You can never quite get used to the way Fred Weasley refuses to let you breathe without touching you.
It starts small, always. A brush of knuckles against yours in the corridor, the way he hooks his pinky through yours when you’re walking side-by-side. He never announces it; he just needs the contact the way other people need air.
— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —
In the Gryffindor common room late at night, the fire has settled into a low, sleepy glow. You’re curled on the sofa with a book in your lap, legs tucked beneath you. Fred appears like he always does (no footsteps, no warning), just suddenly there. He drops down behind you, long legs stretching out on either side, and pulls you gently back against his chest. His arms fold around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
“Hi,” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Hi yourself,” you answer, smiling despite yourself. He hums, content, and nuzzles into the curve of your neck like he’s been waiting all day to fit himself there. His hands don’t wander far (one splays warm and steady over your stomach, the other laces fingers with yours), but the way he holds you is so unmistakably hungry that heat pools low in your belly anyway. He’s not trying to start anything. He just needs to feel you against him, needs the reassurance that you’re real and his and right here.
You feel his exhale tremble slightly. “Missed you,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “You saw me at dinner.” “Three hours is too long.”
— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —
In the back room of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes on a busy Saturday — they’re only open on weekends while they’re still at Hogwarts — you’re supposed to be counting inventory. Fred finds you between shelves stacked with bright boxes and simply steps in close, backing you gently against the wall. There’s no one to see; George is out front charming customers. Still, Fred keeps it soft (he cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow and deep, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth). When he pulls back, his thumbs stroke along your cheekbones, eyes searching yours.
“Tell me you’re staying tonight,” he murmurs, hoping you’d sneak into the Gryffindor boys’ dorm.
“I’m staying tonight.”
His forehead drops to yours. “Good. Because I’m not sure I’d survive sleeping in the girls’ dorm again.”
— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —
At the Burrow during the summer, you slip down to the kitchen for water and find him already there, leaning against the counter in nothing but plaid pajama bottoms, hair a riot of red. The moment he spots you in his old Quidditch jersey, his whole face softens. He opens his arms without a word. You go to him, barefoot across the cold floor, and he folds you in tight, arms locked around your back, nose buried in your hair.
“You’re freezing,” he tuts, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.
“You’re warm,” you whisper back.
He makes a low, happy sound and lifts you just enough to set you on the counter so he can stand between your knees. His palms slide up your thighs, stopping respectfully at the hem of the jersey, but his eyes are dark and wanting. He leans in, kisses you soft and lazy, again and again, until you’re both breathing harder than the gentleness should allow.
“I’m trying so hard to be good,” he confesses against your lips.
“I know,” you breathe. “I hate when you’re good.”
He groans quietly and rests his forehead against yours, hands gripping your hips like letting go might actually pain him.
— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —
On the Hogwarts Express in a quiet compartment on the way down for Christmas, Fred tugs you onto his lap the moment the door slides shut after George, who head out to buy some sweets.
The train rocks gently; outside, Scottish hills blur past in the rain. Fred wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you back against his chest, lips brushing the nape of your neck every few minutes like he can’t help himself.
You try to read. He lets you get maybe half a page before his fingers start tracing idle patterns on your thigh (slow, reverent circles that climb a fraction higher each time). When you close the book with a sigh, he smiles against your skin.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “You’re too close. It’s unfair.”
“You pulled me here.”
“Exactly. My own fault.” His voice drops. “Just… need you on me— always.”
Later, when the sky outside turns lavender with dusk and you fall asleep by the window, he turns you sideways in his lap so you’re curled into him fully. He tucks your head beneath his chin, arms locked tight, heartbeat steady under your ear. Every so often he presses a kiss to your hair, your temple, the corner of your mouth (small, worshipful things that somehow feel more intimate than anything else he does with his mouth).
“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret he’s been carrying for years.
You don’t stir, sleeping on his chest like a baby. He smiles down at you.
— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ — The hall is packed and loud, owls swooping overhead, plates clinking. You’re squeezed onto the Gryffindor bench between Hermione and Ron, trying to butter a slice of toast. Fred slides in late, hair still damp from the shower, and instead of taking the empty spot across from you like a normal person, he wedges himself half-behind you, half next to you, long legs trapping you between him awkwardly.
“Morning, all,” he says grabbing a piece of toast and shoving it into his mouth.
“Fred, there’s literally no room—”
“Plenty of room,” he answers cheerfully, chewing His hand stays low on your back, fingers splayed wide and warm through your robes, thumb tracing idle circles that no one else can see but that make your breath hitch all the same.
Lee Jordan, ever the smart mouth, raises an eyebrow from two seats down
“Do you two need a moment?”
“Nah,” Fred answers lobbing a crust at his head. “Just refueling.”
He keeps you tucked between his legs the entire meal, stealing bites of your leftovers between conversations, his hand never once leaving your back, as if letting go might make you vanish.
— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —
The Burrow living room, Christmas Eve: the entire Weasley family is crammed in. Bill, Charlie and Percy on the floor by the tree, George and Ginny arguing over Exploding Snap rules, Arthur trying to teach Ron about a new Muggle tool, and Molly fussing in the kitchen. It’s loud, cramped, but familiar.
You’re perched on the arm of the biggest sofa next to Ron, because every actual seat is taken— even the floor. Fred spots you from across the room, grins like he’s just won something, and makes a beeline. Without a word he carelessly wiggles a space between your arm of the sofa and Ron (who grumbled but shifted up), reaches up, and tugs you sideways into his lap.
“Fred!” you cry, trying to keep your voice low “There’s no space—!”
“There’s always space for you, tiny,” he scoffs, settling you sideways across his thighs and wrapping both arms snugly around your middle. “I’m like a portable chair!” His hands link over your stomach, palms warm even through your jumper. He rests his chin on your shoulder (his favorite spot) and jiggles you gently with his laughter whenever someone tells a joke.
George lobs a chocolate frog at Fred’s head. “Oi, share the girlfriend, some of us want to talk to her.”
Fred catches the frog one-handed without loosening his grip on you at all. “No chance,” he says, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. “What if she mixes us up?”
Molly pokes her head in from the kitchen. “Fred Gideon Weasley, let the poor girl breathe!”
He only tightens his arms a fraction, pressing a kiss to the side of your shoulder that’s hidden from everyone else. “Can’t, Mum,” he calls back, perfectly cheerful. “She might leg it if I do.”
You stay in his lap for the rest of the evening, his hands never wandering anywhere they shouldn’t, just holding you close like you’re the only quiet place in his loud, bright world.
Fred Weasley has never liked Ginny’s annoying little friend. But maybe she’s not so annoying - or so little - anymore.
———————————————————————
The Burrow in summer was always alive, buzzing with bees around the herb garden, gnomes shrieking as they were flung from the flowerbeds, and laughter echoing across the paddock. But this summer, it was absolutely unbearable.
Fred Weasley stood at the top of the staircase, arms crossed, lips twisted in displeasure as he peered down into the kitchen. It was late morning, sunlight dripping through the crooked windows and pooling golden across the floorboards.
In the centre of the chaos stood Ginny and her new best friend. The one who’d arrived three days ago with a trunk full of mismatched socks, a voice like a wind chime caught in a gale, and an energy level that could rival a Firebolt on a sugar high.
“Do you think,” Fred muttered to George, who was leaning lazily on the railing beside him, “if we threw her out the window, she’d bounce?”
George raised a brow. “Dunno. Only one way to find out.”
“I’m being serious. Y/n’s everywhere. Woke me up this morning singing about Flobberworms.”
George shrugged. “It was sort of catchy.”
Fred gave him a scandalized look. “Traitor.”
