Come anyway.'

He left before you could answer, catching up with George in the corridor.

You gathered your things.

You were going to go early. You'd already decided.

You weren't going to tell him that yet.

Four: Early

You went early.

The Room of Requirement was already configured when you arrived — mats on the floor, practice dummies in the corner, the warm light that the room always chose for these evenings. Fred was there, sitting on the floor with components spread out around him in the organised chaos of someone who knew exactly where everything was even when it looked like nothing was in order.

He looked up when you came in and something — quick, genuine, there before he managed anything over it — moved across his face.

'You came,' he said.

'I said I might.'

'You said you weren't going to tell me.'

'I wasn't. I'm here anyway.' You came and sat on the floor across from him, looking at the components. 'What is it?'

'Portable swamp,' he said. 'Prototype. We've been testing the containment.'

'What does it do?'

'Exactly what it sounds like.' He picked up one of the small packages. 'Except it needs to deploy in an enclosed space without flooding the whole building. That's the part we haven't solved yet.'

'Spatial limitation charms,' you said. 'You'd need to set a boundary before deployment.'

He looked at you. 'Go on.'

'The charm would have to go on first, not the device,' you said, thinking it through. 'Otherwise the swamp expands to fill available space. If you set the boundary before — like a ward, basically — the swamp reads the ward as a wall.'

Fred was quiet for a moment. Looking at you with that steady attention. 'That's — yeah. That's the part George and I kept getting stuck on. We kept trying to limit the device itself.'

'You can't control the output, you can only control the space.'

'That's exactly it.' He leaned forward slightly. 'How'd you work that out?'

'Charms theory. Containment principles. We did it in fourth year, Professor Flitwick.'

'I was probably not listening in fourth year Charms.'

'Probably not,' you agreed.

He smiled. It was a different smile from the grin — quieter, less performed, the one she suspected most people didn't get to see.

'You're clever,' he said, simply. Not a compliment designed to get somewhere. Just a thing he'd observed and said.

'I know,' you said, which made him laugh — quick and real, head tilting back slightly — and the Room of Requirement was warm and empty and there were forty minutes until anyone else would arrive and Fred Weasley was laughing and sitting three feet away from you and you thought: there it is. There's the problem, clearly named at last.

You were absolutely gone on him.

You'd been gone on him for weeks.

You had no idea what to do with that.

✦ ✦ ✦

He taught you the containment application. Walked you through the modifications, which meant forty minutes of the two of you on the floor of the Room of Requirement with components between you and his voice doing the thing it did when he was explaining something he cared about — still warm, still Fred, but focused, specific, not performing anything.

At some point the distance had reduced without either of you formally deciding to reduce it. He'd leaned in to show you something and stayed leaned in. You were close enough that you could see the small scar above his left eyebrow that you'd noticed before and never asked about.

'The scar,' you said, before you could stop yourself.

He glanced up. 'What about it?'

'How did you get it?'

'Which story do you want? I have three.'

'The true one.'

He looked at you for a moment. 'Exploding Snap, second year. George dared me to hold the card too long and I held it too long.'

'That's much less dramatic than the options you implied.'

'The other two are better. A dragon features in one. Completely false, but compelling.'

'I'll take the true one,' you said. 'I prefer those.'

He tilted his head. That slight recalibration he did sometimes, like you'd said something that made him reassess something else.

'Most people want the dragon,' he said.

'Most people don't know you well enough to know the truth is better.'

The words sat between you.

You hadn't fully intended them to come out like that — weighted, specific. But they had, and Fred Weasley was looking at you in the warm light of the Room of Requirement and not saying anything, which was, for Fred Weasley, a significant event.

'Is that right,' he said, finally. Not a question.

'I think so,' you said, keeping your voice level.

He looked at you for another moment. Then, slowly, deliberately — giving you every opportunity to move if you wanted to — he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Just that. Nothing more.

Your breath did something it didn't have permission to do.

'I've been trying to work something out,' he said quietly.

'What?'

'Whether you'd mind if I — ' He stopped. His hand had dropped but not far, resting near your knee, not quite touching. 'Whether this is something you'd want.'

'This,' you said.

'Yeah.'

'You're going to have to be more specific than that, Weasley.'

He looked at you. 'No I don't,' he said. 'I think you know exactly what I mean.'

You did.

You'd known what he meant for weeks. Maybe longer.

'I'd want it,' you said.

The smile came back. The quiet one. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

He leaned in —

The door opened.

George walked in, stopped, took in the scene with the rapid assessment of someone who had spent seventeen years reading his twin, and said 'oh' in a tone that contained a truly impressive amount of information.

Fred did not lean back. He just turned his head and looked at George with extraordinary calm.

'You're early,' Fred said.

'You told me to come early,' George said. 'To help test the — ' He looked at the components on the floor. Looked at you. Looked at Fred. 'The portable swamp.'

'We solved the containment problem,' you said.

'Did you.' George was having an extremely good time. It was written all over him. 'Brilliant. The swamp. Solved.'

'George,' Fred said.

'I'll just — ' George gestured vaguely at the other side of the room. 'Go over here. Test some things. Alone.'

'Thank you,' Fred said.

'Take your time,' George said, moving away with magnificent dignity. 'The swamp will keep.'

You looked at Fred.

Fred looked at you.

'Right,' he said, low enough that it didn't carry. 'Where were we.'

'I believe,' you said, equally quiet, 'you were being more specific.'

