Party Girl
Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader WC: 3k Summary: It’s the most exciting event of the year and Y/N has never felt more out of place. But with a little champagne, a hot dress and Fred Weasley, will it really be so bad? Warnings: mentions of underage drinking, but otherwise flufffff A/N: this is for @theweasleyslut birthday writing challenge, happiest of belated birthdays Holly! 🥳 Prompts are bolded 💕
“I can’t believe you talked me into this”
“I need to tell you something”
---------------------
After graduating from Hogwarts your aunt helped you land a cushy job at Gringotts. You aren’t particularly fond of finance, but the gig had its perks. To you, that means handling precious metals and international travel. But to your friends, that means getting the inside scoop from the Gringotts Holiday Party. With expansive tables of exquisite foods, fountains of cocktails and the A-list of all wizarding celebrities on the invite list, the Gringotts Party is known as the event of the season. It’s an age old recipe for high society gossip, scandal and the front page story of Witch Weekly.
Large Parties were never really your thing—you always felt out of place, like an imposter. Even the Yule Ball, where you were surrounded by friends, made you feel on edge--not helped by your Durmstrang date abandoning you fifteen minutes in. You didn’t relax until Fred Weasley tipped you off on the flask he’d smuggled in, discreetly topping off your beverage before making sure you spent the rest of the night laughing, dancing and messing around with your friends. Nevertheless, you’re now stuck at happy hour with Angelina and Alicia pestering you to go to the Party and report back.
“Y/N, if not for yourself, do it for us!” Angelina pleads, shooting you a puppy dog face over her glass.
Alicia mimics her, “Merlin, please! I don’t care if you interact with people or spend the whole night taking notes in the corner, I just want to know what goes down.”
“Gringotts party Y/N?” George asks, sliding into the booth next to Angelina. “Bill says they’re legend.”
“Yeah, I dunno...I think I’d rather skip it honestly.”
“What, why?!” Fred slides in next to you, his hand stopping midair over the basket of fries.
“I just don’t like big parties, that’s all.”
“You liked the Yule ball.”
“Yeah, because you three snuck firewhisky in for us in your flasks” you laugh, dragging your finger between Lee, Fred and George.
“Okay, so just take a few shots before you go. Problem solved.” Lee shrugs.
You shake your head, pausing to swallow your butter beer before answering. “It’s my first big work party, I can’t be drunk.”
“Who said anything about drunk? A few shots and you’ll still be coherent. Hey, I’ll even go with you.” Fred grins, slinging his arm over your shoulder.
“What, like as my date?” You tease.
“I wouldn’t mind having you on my arm” he winks, sending shivers down your spine. While George and Lee whistle and Alicia rolls her eyes, your best friend remains composed, eyeing you quietly as she sips her drink. Angelina has graciously listened to years of you secretly pining after Fred, encouraging you to make a move--which you’ve never had the guts to do. You and Fred flirted constantly, and he had a tendency to bring you small gifts he’d nicked from the kitchens or Filch’s office, or even little inventions being tested for the shop. But you’ve always chalked it up to his personality and your close friendship, a bond you weren’t ready to lose once you spilled your guts and he let you down gently. But now, whether from Angelina’s pointed stare or the way Fred’s gently tracing circles into your shoulder, you’re thinking the party may not be that bad if Fred were to go with you. So you down the rest of your drink before grinning back at him, “Okay, sure.”
-----------------------------
Standing in front of your mirror on the night of the party, you can’t really identify how you’re feeling. On the one hand, this is not going to be your scene. On the other , you get to spend the evening with Fred, and you’re going to look hot while doing so. Your black dress hugs your body, laced with subtle gems which gleam whenever you move under the lights. You look like the night sky come alive, your hair and makeup done up to your liking. Fred meets you outside your apartment, slack jawed and grinning. He’s wearing a crisp dragonhide suit, the emerald cut pairing nicely with his sharp jawline and flaming hair.
“You clean up nice, Y/N.”
“Not half bad yourself, Freckles.”