Down below, the girl in question darted past the kitchen table, eyes wide and glittering, sunflower-print hat askew on her head. She was giggling uncontrollably, clutching a bottle of exploding bonbons that popped and crackled in rainbow bursts with every step.
“GINNY!” she shrieked, “Catch! It’s gonna blow!”
Ginny, laughing just as hard, turned mid-sprint and caught the bottle, but not before it let off a loud BANG! and showered the room in pink and purple sparks.
Fred flinched as the smell of strawberry and ozone drifted up the stairs. “She’s a menace,” he hissed.
“She’s eleven,” George deadpanned. “You were blowing things up at eight.”
“Yeah, but I was cool about it.”
“Were you?”
Before Fred could argue further, she came charging back across the kitchen, her hat now completely backwards, half her hair in her face, and sticky sugar on her chin. She stopped when she saw him on the stairs, clutching the banister with one hand and panting like a pixie-drunk Puffskein.
“Oh!” she grinned up at him, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Hi Fred!”
Fred blinked at her, expression unreadable. “You’ve got a bit of…explosive sugar…on your nose.”
She crossed her eyes trying to see it and missed entirely.
Fred turned to George. “I’m leaving.”
“No you’re not,” came Mrs. Weasley’s voice from behind them as she walked by with a basket of laundry. “You’re helping your father de-gnome the garden. And be nice, Fred. She’s a guest.”
“She’s a plague,” Fred mumbled under his breath.
“You’re just mad she’s better at practical jokes than you,” George said, grinning as he ducked to avoid a swat from Fred’s elbow.
Below, she turned to Ginny and whispered something that made Ginny burst out laughing. The two of them darted out the door again, trailing giggles and flower petals like confetti.
Fred’s gaze followed them out into the garden, where they promptly tried to vault the garden bench. Ginny cleared it, but her friend caught her foot and went down in a dramatic tumble.
“Idiot,” Fred muttered.
“Did you see that roll, though?” George said. “That was kind of impressive.”
“She’s going to break something one day and it’ll somehow be our fault.”
Fred trudged down the stairs, dodging a floating spoon and stepping over an exploded sugar quill wrapper.
Later that evening Fred was slumped into a worn lawn chair in the backyard, legs stretched out, a butterbeer in hand, and soot smudged across one cheek from a prank gone mildly wrong. The sun was dipping low, casting the sky in ribbons of orange and violet, and for once, the garden was peaceful.
Until he heard her voice. “Fred.”
He groaned. “No.”
Ginny’s friend flopped into the chair beside him, absolutely filthy with grass stains on her knees, streaks of dirt across her arms, her sunflower hat missing entirely. Her hair stuck out in a dozen directions and there was a leaf in it. She grinned at him like they were best mates. “I heard you tried to prank Percy this morning and blew up the laundry line instead.”
“I don’t remember asking for your commentary.”
“That’s not a denial.”
Fred shot her a look. “You’re the loudest person I’ve ever met.”
“I have strong vocal cords.”
“You ruined four of Mum’s saucepans.”
“Technically, they’re better now. One of them sings opera.”
Fred stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head in disbelief and looked away, muttering, “Mental.”
She kicked her legs up onto the table, mimicking his posture, despite being half his size. “You know, you’re kind of boring when you’re not blowing things up.”
He snapped his head back toward her. “I am not boring.”
“Prove it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
Her smile widened as she leaned back and placed her hands behind her head. “I’m challenging you.”
George passed by a moment later, catching the strange, charged tension between them. The annoyed glares, the reluctant proximity, the smirking. He raised an eyebrow. “You two look cozy.”
Fred looked horrified. “We are not—”
“I’m just here to admire the sunset,” she interrupted sweetly, smirking as she leaned closer to Fred just to mess with him. “Fred says it brings out the red in his hair.”
George choked on his drink. Fred turned beet red. “You’re going to regret that.”
“Promises, promises.”
———————————————————————-
It started with a scream. Not a horrified one, but one that spiraled upward through the castle like a charm gone wrong. It was high-pitched, echoing, and followed by the unmistakable sound of rushing footsteps and someone yelling “RUN, GINNY!”
Fred Weasley, halfway down the fourth-floor corridor with a bag of Dungbombs slung over his shoulder, froze. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Not again.”
George popped out from a nearby alcove, wand tucked behind his ear. “Did you hear that?”
“I’ve been trying not to for weeks.”
As if on cue, Ginny and y/n came flying around the corner, their robes askew, faces flushed with laughter, and very clearly running from something. Behind them, a stream of slippery green slime was slithering along the stone floor like an eel on a mission.
“MOVE!” Ginny shouted, skidding past Fred.
Her friend barreled after her and nearly collided with him. Fred caught her by the elbows. “What the hell did you do?”
“Slime charm. Improvised. In the Hufflepuff common room,” she grinned breathlessly, brushing a piece of parchment out of her hair. “You would’ve loved it.”
Fred looked past her at the approaching magical goo. “I don’t think they did.” With a sigh and a muttered “Finite,” Fred grabbed his wand and flicked it.
The slime fizzled out mid-slither, giving an offended squelch before vanishing into mist. Ginny flopped dramatically against the corridor wall, panting. “That was close.”
Her best friend turned to Fred with a triumphant smirk. “See? You do care.”
“I care about not having to hear Filch rant about ‘tiny vandals’ for the next month.”
She just smiled wider. “Well, thanks anyway, hero.”
He frowned. “Don’t call me that.”
“Okay, Captain Saviour.”
“Stop.”
“Commander of Slime Control?”
Fred stared at her, deadpan. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet you’re the one who’s still talking to me.”
George, who had been silently enjoying the scene, finally chimed in, nudging Fred’s shoulder. “It’s cute, how she follows you around.”
“I do not!” she shouted, scandalized.
Fred gave her a dry look. “Please. You haunt me.”
She folded her arms. “You’re not worth haunting. You’re barely worth hexing.”
Fred arched a brow. “Oh really?”
“Really!”
Ginny, sensing where this was going, backed up with a grin, but they were already dueling. Wands out, eyes locked, the corridor cleared. Fred cast first. It was nothing serious, just a harmless jinx to make her shoelaces knot themselves.
She yelped as her feet tangled and nearly fell backward, but twisted mid-air and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
His wand flew out of his hand and clattered down the corridor. “Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” Fred muttered, impressed despite himself.
He dove for his wand as she sent another spell his way. This time a Tickling Charm that missed by inches and hit a tapestry, causing the house-elf in it to start giggling hysterically. Fred ducked behind a suit of armor, popped up, and hit her with a jelly-legs curse. She staggered, caught the edge of the stairs, and righted herself with a hand on the railing, cheeks flushed, eyes shining.
“You’re better than I thought,” he admitted, a little breathless, eyes tracking the way her hair had fallen out of its braid.
“I practice,” she said, grinning. “Also, I hate losing.”
Their standoff was cut short by Professor Flitwick’s voice in the distance.
“Footsteps!” she hissed.
“Don’t worry,” Fred said, already grabbing her hand and pulling her up the nearest staircase. “You get used to that.”
They reached a higher corridor, laughing as they collapsed against the banister. Her jelly-legs gave out completely and she sat right there on the stone floor, still giggling.
Fred leaned against the railing, arms crossed, breathing hard. “You’re insane.”
She beamed up at him, the afternoon sunlight catching on her lashes. “So are you.”
He looked away quickly. “You’re still annoying.”
“Better than boring.”
That got his attention. He turned back to her, raising one brow. “Did you just call me boring?”
She smirked. “You tell me.”
He stepped closer, casting a shadow over her as he looked down with mock menace. “Keep talking, and I’ll jinx your eyebrows off.”
“I’ll grow them back better.”
“Not a chance.”
There was a silence between them then, brief but charged, and Fred blinked like he was suddenly aware how close he was standing. With how she was looking up at him now with her chin tilted defiantly and her eyes too bright for twelve.