He laughed — surprised, warm — and this time when he leaned in there was no door opening, and he was specific, and it was — brief, because people were going to start arriving, but entirely, completely enough to confirm everything you'd been not-examining for months.

When he pulled back he was still smiling. The quiet one.

'Educational malpractice,' he said.

'What?'

'Still mine. Just so we're clear.'

You laughed, helpless, and he looked at you laughing the way you'd seen him look at things he liked — openly, without trying to manage it.

'Fine,' you said. 'Keep it.'

'I intend to,' he said. And then, quieter, just for you: 'among other things.'

✦ ✦ ✦

People started arriving ten minutes later.

George, from across the room, caught your eye and gave you a look of such extravagant satisfaction that you had to look at the ceiling to keep a straight face.

Fred pretended to notice nothing. He was extremely bad at it. His ears were red.

Harry started the meeting.

Fred sat next to you. Close. Not touching, because there were people everywhere and this was new and fragile and neither of you had decided what to do with it yet.

But close.

And when you were practicing Shield Charms and he corrected your stance — hands brief and light on your shoulders, adjusting the angle — he said, very quietly, 'better' and his voice was warm and specific and entirely for you and only you.

And when the meeting ended and everyone filed out and George said he'd see Fred upstairs with the manner of someone giving two people space on purpose, Fred turned to you in the emptying room and said:

'Tomorrow. Hogsmeade. Before the others.'

'Is that a question?' you said.

'It's a request.'

'A polite one, even.'

'I'm trying something new.'

You looked at him. Fred Weasley in the warm light, ears still slightly red, looking at you with the most sincere expression you'd seen on him.

'Tomorrow,' you said. 'Before the others.'

His whole face did something wonderful.

'Good,' he said. And then, because he was Fred: 'I'll file that under 'wins'.'

'You have a file for wins?'

'Extensive one.' He held the door open. 'You feature in it more than once.'

You walked through. He fell into step beside you.

The corridor was cold and Umbridge's latest decree was pinned to the board at the end of it and the year was heavy with things that hadn't happened yet.

But Fred Weasley was warm beside you and his shoulder was pressed to yours and you were going to Hogsmeade tomorrow before the others and right now that was enough.

Right now, that was everything.

Lover

✧.* : F.W x Ravenclaw! Reader ✎ : You’ve always kept to yourself — quiet, shy, and never one to seek the spotlight. But somehow, during the whirlwind of the Yule Ball season, Fred Weasley notices you. And once he does, there’s no going back; despite your best efforts to stay invisible, you manage to capture his heart just by being exactly who you are. 𖦹 3.2k [masterlist] Much Love, Saige

Before It’s Too Late (Final)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!Hufflepuff Muggle-born reader

Series summary: For years, Fred tries and fails to confess his feelings to you, but something always seems to get in the way. When the war starts, the question becomes not whether he'll succeed, but rather whether you both will even survive.

Chapter summary: You fight to survive the Battle of Hogwarts and reunite with Fred. You need to tell him that you finally understand what he’s been trying to say… and that you feel the same.

Word count: 4.6k

Tags: slowburn, cursing, dumb teenagers, HEA (Fred lives obvi), canon-typical violence

I DEFENDED MY THESIS (pulled two all-nighters before it) THANK GOD I CAN START WRITING AGAIN… plz send requests 🙏 thanks for your patience yall

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasely #fred weasely x reader #fred weasely x you #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasly #fred weasly x reader #fred weasly x you #fred weasly x y/n

Manners Maketh the Wizard: Chapter 5 — ‘Sorting it Out’

Harry and Ginny with a toddler James and newborn Albus.

So sorry it’s been so long since I last posted a drawing

THE GOOD GIRL THEORY

Chapter Five: Someone Else's Name

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Grace McGonagall (OC!)

Word Count: ~4,6K words

Warnings/Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Prank wars, Ravenclaw Reader/OC, Smart MC, Fluff, six year, Some slight modifications to the canon or timeline.

Premise: For Fred Weasley, what is out of reach is simply a challenge waiting to be accepted. He lives for chaos, which means he never fell for the school’s biggest illusion: Grace McGonagall. To the rest of Hogwarts, she is the golden student, a saintly legacy who can do no wrong. To Fred, she is a puzzle disguised as a perfect girl, hiding a razor-sharp wit and a dark streak of defiance beneath her Ravenclaw robes. His new theory? Good girls are just bad girls who haven't been caught yet. Fred is ready to tear down her walls to prove it—what he doesn't expect is that Grace doesn't just know how his games work; she plays them better.

Masterlist | the cast | ⬅️ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ➡️

#fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley × oc #fred weasley #fred weasly #harry potter #hogwarts oc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hermione granger #luna lovegood #george weasly #ginny weasley #quidditch

Closeted

Starring: Fred Weasley x Y/N

Warnings: somewhat public sex. Sex in a closet. Teasing. Basically just porn with little plot.

Summary: you try to pull a prank, almost get caught, get trapped in a closet, Fred gets hard as you sit on his lap, you're oblivious for an annoyingly long time, when you realize, you start fucking.

—————————————

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #Fred Weasly #fred weasley smut #fred weasley porno #safe sex #harry potter #harry potter smut

THE GOOD GIRL THEORY

Chapter Five: Someone Else's Name

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Grace McGonagall (OC!)

Word Count: ~4,6K words

Warnings/Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Prank wars, Ravenclaw Reader/OC, Smart MC, Fluff, six year, Some slight modifications to the canon or timeline.

Masterlist | the cast | ⬅️ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ➡️

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