He beams, not even caring if you can see the blush on his cheeks. “Here, this is for you.” He pulls his arm from behind his back, a plum jewelry box sat in his palm. “Fred, you shouldn’t have.” “Just open it.” he nudges your arm, eyes trained on your face as you undo the ribbon.
“Freddie…” You gasp. Sat inside is a silver chain bracelet, little green gemstones braided into the metal. “Fred, how expensive was this?”
“Hey don’t worry about it.” He smiles at your stunned expression, “Half of it’s repurposed anyways...recognize the jewels?” You lift the bracelet from the box, jaw dropping when you realize the green gems are the same ones that used to sit in a framed photo of you and your Mom. Fred had gifted you an early version of the punching telescope, which had repeatedly smashed the frame to smithereens when you tossed it onto your nightstand. You had saved the photo with a simple repairo, but the frame was too far gone. Fred had apologized profusely, and though you assured him it was alright he never stopped feeling guilty. That picture frame had sat next to your bed for as long as he’d known you, and he couldn’t stand that you’d lost it because of him.
“Now you’ll have it with you wherever you go. Can I?” Fred takes the bracelet from you to clasp on, goosebumps rising from where his fingers touched your skin. “Perfect.” He admires, taking your hand in his.
“This might be the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you Freddie.”
You feel like you’re melting inside, hoping Fred doesn’t see how your legs have turned to jelly. If he does notice, he doesn’t say so, kissing your forehead and asking, “Ready to go?” Right. The party. You had completely forgotten about it while caught up with Fred’s gift, and now your nerves return in an instant. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, sending sparks up your arm. “Whisk me away then, Weasley.” Fred grins, kissing your forehead once more before you two aparate away.
When you emerge from darkness you're standing in a vast field, lightly covered in glittering snow, white unicorns lounging on the outskirts. The hub of the party is in the center, enchanted beams of blue flame encircling the area and keeping out the winter cold. Beyond the circle, an expanse of snow and ice sculptures flow into a miniature village garden, the stone trail lined with winter roses and snowdrops. Hundreds of tiny Fairies fly overhead, sprinkling silver and gold fairy dust above the party guests, a fair few nicking treats and mulled wine from the dessert table. The guest themselves are a wide array of people--pop stars, ministry officials, ancient wizard families aiming to make an appearance and not a tabloid. The unicorns avoid the crowd for the most part, but some of the babies inch closer to the food tables, eagerly taking strawberries from the young witches cooing at them. A couple of drunk fairies fly recklessly towards where you and Fred stand, belching out champagne-scented “Welcome!”s before upturning their empty fairy pails over your heads.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this” you whisper, squeezing his hand.
“Come off it Princess, this will be fun. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date here.” He winks, and you pray he can’t feel how sweaty your palms have gotten.
Fred leads you into the party, not making it two feet without being recognized by one of the shop’s investors. A small, pompous old man dressed in so much jewelry he resembled a plum pudding and his tall wisp of a counterpart dressed in a crisp gray suit, his opposite in both stature and dress. They’re a duo whom you’ve seen around the bank from time to time, often discussing portfolio forecasts with your boss. At the bank, they carried themselves with a snootiness which told you never to expect more than a small grunt of acknowledgement, but here they both reek of rum, smiling kindly at you once Fred introduces you as one of his closest friends.
“Good to know a chap like this, eh Y/N? An in to the party of the year!” The short man, Octavion, bellows. You smile tightly, “I actually work at the bank, in Danburry’s office. We’ve met a few times.” “Are you certain, my dear? It would be rare for Octavian not to notice a beauty like yourself.” the tall man scoffs condescendingly as Octavian frowns at you. But before he can say a word, Fred cuts him off, “Well, it would be rare for Octavian had he not have to constantly choose between peering over his own stature and around yours, don’t you think Walters?” At once Octavian breaks into a booming laugh, all his pocket watches and jacket jewelry bouncing from the vibration. Walters slowly cracks a sly smile, his display of amusement matching his dress. You and Fred spend a few more minutes talking with the men, Fred’s schoolboy charm and wit melding seamlessly into the businessmen he’s now become. It makes you swoon, head spinning to the point that you have to tighten your grip on his arm.