He cleared his throat. “You’re lucky you’re Ginny’s friend. Otherwise, I’d have turned you into a toad ages ago.”
She grinned again, slower this time. “What makes you think she didn’t stop me from turning you into one first?”
Fred stared at her for a beat, then turned and started walking away.
“…Where are you going?” she called after him.
He raised a hand in a wave, voice echoing down the corridor. “Anywhere you’re not.”
———————————————————————
The Quidditch World Cup was meant to be the highlight of the summer. Flags waving in the wind, enchanted tents pitched in wide, dew-soaked fields, laughter drifting through the air like campfire smoke. It would’ve been perfect. If she hadn’t come along. Fred glared across the tent as Ginny’s best friend flopped onto a chair in the dining space, humming obnoxiously and wearing socks that blinked in tune with the Cannons’ team chant.
“Why is she here again?” he muttered to George, who was digging through their snack stash.
“Because Mum likes her. And Ginny threatened to hex your left eyebrow off if you said anything.”
“I could file a formal complaint.”
“Do it,” George said lazily, “and she’ll just talk to you more.”
Fred looked up again just as she raised her sunglasses dramatically and shot him a grin like she knew he was annoyed. He scowled. She winked. Merlin help him.
The field was alive with tents of every color and shape, some magically expanded, others playing team anthems or spewing colored smoke. Children ran by with toy brooms and face paint, and the Weasley family (along with y/n, Hermione, and Harry) was sprawled across their large tent in varying states of excitement.
Fred had been almost relaxed until y/n started trying to light fireworks with some kind of muggle contraption that sparked fire. “Put that down,” he snapped as she aimed a spark at one of his experimental firecrackers.
She turned to him innocently. “I’m helping.”
“You’re endangering lives. That one hasn’t been tested.”
“Well,” she said, rolling the firecracker between her fingers, “what better time than the present?”
Fred lunged and snatched it from her hand. “Do you want your eyebrows singed off?”
“Better than dying of boredom.”
“Then go read a book. Or knit. Or do whatever it is people like you do.”
“People like me?” she repeated with mock offense, hand on heart. “What, witty? Charming? Unafraid to speak truth to Weasleys?”
George snorted from nearby. “This is better than the match.”
Fred ignored him, eyes narrowing. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re a cranky git.”
They were inches apart now, both flushed from sun and irritation and the electric current that always surged when they got too close.
“You two need to cool off,” Ginny drawled and before either of them knew it, a bucket of cold water had been dunked over their heads. Left sopping wet, they had no choice but to walk away from the argument, needing to get changed into dry clothes before the game.
Later that night, not even each other’s presence could keep the smiles off their faces. The match had been nothing short of legendary with leaping leprechauns, Veela dazzling the crowd, cheers so loud the ground shook. Everyone was riding the high as they stumbled back to the campsite beneath a sky painted with post-match fireworks.
Fred was still flushed from Ireland’s win, hair tousled, eyes wild with adrenaline. “That was unreal, did you see that last dive—?”
“—When Krum nearly snapped his own spine? Yeah,” she cut in, eyes sparkling. “Best part.”
Fred blinked. “Wait. You actually had fun? Even though your team lost!”
“I’m not a total heathen, Fred. Of course I enjoyed it,” She rolled her eyes.
They were both laughing, slightly breathless, tripping over their words in that post-match buzz. For a moment, the bickering wasn’t biting, it was a language all their own. And then, the screaming started. At first, it didn’t register. A shout, somewhere distant. A tent collapsing. Then another. Panic, crashing like a wave.
People were running outside, faces twisted in terror, spells flashing in the night. Fires sparked across the field, and high above the trees, the Dark Mark bloomed in a sickly green swirl.
“The Irish are really going hard,” George giggled, confusing the chaos for celebration.
“That’s not the Irish,” Arthur Weasley quickly corrected, his face going pale.
They didn’t have any time to gather their things before they were being ushered out of the tent and into the stampede of evacuating wizards and witches. Arthur shouted for everyone to get back to the portkey, leaving Ginny and y/n in Fred and George’s hands before he drew his wand and vanished into the crowd. Ginny clutched y/n’s arm, eyes wide with fear. Harry, Hermione, and Ron had already disappeared. The field was flooding with masked figures.
“Come on,” Fred barked, grabbing y/n’s hand with no warning, nearly yanking her off her feet. “Run.”
She didn’t argue. Just followed, fast and stumbling, her fingers tight in his.
George warned, wild-eyed and panting, “Tents are going up in flames, we need to move now.”
Fred shoved the girls between him and his brother, eyes flicking over the chaos, calculating. “Stay close,” he ordered.
“I can handle myself,” y/n protested, breathless.
He shot her a look so sharp it cut through the panic. “Not this time.”
They moved fast. Ducking flying spells, dodging collapsing poles and flaring tents. Someone fired a hex their way and Fred threw up a shield without thinking, keeping her behind him.
Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “Thanks.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached back, found her hand again, and didn’t let go until they found safe ground far from the site. Ginny was asleep against George, and y/n sat beside Fred, hair wild with smoke, cheeks smeared with soot, eyes distant.
“You okay?” He asked her.
She nodded, a bit too fast. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t believe her.
“You were…kind of amazing back there,” she added, not looking at him.
Fred raised an eyebrow. “Don’t say nice things. You’ll ruin your brand.”
She glanced sideways, cheeks pink. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still a cranky git.”
“Good. I was worried I’d lost my touch.”
A quiet beat passed. He looked at her sideways, and for the first time in three years, she didn’t look like a loud-mouthed pest in a sunflower hat.
———————————————————————
The Room of Requirement pulsed with warm, golden light as spell after spell lit the air. Dumbledore’s Army had become more than just a rebellion. It was a movement, a heartbeat, a promise that Hogwarts wouldn’t fall silent under Umbridge’s iron rule.
Fred Weasley stood at the far end of the conjured training room, twirling his wand idly between his fingers, watching her. Not watching her watching her. Just observing. Casually. Not intensely. Okay, maybe a little intensely.
She was laughing with Ginny and Luna near by fireplace, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, the sleeves of her robes rolled to the elbow like she meant business. There was a quiet confidence about her now. Less sugar-rush chaos, more wildfire simmering beneath the surface. Still annoying, obviously. But it was…evolved annoyance.
“Oi,” George nudged him. “You gonna duel her or just eye-stalk her into submission?”
“I’m not—” Fred began, then cut himself off. “Shut up.”
Fred shoved him and made his way across the room. “Oi, Mini Menace,” he called out.
She turned, raising an eyebrow. “Talking to me, you great big git?”
“You up for a duel?”
Her smirk spread slow. “What, no one else wanted an easy win today?”
Ginny let out a low whistle and backed up dramatically. “I want no part of this.”
She stepped onto the dueling platform, wand in hand, eyes locked on his like a challenge. “Oh, and Freddie? Try not to cry when I embarrass you.”
“Right back at you,” The twin smirked, already looking too cocky for his own good.
The DA crowd formed a loose circle, muttering bets and nudging each other with knowing grins. They bowed.
“Ready?” Harry called from the side.
Fred grinned. “Ladies first.”
Her wand whipped up so fast he barely ducked the Disarming Charm.
“You little—!” He fired back a Tickling Hex that she blocked easily, laughing as it rebounded off her shield and hit Neville in the shin.
Fred advanced, wand dancing in his grip. She twirled out of the way, hair flying, robes flaring as she dodged and parried. “Protego!”
“Rictusempra!”
“Expelliarmus!”
Fred’s wand skidded across the platform. She pointed hers at his chest, triumphant. “Say it. I won!”
Fred smirked as he reached to retrieve his wand. “You’re cheating somehow.”
“You’re losing as gracefully as always,” she corrected.
“You’re still annoying.”
“You’re still a git.”
They were too close now. Laughing, flushed, breath tangled between them in the heated air of the Room of Requirement. Her eyes sparkled with adrenaline and pride. His chest heaved with the effort of not staring at her mouth. Harry declared y/n the winner. Everyone clapped.
And Fred? Fred just shook his head in mock defeat and wandered toward the refreshments to lick his wounds and avoid whatever that moment had just been.
As the rest of the DA disbanded, she stayed behind. She often did now, helping clean up spell residue or talk with Hermione about wand theory. Tonight, Fred lingered too. He found her alone near the collage of photos on the mirrored wall, tugging on her sleeve absentmindedly as she packed up. And that’s when he saw thin, red lines along the back of her hand. They were half-faded, but distinct. Carved in that cruel, precise way. Fred stilled.
“What…is that?” he asked, voice low, rough.
She blinked, confused, then followed his gaze.
“Oh.” She pulled her sleeve down quickly. “Nothing. I mean…it’s just from Umbridge. Detention.”
Fred stepped forward. “She made you write lines? With that cursed quill?”
She hesitated. “…Yeah. How’d you know about the quill?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Fred’s hands clenched at his sides. “She shouldn’t get to do that. It’s disgusting.”
She looked up sharply, surprised by the steel in his voice. “It’s fine. Really.”
“It’s not,” he said. “We shouldn’t have to pretend it is.”
And then, without thinking, he reached out and gently took her wrist, pulling her sleeve back. His thumb brushed just below the words. I must not speak. The letters were faint now. But they were there. Fred’s jaw ticked.
She swallowed hard, cheeks red. “I didn’t want anyone to see…”
He glanced up at her, eyes softer now. “You should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t think you cared,” she said, voice small.
Fred let out a breath. “You’re still annoying.”
She smiled faintly. “You already said that.”
“But you’re also brave,” he added quietly. “And smarter than most people I know. Even if you do drive me mental.”
Her breath caught. Just for a second. And then she was smiling. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Fred rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
They stood there for a moment, too aware of the quiet around them. Her wrist still resting in his hand. Then she gently pulled it back, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was blushing now, cheeks warm, eyes shining, but Fred didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
“We should head back before curfew,” he said. “Or that great big toad’ll have more lines for us to write.”
She nodded, biting back the smile still tugging at her lips. “Night, Fred.”
He paused, just at the door. Then, without turning around, he added, “You’re not as annoying as you used to be.”
She grinned.
———————————————————————
The Burrow had never looked like this. Everything shimmered. From the floating golden lanterns to the enchanted rose petals drifting lazily in the air, to the laughter and clinking glasses and spell-spun silk fluttering across the garden. It was surreal. Beautiful.
Fred Weasley was vaguely aware of it all. But mostly, he was trying to stay away from Aunt Muriel and refill his champagne without getting dragged into more family gossip. He stood near the punch bowl, adjusting the collar of his dark green dress robes, hair a little messier than it should’ve been, tie slightly askew. He didn’t care. It wasn’t like anyone had caught his attention tonight.
And then she walked in. And for the first time in what might have been his whole life, Fred forgot how to breathe. She was radiant. Her deep wine-colored dress clung gently to her figure, the sleeves sheer and glittering at the wrists. Her hair was pinned half-up, loose curls falling around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that was both graceful and maddening, and she walked like she knew it. Chin high, posture strong, eyes sweeping the room with quiet confidence. Fred stared openly, mouth parted slightly.
George appeared beside him and muttered, “Well, damn.”
Fred blinked. “Is that…?”
“Yep.”
“…She’s taller.”
“She’s still a few heads shorter than you.”
“She’s might not be annoying anymore.”
George snorted. “Give her five minutes.”
Fred didn’t move. Just watched as she chatted with Ginny and Luna, her laughter a little lower now, her smile slower and more poised. He barely noticed himself walking toward her.
“Look who’s finally out of hiding,” she said as he approached, that old glint of mischief still sparking in her eyes.
Fred’s brain took a moment to reboot. “You clean up.”
She raised a brow. “That was barely a compliment.”
He smirked. “Wouldn’t want to inflate your ego.”
“Too late,” she said, spinning slightly on her heel. “Ginny says I look ethereal.”
“You look—” beautiful nearly slipped out, but Fred swallowed it. “—like someone who’s up to something.”
She grinned. “And yet you still walked over here.”
“You’ve grown,” he said without thinking.
She looked at him, amused. “That’s what happens when time passes.”
“I mean, grown up. Not just in height.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t usually notice things, Weasley. Should I be concerned?”
He chuckled under his breath. “Maybe.”
They stood awkwardly for a beat, the music from the band floating around them. “Why hasn’t anyone danced with you yet?” Fred blurted.
She blinked. “Maybe they’re scared I’ll hex their feet.”
He stepped forward, offering his hand. “I’m not scared.”
She hesitated only a second before taking it. “Good. Because I do know a foot-freezing jinx.”
They took to the floor together and surprisingly she danced well. Poised but playful, one eyebrow raised as he led their movements with an ease he didn’t even know he had. “You’ve gotten…less terrible at this,” she teased.
“Dancing?”
“Everything.”
Fred twirled her gently. “You’re still short.”
“I’m (your height)!”
“You say that, but I don’t see it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re glowing.” She blinked. His words had come without thought. He covered quickly. “Could just be the lanterns, though.”
She didn’t call him out. Just smiled, until the moment was punctured by a bright blue light and the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. “The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”
The wards cracked like thunder. Guests began panicking, robes whipping in the wind, chairs crashing, sparks flying through the air. Fred pushed her behind him instantly, wand drawn before she’d even grasped what was happening. “Death Eaters,” he said tightly.
The tent was erupting in chaos. Hexes firing, people screaming, shadows cloaked in smoke. Ginny ran towards them through the crowd.
Y/n grabbed her friend’s hand and shouted, “Where’s everyone?!”
“Dad’s trying to get the guests out. Fred—” Ginny turned, but Fred had already stepped in front of them again, eyes scanning the crowd.
“Stick with me,” he told them. “Don’t argue.”
Someone hurled a hex toward the trio and Fred deflected it with a sharp flick. “Stupefy!”
The Death Eater dropped. Y/n stepped closer to Fred. “We can fight.”
Fred glanced at her. At the hard set of her jaw, the way her wand was already raised, how her hands weren’t shaking. “…Alright,” he said. “But stay in my eyeline.”
They moved like a unit, dueling through the smoke and wreckage, spells lighting the garden. She stunned a cloaked figure just before he reached Ginny, and Fred looked at her with something like awe. They found her parents on the edge of the field, huddled near the edge of the anti-Apparition line.
“Go!” Fred barked. “Take her. Take both of them.”
Her mother grabbed her arm, pulling her toward safety. She turned, chest heaving, eyes locking with Fred’s. “Fred—”
“Go!” he shouted. “I’ll find George!”
The last thing she saw before they Disapparated was Fred, smoke swirling around him, a glowing ring of light from a Shield Charm spinning around his silhouette.
———————————————————————
It was like the castle was breathing its last breath. Smoke twisted through shattered stone, every corridor crackling with spells and screams and the metallic tang of fear. The walls trembled with each impact, rubble crashing down like thunder. The battle had fractured time itself. Everything blurred and broke around the edges.
And through it all, y/n ran. She was barely thinking, her wand a blur in her hand, her heart punching through her ribs with every corner she turned. She had lost sight of Ginny ten minutes ago, but she had no time to find her again. Not when death eaters were storming the passageways of Hogwarts, trying to get in through sealed rubble.
Her wand moved as an extension of her, throat dry from the spells rapidly shooting from her mouth as her tired brain tried to keep up.