“Hey, everything good?” Fred whispers in your ear.
“Perfect” you smile sweetly, stomach clenching when he smiles back.
“Good. Because I’d really like to have this next dance—Weird Sisters?
You grin, nodding as the sound of a familiar tune picks up and Fred sweeps you away from the investors and onto the dance floor. You get lost mimicking your moves from the Yule Ball, not at all formal but in tune with the other party goers who’ve chosen to dance to the number. Afterwards he guides you to a table to get a drink, perhaps some iced wine. “Having fun, Y/N?” “I am, actually,” you smile, “I didn’t expect--”
“Y/N!” You’re cut off, spinning to see Simon, an analyst from your office who’s asked you to coffee a few times (both of which you’ve declined). He’s cute, and nice enough, but if you were honest with yourself he just didn’t compare to Fred. But his presence startles you, makes you realize you were about to say I didn’t expect to fully enjoy this date, but this wasn’t a date, was it? That had been a joke, and Fred had played along. You and Fred are friends, nothing more. You blink back into the conversation, catching the tail end of Simon asking if he can steal you for a dance.
“Yeah sure,” You swallow, “Fred and I are just friends.” You said it outloud more for yourself than anything else, but you catch how Fred’s face falls, the dip in his brow mimicked in your gut. Before you can apologize or attempt to explain yourself, Fred is waving it off and telling you to have fun, mumbling about how he still needs to say hello to Bill. Simon whisks you away without another word, your mind still reeling with the image of Fred so crestfallen. Was it just a joke...or was this actually a date? You’re not really listening to Simon, tuning in once more as he tentatively holds the small of your back with one hand, and your hand in his other. The formal stance is such a contradiction to your wild dancing with Fred that it feels awkward and you giggle to yourself.
“Something funny?”
“What? Oh—no, sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Simon asks, twirling you to the beat.
“Hmm? Uh, Nothing...sorry”
You don’t tell Simon, but you’re apologizing for the way your thoughts are consumed with Fred. How relaxed you felt when with him, the opinions of these high society people, your boss and coworkers nowhere near your mind. You felt right next to him, walking in with him, getting a drink with him. It didn’t even feel like a big formal party, just ...being. Being with Fred. And it felt right, like you should have been with him all along.
Fred’s eyes stay trained on you from his vantage point next to Bill and his friends, the bracelet he gave you shimmering next to Simon’s hand. He didn’t really know what he felt. Jealous bile? Forlorn queasiness? Smitten anguish? Most likely all three, but whatever the cause he feels sick. When George had told him Angelina made some suggestive comments about tonight, he’d dared to hope that maybe his long-time crush wasn’t unrequited. Maybe all these years of flirtatious banter was more than just a game, and tonight would actually be a date. A first date of the many he’s fantasized about taking you on, your hand in his all the while.
But you had been so quick to brand you two as just friends, shoving his ego down further than it’s ever been before. Yet despite the humiliation, he can’t help but to watch you, a small voice defying the pain to suggest that maybe you didn’t mean it. Maybe you want this to be a date, but assumed he’d just been joking? He thought the bracelet would be enough of a hit but maybe he was wrong. There are a lot of maybes when Fred thinks about you with him, but he knows for sure that the posh bloke you’re dancing with now is not to your taste, chuckling quietly when you step on Simon’s foot.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry” you rush, grimacing as Simon winces in pain.
“It’s alright Y/N, no worries.” Luckily the song’s ended, and you help Simon to sit down so he can examine his foot.
“Hey Simon,” You haven’t been the most graceful dance partner, and you’re not sure how to put this delicately. “So—”
“You’re into the redhead. The Weasley.”
“I....yeah. Yeah, I am.” You grow warm, fiddling your fingers.