“Hey! Mini menace!” An all too familiar voice yelled out, and she whirled to see multiple heads of red hair. Fred, George, and Percy were all facing off against death eaters. Some of whom y/n recognised. One especially as he’d escaped from Azkaban - Augustus Rookwood.
“A little help here?” George called out but she was already joining the fray.
Together they managed to dispatch two of the three attackers, and knowing he was next, Rookwood smiled cruelly and aimed his wand at the roof.
“Move!” Y/n warned but Fred was directly beneath the blast.
As a sparking beam of light emerged from Rookwood’s wand, y/n rushed forwards instead of backwards. Grabbing Fred’s hand to pull him down with her, she screamed, “PROTEGO TOTALUM!”
A silvery shield of air erupted just as the ceiling blew apart, stone and dust collapsing down upon them. Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, half expecting the spell to have not been enough. But when she opened her eyes she found she and Fred both still breathing, encapsulated in a protective field, buried beneath the rubble that would otherwise have crushed them.
“Blimey!” Fred cursed loudly. “You saved my life.”
“You’re welcome, you idiot,” she said, breathless, coughing the fine debris from her throat. The pile above them groaned. More rubble teetered, glowing unstable. “I can’t hold it for long!”
“Fred! Y/n!” Fred and Percy’s worried voices sounded from the other side of it all.
“We’re okay!” She yelled back. “Won’t be for much longer if you guys can’t get us out of here though.”
“Hold still, we’ll get you out!” George called back, and he and Percy got to work on clearing the rubble.
Meanwhile Fred was staring at her. Like really staring. It hit him all at once, like a Bludger to the gut. She wasn’t just brave. She wasn’t just clever. She wasn’t even annoying anymore. She was…magnificent.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, reaching gently for his face.
Fred caught her wrist. “You’ve got soot all over you. Can’t have you messing up my money maker.”
She huffed. “We’re literally in a warzone, Fred.”
He didn’t let go. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, right where Umbridge’s old scars had once lived. There was a pause. Everything around them screamed and fell and fought, but right here, it was just them. “…You’ve grown,” he said hoarsely.
Her brows raised faintly. “We’ve been over this.”
He shook his head. “No. I mean really. You’re…not the little girl who used to set off exploding bonbons in the garden.”
She smiled softly. “And you’re not the boy who used to call me a plague.”
Fred chuckled once, low and breathless. “No. You’re worse.”
“Still annoying?”
He looked at her then, eyes dark, intense, devastated by everything they hadn’t said. “…Not even a little.”
Thankfully Percy and George managed to shift the stones enough for them to crawl out of the space before her shield charm gave out. All three brothers embraced tightly and y/n stood back, watching with a soft smile on her face.
“Come here, you’re practically one of us,” George held out his arm, ushering her forward and she joined them with a warmth growing in her chest.
The castle had gone quiet. The sound of spells and explosions replaced by sobs and cries of mourning. “Is it over?” She asked, hopeful.
———————————————————————
The Burrow hadn’t seen this much life in…well, since the wedding. Every table in the crooked old house was covered in plates of food and levitating candles. The air buzzed with voices, loud and overlapping, full of stories and bursts of laughter that tried to drown out everything they’d all survived.
The party had spilled out into the garden by sundown. Golden fairy lights tangled in the trees. Paper lanterns floated lazily above dancing couples. Someone had conjured a wireless, and Celestina Warbeck was singing a swing version of Magic Works.
Fred stood off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, nursing a Butterbeer and ignoring how much his shoulder still hurt when he laughed too hard.
“Oi,” George nudged him. “Stop brooding.”
“I’m not brooding,” Fred replied.
“You’re absolutely brooding.”
Fred didn’t answer. Because he was already watching the front porch. She had just arrived. And Merlin’s hairy arse, did she look good. She wore a deep midnight-blue dress, simple but flattering, her hair pulled back loosely with little white flowers woven into it. She wasn’t flashy (never had been) but she walked into the garden like she belonged in it. Like the war hadn’t dulled her fire, only forged her sharper.
She smiled at Mrs. Weasley and hugged Ginny, who squealed about her earrings. George muttered something cheeky about “distracted, aren’t we?” but Fred didn’t even hear it. Because she laughed, eyes bright, and looked right at him. Fred blinked. Then smiled, slow and sure.
She made her way over through the crowd, careful not to step on any gnome holes in her heels. “Hey,” she said, voice soft but familiar.
“Hey,” he returned, clearing his throat as if that could make his heart stop sprinting.
“You’re still here. Thought you and George might have ducked back to the shop by now.”
“Disappointed?”
She rolled her eyes. “Mildly.”
There was a pause, heavy with what wasn’t being said. “You clean up,” Fred finally said. “Really well.”
Her cheeks flushed a soft, pretty pink. “You already said that. At the wedding.”
“Yes, well now it’s getting harder to ignore,” he said, stepping a little closer. She laughed, lower now, more grown, and it hit him square in the ribs. “You wanna dance?” he asked, holding out his hand like it was nothing, hoping she’d take it.
She looked up at him, brow arched and for a moment he was scared she’d turn him down. Until she took his head and pulled him over to the makeshift dance floor. They moved slower this time. No twirling, no teasing. Just a sway, her hand resting lightly against his shoulder, his fingers brushing the small of her back.
“You always hated dancing,” she whispered.
“I didn’t hate it,” he said. “I just never had the right person.” Her breath hitched. He tilted his head, studying her. “You’ve changed.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I mean it. You’re…” he trailed off, his voice going quiet. “You’re not so little anymore.”
“Yeah?” she whispered, pulse fluttering under her skin. “What else am I?”
He looked at her like she was the only real thing in the world. “Someone I can’t stop thinking about.”
She stilled. Fred waited. Heart hammering. Joking had always been easy. This wasn’t. And then, her lips curved. “Well,” she said. “Took you long enough to admit it.”
And they kept dancing. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. But Fred’s hand stayed exactly where it was, her fingers rested exactly where they shouldn’t feel so natural, and everything else melted away in the starlight. They danced together until the crowd thinned. People began to gather plates, yawns fighting for sleep. Even when everyone else had left she stayed and helped clean up, sleeves rolled, wand in hand, laughing with Ginny and Hermione as they herded gnomes out of the drinks tray.
Fred leaned in the kitchen doorway watching her.
George came up beside him. “You’ve been staring. Again.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Yes.”
Ginny walked past and muttered, “Finally,” before disappearing with a smug smile.
Fred ran a hand through his hair and tried to keep cool. “I think there’s…something there.”
George clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, mate. We all knew. You were just late to your own story.”
Fred grinned slowly. “Not too late, though.”
———————————————————————
The sun hung low over the trees, casting golden ripples across the lake’s surface. Dragonflies buzzed lazily over reeds, the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the warm summer air. The field was scattered with towels and empty firewhisky bottles, and the Weasleys were loud, half-submerged in water or tossing an old Quaffle.
Fred was pretending to read a book on a blanket near the shore. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
George swam past him and called, “If you squint any harder at her, mate, your face might stay that way.”
Fred didn’t answer. He was too busy watching her. She was waist-deep in the lake, barefoot, her summer dress hitched up slightly in one hand. The fabric spread around her, floating through the water like a halo. Her hair was damp, curling around her shoulders, and her laughter floated across the water like music. Ginny was splashing her, shrieking with every wave, but Fred only saw her. Elegant, radiant, sun-drenched.
When she tossed her head back, laughing with her eyes squeezed shut, Fred actually forgot how to breathe.
“I’m going in,” he muttered.
George smirked. “Don’t drown.”
Fred kicked off his boots and waded through the reeds, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, pants rolled to his knees. She looked up just as he approached, water swirling gently around her thighs.
“Well, well,” she said, eyes glinting. “Fred Weasley, willingly entering a body of water. Am I hallucinating?”
“Just wanted to see what all the shrieking was about,” he replied smoothly.
“Ginny started it.”
Fred nodded solemnly. “That tracks.”
There was a moment where neither of them spoke. The lake lapped softly around them, and the trees rustled like they were listening in.
“You looked happy,” he said finally. “Just now.”
She shrugged lightly, hair sticking to her neck. “I am, I think. For the first time in…what feels like forever.”
Fred swallowed. “Yeah.”
She tilted her head. “Why’d you really come out here? You hate lake water.”
He moved a step closer, hands in his pockets. “I missed your voice.”
Her brow arched. “I’m sure you did.”
“It’s quieter now,” he added, teasing. “Almost pleasant.”
She splashed him. Fred yelped, staggering back and laughing. “You’re still a menace,” he said, wiping water from his face.
“And you’re still the boy who called me a gremlin.”
“You were a gremlin.”
“And you were a smug git with dumb hair.”
Fred smirked. “It’s iconic, thank you.”
She grinned at him, sunlight dancing across her cheeks. “So go on, then. Why’d you follow me out here?”
He stepped closer again. Close enough now that he could see droplets clinging to her lashes.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About how things used to be.”
She went still. “Yeah?”
“I hated how much you talked. How you always had to be in every joke, every game.” Fred continued. “You were loud. Relentless. Competitive. You never let me win.”
“Builds character. You’re welcome.”
“But you were brave. And clever. And way more fun than I wanted to admit.” He looked at her fully now, serious for once, no mischief in his smile. “And the truth is…” He exhaled. “Maybe I didn’t not like you because you were annoying. Maybe I didn’t like you because I liked you differently, and I didn’t understand it.”
Her lips parted slightly in amusement. “Why did you think I was annoying you all those years?”
Fred blinked at her, not quite understanding.
“Because I liked you,” she said quietly. “Obviously.”
His heart stumbled in his chest.
“I used to go home from the Burrow every summer and swear I’d stop liking you,” she added, eyes flicking to the water. “But then you’d say something stupid or laugh at something I did and I’d be doomed all over again.”
Fred stepped even closer, water lapping at both of them now. “We were really awful to each other.”
“We were,” she whispered. “It was kind of perfect.”
He looked at her like he never wanted to look away again. Then softly, like it was a secret, he said, “Can I kiss you?”
She leaned in. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Their lips met finally, breathlessly and fully, in the middle of the lake with sunlight filtering through the trees and the world slipping away behind the sound of rippling water and held breath and everything that had ever built between them over years of arguments, nicknames, and almosts. When they finally pulled apart, Fred was grinning like an idiot.
“So…” she said, flushed and breathless, “Am I still annoying?”
Fred shook his head slowly, brushing a damp curl off her cheek. “No,” he said. “Now you’re just mine.”
From the shore, there was a distant roar of clapping and cheering. Ginny, George, Ron, even Percy, who looked confused but proud.
fred weasely x reader, gn reader, reader’s house not specified, MIIILLDDLY MILDLY suggestive MILDLY, romantic ish, he’s jealous 😝
It was winter time at Hogwarts! Fred and George Weasely were outside, throwing snowballs and having a good time. You were just trying to pass through the courtyard on your way to your next class— trying.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake…” You mumbled to yourself under your breath as you saw the twins faffing around in the snow. As long as they’d known you, both of the idiotic boys, Fred especially, had gone out of their way to mess with you, to tease you— There was always a weird tension between you and Fred that you both were aware of, but never commented or acted on.
As if he had heard your thoughts, Fred sprinted over to you with his usual goofy ass smirk, “Hey! Thinking about joining us, love?”
You blinked at him wryly as he moved in front of you, blocking the doorway back into the castle. You spoke drly, “No.”
Fred chuckled, giving you a feigned look of disappointment. Yeah, you were never particularly amused by the pranks or tricks him and George had pulled, but that only made it more fun for them. You were always so prissy and annoyed by them.
"Whyever not, love?" He asked with a grin.
“Because I can already feel the headache coming on from breathing in your cheap cologne.” You huffed and crossed your arms.
He laughed at this, grinning and pretending to be offended by your comment. “Hey now, I'll have you know this is the best cologne money can buy." Fred teased, enjoying the fact that you couldn't resist commenting on his choice of scent.
“I suppose it is when you have so little money.” You retorted quickly. You knew you were being a little harsh, but to be fair, it was too early to be dealing with Frederick Weasely.
He fake gasped at your comment, then smirked— again.
"Oh, you wound me." He responded with a laugh, placing his hand over his heart and feigning as if he were in great pain.
“Right,” You nodded, mostly ignoring what he was saying. “May I get through, please?”
He tilted his head, and sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting to block your path further.
"What, you in a rush or something, love? Where's the fire?"
“Well…I’d like to go to class. Where you should be, hm?” You tilted your head, miffed with his stupid questions.
Fred rolled his eyes, and slowly stepped out of your way, his expression clearly showing he still intended to irritate you. “Alright, off you go then, love. Just remember I'll be expecting to see you later."
“For what?” You snipped in annoyance.
He smirked down at her, and was thoroughly enjoying pissing you off. He shrugged, a gesture that clearly showed his mischievous intentions. “Oh, I'm sure we could find something to do. We always have a lovely time together, yeah?"
You scoffed in disgust and cleared your throat, “Well, I’m not meeting you for a snog if that’s what you’re after. And anyhow, I’m busy tonight, actually.”
"Oh, are you now? What's so important that you can't take a break to see me?" His leer widened at this, clearly wanting to know what you might be getting up to.
You turned up your nose with a humph, “If you must know, Frederick, I’m studying with Cedric tonight.”
The twin raised an eyebrow at that, his smirk turning into a grimace. If he were to admit it, he definitely felt jealousy well up at the mention of Cedric. He quickly pushed it down though— vulnerability wasn’t exactly his thing.
"Cedric Diggory, eh? What might you and him be... Studying for?" He clicked his tongue.
You titled your head the other way, “Anatomy.”
"Anatomy, huh? That's sure to be... interesting to study." He sighed and raised an eyebrow at your response. You were definitely trying to get under his skin now.
“You’d know it actually is rather interesting if you paid attention in the class.” You looked him up and down disapprovingly.
"Me? The king of not paying attention? Perish the thought." He retorted with a scoff, "Besides, studying anatomy sounds so much more... Hands on and fun with a partner."
“Well,” You smirked, finally having the upper hand, “I guess I’ll find out.”
He rolled his eyes at her comment, but clearly was annoyed by it. He hated when you spoke down to him, and even more so when you did just to get back at him. "Oh, sod off. We both know you're not going to be studying anatomy with him."
“Well, you’ll be with Angelina though anyways, right?” You grimaced yourself, your own envy coming out in your tone.
He narrowed his eyes at this, but he could find no valid retort. They both knew his reputation was not... Well, innocent. "Yeah... Probably. You need me to lend you and Diggory a rubber?”
“Oh! Frederick!” You gasped in offense and embarrassment, whacking him with the textbook in your hands. You had no idea where he got off making such comments to you. It was none of his business, after all, right?
He grunted in pain as you whacked him, and he instinctively took a step back, rubbing the spot on his arm where you’d hit him with the textbook.
"Hey, hey, no need to get violent, love. I didn’t know you got so... riled up by me." He sniggered, trying to regain his confidence with a snarky comment. You had definitely found a sensitive spot, even if he wouldn’t let you see that.
“Don’t you worry about what I’ll be doing! I reckon it’s none of your concern anyways, so come off it, Frederick. I’m just shocked you’d have any rubbers to spare, you right scoundrel.” You grumbled and huffed, pushing past him and going on your merry way. Merlin, the nerve of this boy.