“Figures,” Simon chuckles, rubbing his ankle, “He’s been staring at you throughout our entire dance.” Simon indicates over your shoulder, and you turn to lock eyes with a flush-faced Fred. “Simon I’m so sorry,” you start.
“Stop apologizing! Really—it’s alright. Just go tell him, and don’t step on another poor bloke on your way.” You grin at Simon, waving goodbye before pushing your way through the crowd. Between the crowd and drunk fairies haphazardly sprinkling glitter everywhere, it takes you longer than you’d like to find Fred. The next act is about to begin, the shaking drums and absence of Fred’s presence threatening your resolve.
“Hey you.” Fred catches your wrist, his touch burning your skin.
“Hey,” you smile up at him and take a deep breath, “I need to tell—” but just then the band picks up, drowning your words in the process. Fred laughs at your babble, tilting his head towards the snow sculptures. You nod, moving your hand to hold his as he leads you away from the dance floor. It’s taken eight years for you to build up the courage for this, and you’ll be damned if a rock band gets in your way.
You lean into him as you walk, Fred humming when you do. Despite the weight of your unspoken confession growing heavy on your chest, you’re relieved to be with him again. There’s an ice bench covered in wool throws not three feet off of the flowered path, and Fred intertwines your fingers as he leads you to it. “A seat for the lady?”
“Actually....I really...Fred, I need to tell you something.”
“Really? Is it okay if I sit anyways? Just so that you won’t step on my foot, ya know” he laughs and you lightly shove him, surprising both of you with your strength as he falls onto the bench. He doesn’t let go of your hand though, the gesture keeping the smile on your lips. “What do you have to tell me, princess?” He playfully swings your hands between you two, eyes never leaving yours. You open your mouth to speak, breath hitching when you realize just how fucking beautiful Fred looks right now. The lights and fairy dust dancing across his face, broad shoulders blanketing his frame. And those freckles, like kisses of cinnamon across his rosy cheeks, neck and hands.
“Y/N?”
“I’m in love with you.” You exhale.
“W-What?” Fred stares at you, dumbstruck.
“I’m in love with you. I’m, I mean, I’m pretty sure.” You stutter, realizing his hand has gone slack in yours. “I’ve been into you since third year, and I realize how insane this must be and I’m so sorry to ruin your night and I understand completely if you don’t feel the same and don’t want to be friends with me anymore that’s okay I get it, but I can’t not tell you anymore ...imsosorry.” You finish in a whisper. Your monologue was half gibberish, and for the first time since you’ve left the fires, you feel the full gust of the winter cold. It bites at you, icicle fangs ripping into your skin just as Fred’s blank expression is tearing into your heart. What have you done?
You shudder as embarrassment washes over you, moving to pull your hand from Fred’s and run away, but before you can take one step his grip tightens, pulling you back around.
“Fred—”
You’re cut off with his lips on yours, his other hand holding you tight against him at your waist. Fred’s kiss starts off gently, but grows into full blow desperation when you kiss him back. His fingers burn into your hip, his warmth, scent and touch wading off the winter chill. You’re on fire with him, his tongue licking into your mouth like a flame after vengeance. Fred pulls back to nip at your lower lip, and you whimper, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. You both hold onto each other, eyes closed and panting in the moonlight.
“I’m in love with you too.” he mumbles against your lips.
“What....did you just say?” You smile, Fred’s lips still on yours.
“I said, I’m in love with you too, Y/N.” He opens his eyes, the flutter of his lashes cuing you to do the same. “I am in love with you. And I’ve been into you from the moment we met. Though, admittedly was too stupid to realize it straight away.”
You release his hand to throw both your arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another kiss. Fred smiles into it, giggling when your noses knock together. The breeze picks up and you lean into Fred’s chest, his hands running up your back as you shiver.
“Are you cold?” He asks, dark eyes mirroring your own.
You shake your head, “Not so much anymore.”
“Pity, I was going to say we could go make hot chocolates at mine....so long as you don’t mind missing the party?”
“I mean...I’ve never considered myself much of a party girl anyways.”