Fred mocked you behind your back, crossing his arms over his chest. You were so damn stubborn. He hated that you affected him in this way. Seeing you get under his skin so easily annoyed him more than normal. He watched you go, and couldn’t help but call out.
"Yeah, well, don't get too handsy with Diggory, love!" Fred stood there a moment after you walked off, his expression still a bit frustrated after their exchange. Why was it so easy for you to get to him? You could piss him off with barely any effort at all. He took a deep breath, and muttered to himself.
A/N: Sorry if this is kind of out of character guys. 😓 I reference a poem, it is not mine. All credits to the original author of it.
Enjoy!
_________________________
Getting alone time with Fred wasn't an easy feat. With the strict rules surrounding the dorms and his mischievous lifestyle, he found it hard to work privacy into your relationship.
But, every so often, he managed. Today was the prime example of that. He snuck you into his dorm room while all his mates were out doing Merlin knows what. It was a risk, but pleasant nonetheless.
The two of you were sitting on his bed, you reading a book while he held you from behind. Boredom slowly ate away at him as more time passed. He had his cheek pressed to your shoulder with his long arms wrapped lazily around your waist. He loved holding you, but this was just plain dull. The silence, save for the repetitive sound of you thumbing through page after page of your book.
Deciding he had had enough of the monotony, he tightened his hold around your middle and suddenly lay back with swift force. You let out a shriek, instinctively trying to pull away. To no avail, as his strength won over yours. "Fred!" You struggled, earning an amused chuckle from him.
"What? Can't a bloke enjoy his sweetheart properly?"
"I mean yeah, but a warning would have been nice!"
He chuckled again, nudging the side of your neck with his nose. Defeated, you begrudgingly closed your book and set it aside. He hummed in approval when you did a 180° in his arms so that you two would be chest to chest. In his most humble opinion, this kind of silence was a whole lot better than the same as moments ago.
His large hand came to the back of your head, playing gently with your hair. The peace, however, was short-lived as he gave in to his intrusive thoughts. His hand slid down your back and stopped at your bottom, giving it a squeeze. "Fred!!" He let out a bark of laughter.
"Something the matter, love? 'M just squeezing the bum I own."
A scoff of disbelief left you as you jerked up into a sitting position, straddling his torso. His hands came up to your hips, resting on them lightly.
"Own it, do you?"
He grinned with a nod. You bristled at his agreement. Thoughts about getting him back swirled about your head. A poem you read a while back vaguely made its way to the front of your mind.
You slid down to sit on his lap rather than his stomach, placing your hands on his chest. A thoughtful hum escaped the back of your throat as you gazed down at him. He still wore a proud smirk, much liking the new placement of your seat.
"Fine. Then I own..." lifting your palms so that only your fingertips touched him. Slowly, you dragged them down his chest as you continued, "The moondust in your lungs."
His eyebrows raise in mild intrigue, with eyes following your hands. You press your thumbs to the outer corners of his eyes, making his curiosity grow.
"The stars in your eyes,"
He let out a slightly nervous chuckle, anxiousness inching up his spine at the untethered romanticism rooted in your words.
"You can't be that cheesy," remarked Fred, attempting to forget his own nerves.
Ignoring his comment, you went on checking off your mental list. Gingerly, you took his hands in yours and lifted them up. He felt himself grow smaller inside.
"The Amortentia in your fingertips," as you spoke, you kissed his fingertips. He swallows lightly, watching you with warming cheeks. You lowered his hands, your own coming to his messy locks and running through them.
"The sun in your hair,"
His eyes fell shut when you did that, enjoying the touch. There was a familiar tight ache forming in his chest. Almost like butterflies. "The wonders in your mind," You kiss his forehead, then his lips.
"The mellifluous in your mouth." When you pulled up, his eyes pealed half open. Soft with affection and indescribable anxiety. Finally, a kiss to his chest, right where his heart lay buried in his chest. "And, the world within your heart."
He's quiet for a few moments, his gaze nowhere in particular as he takes in the weight of your words. It was beautifully overwhelming in the best kind of way. When his eyes finally trailed back up to you, he felt a bit breathless. A smile broke on his lips, accompanied by a scoff and a shake of the head.
"You cannot be that ridiculous"
"Ridiculous?"
"Yes, absolutely," He pauses, his expression growing soft once more. "But, I'll bite." You raise your eyebrows at him. He sits up, slow and careful to keep you on his lap.
"You own an awful lot of me, love."
"I do."
"Tell me then, what parts of you do I own?"
"You tell me."
He falters. There was no way in hell he could even begin to dream of matching the level of romance in the things you said. He could try, sure, but it wouldn't be anything short of a poor or failed attempt. His tongue slips between his lips, wetting them before speaking.
"I-I'm not sure where to start."
"Technically, you already have."
He chuckles at your cheeky comment. Banter was nice. It helped relieve some of his tension, but certainly not all of it. "Right. Uhmm.." He glazes you over, trying to find something to own. Why did he own it? He pauses at your lips.
"I own your smile. It's the first thing I think of when you come to mind. It's uh, it's nice."
His saying that caused a warm smile to pull on your lips. The ache in his chest grew tighter at the sight.
"And your body. All of it. I'm a very.. Touchy person. I like to feel you. It's grounding, in a way, I guess. Like a reminder, I'm not alone, even when I feel all hollow inside. I have you."
The look on your face must have been surprised because he suddenly held a guilty expression. His gaze flickered away, and his shoulders slumped slightly.
"Sorry, I'm not too good at this huh?"
"What? No! No, Fred, you're great. I like it, I promise. Please," You brought a hand to his cheek, gently turning his head so he'd look at you again. "Keep going."
Feeling encouraged by your reassurance, he reluctantly went on. "Okay. And uhm.. I own your heart. It's only fair, yeah?" He presses his forehead to yours, your eyes locking in a deep and intense hold. His voice lowers into a hushed tone. "Since you so mercilessly stole mine away."
"And I'm never giving it back."
He lets out a small laugh, a smirk forming on his features.
"Didn't think you would. You can keep it anyhow. It likes you."
"I like it too."
There's a pause between the two of you. He still felt slightly overwhelmed, but you served to calm him as well. A certain intensity hung thickly in the air. Love, easily. If nothing else. After a few more beats, he spoke back up.
When you think about it George and Angelina's children must've been really affected by the first Fred in a fucked up way.
Firstly, their parents' marriage is canonically unhealthy : George never truly moved on from Fred's death (I'm not sure but I think this is semi canon?) and since he married his twin's ex it kinda makes George x Angelina creepy to me. It makes sense that George, clinging to his brother's memory, only dated (and then married) Angelina just because Fred dated her before. And Angelina possibly got with George because he looks identical to Fred, her dead ex. It's just creepy.
And add the fact Fred II is literally named after, well, Fred. We always talk about Harry's children's names but Fred II also has a lot of expectations to live up to.
Because George seemingly never really moved on from his twin and he names his son after him, as if he expected Fred ii to basically be his reborn twin?? like a replacement of the dead Fred. it's maybe a little bit of a stretch but i think it's a possibility.
But even if we ignore that possibility the first Fred is surely like a ghost in their household, invisible, but there : he may be the only reason why George & Angelina are together, he's there in Fred ii's name & in George's face, in George's job at the shop. he's unescapable.
in which george bets fred 5 galleons that he cannot score a date with the elusive y/n l/n. he agrees, before falling heavily in love with them.
fred weasley x gn!reader
word count: ± 1.6k
tw: angsty, but super fluffy at the end
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silly games lead to sillier heartbreak
love is a ruthless game
unless you play it good and right
and it was all a bet
you couldn't believe it when fred weasley started talking to you. sure, he was a social butterfly, but you were as mysterious as it got.
you both discovered that you had a lot in common, and you found yourself being more drawn to the reckless redhead, who threw you winks and smirks that made your heart pitter patter like the rain.
it had to be obvious, it had to be. and he knew too. he would purposefully say things to make your cheeks heat up and your expression to change to one of flusteredness.
sometimes you would think maybe he liked you back? maybe he wanted to kiss you and love you the same way you wanted to do to him, but he was fred weasley. he was known to charm the pants off anyone no matter who they were.
"hey, y/n!!" you heard the voice of fred from all the way up on the stairs that led to the potions classroom.
you wave back and he grins as you catch up to him.
"good morning, freddie," you greet him, "hi george!! how's it going?"
george nods, "good."
"yeah! we've just developed a new product!" fred fishes out a pastille, "wanna try?"
you shake your head. "i'll skip."
he grins at you, "good choice," and you feel yourself falling down the rabbit hole of love again, pushing past him to go and sit with angelina to hide the blatancy of the words of adoration written between the parting of your lip.
this absolute infatuation turns into something more as you see him stooping down to help a first year who's spilled all her books and seems to be quite distraught, her situation is fixed with a casual flick of his wand and a few bluntly put jokes which causes the girl to giggle.
he points to the transfiguration classroom, before walking ever so effortlessly away, whistling a merry tune before being hit on the head by snape, ('quiet down george!' 'i'm fred!!!') and cheekily sticking out his tongue at the potions' professor.
over the next few weeks, you can't hide it anymore without giving yourself away. so you decide to tell him in a sophisticated and sensible way.
you've recited what you're going to say over and over again, and as you step into the gryffindor common room you spot him immediately. he's smiling to himself, head seemingly in the clouds as a fierce red paints over his freckled face, like he's admiring a picture in his mind.
you head over to him, sitting down next to him.
"o-oh, y/n, fancy seeing you here!"
you laugh, "it's a common room, fred, where else would i be? snape's storeroom?"
he laughs, the blush never fading as you tilt your head enquiringly at him.
"is anything the matter?"
"n-no, not at all," he rubs the back of his neck. he's smiling sheepishly now.
"alright then. i wanted to tell you something."
"yeap?"
"could we go somewhere a little more private??" you fiddle with your hands.
he seems to understand, "of course, lee and george and i always go up to this little corner off of the tower, here."
he leads you to a secluded corner, before looking at you encouragingly.
"i kinda might be in love with you," you blurt out and he smiles.
it's not a grin, or a smirk, it's a smile. a genuine one.
"well, i might love you too-"
"oi- fred! have you forgotten the bet?" lee's voice can be heard.
"yeah, remember you have to get l/n to fall in love with you!" a second voice joins the snickering.
"five galleons is a lot, isn't it, georgie?"
you feel your heart plummet as you shakily stand up, walking briskly and furiously out of the common room, fiercely wiping away any tears that even dare to brim in the crevices of your eyes.
fred calls after you, but you ignore him.
he was just about to tell you he loved you too, but what was all this? a game. a stupid bet that made you the target. what was it about you that was so gullible?
he just wanted the galleons, you think, what a jerk.
you're angry at him. angry at lee and george. angry at yourself, for ever believing in their gimmicks. sad because there was no way he'd ever love you, bet or not. bitter that it took five galleons to get you two talking. envious of how easily he can just do it. just make a girl fall in love with you. tell her you love her back. like 1 2 3. clockwork.
you're sobbing into your pillow as you shake uncontrollably. the room around you feels cold and empty. a few of your dormmates peer concernedly over at you but you shake your head.
exhausted, you drift asleep, not even bothering to change your clothes or take a shower.
the next morning, it all seems drab. usually your day starts off well, but today? you're reminded that instead of the sun shining nicely and the clouds drifting lullingly, that there was a bet.
one that made your mind go wild. one that made salty tears fill up in your eyes. one that made you feel little and disgusting.
he notices a change in you. the light in your eyes is artificial and fake. there are heavy bags under your eyes and you pick at your food.
"hey-"
"you can have the five galleons," you blankly stare at him, passing him five gold coins, "now please, move."
"no, no, i wanted to explain the situation."
"i get the situation," you tone is cold and harsh, "now, move."
fred sighs, "i won't until you let me explain myself."
you stonily stare at him, "i have potions."
"we both know you don't. look, it's true, it was a bet. george and lee bet me that i couldn't get you to fall in love with me at first. and, i, being the stubborn person i am, took it on. and i-i'm glad i did. you're really beautiful and i found myself thinking about you a lot and falling in love with you eventually, regardless of the bet."
"stop playing with my feelings. i've given you the galleons, congratulations. your bet was successful. do you know how happy i was when you were going to tell me my feelings were reciprocated? and do you know how much it hurt when the guys stormed in and wiped it all away? and do you know how it's like a knife is stabbing me in the heart when you come up with these lies? the bet is over. celebrate. and most importantly, stay away from me."
fred flinches at your words. "please, lovely-"
"stop," tears flow down your cheeks, "please stop. just promise me one thing, okay?"
"mhm?"
"never do it to another girl. play all the pranks you want on teachers, friends, but never ever try to lie your way through relationships," you smile painfully, "and stop with your jokes, they're funny. but stop. because they hurt."
"whatever do you mean?"
"y'know, the bet's over, you can stop trying to make it better. you won," you walk away, "you don't like me, and i like you, you got what you wanted."
fred knows you won't believe him unless he does something about his feelings.
so he greets you everyday and accompanies you to your dorm room every night, even if none of it is acknowledged by you. he slips little love letters in your pockets that you pretend to not see but in truth, you just want him to stop trying to make things better, especially because you know he couldn't be genuine.
he leaves sugar quills in your bag and braids your hair when you find it too annoying, as long as you agree to it begrudgingly.
fred gives you compliments which can't possibly be truthful. he sits next to you in classes and takes extra notes for you.
as he's playing with your fingers on the quidditch pitch, you decide you're sick of this behaviour, so you sigh.
"fred, why are you doing this?"
his lips curve into a smile as he realises that you're not asking him to stop.
"'cause you don't believe that i love you."
"okay. i believe it. now will you stop? seriously, you don't need to do this if you feel bad. i'm over it."
"are you really over it?"
"no," you mumble quietly, "i don't get how you can just make someone fall in love with you and then it's a bet and you're still trying to make them fall in love with you," you say defeatedly, "i'm in love with you, okay? now please," you beg him, "stop."
"when will you ever realise that i'm genuine, lovely?"
"well you'll probably announce that it's another bet! i don't want to be hurt, okay?"
"but i'll never ever hurt you," his tone is quiet and sure, "if i hurt you, i hurt me. i promise. i really really adore you. please, i know i've been a jerk but i'm sorry and please, give me a chance?"
you ponder it, "okay," you whisper.
his face splits into a grin and he moves to hug you but hesitates.
"can i?"
you nod. he holds you close, planting a kiss on your cheek. you blush, hiding your face into the crook of his neck and he laughs.
"i am truly sorry, my love."
"it's okay."
"nonsense. i'll make it my life goal to make you happy."
"that's a silly life goal, i'm already quite content with the life i have," you cheekily quip.
"well i know for a fact people find themselves laughing a lot more around me-" you roll your eyes, "so yes, happier. happiest."
"ah yes, truly the greatest thing about you is the size of your massive ego."
"mhm, but won't you listen? you make me ten times happier, and i think that matters a lot, doesn't it?" he says smoothly.
What started as a prank - a harmless little scheme to convince your friends you and Fred Weasley were dating - turns into something far more complicated when fake hand-holding turns into real butterflies. Before you know it, the line between acting and feeling has blurred completely. Somewhere between staged kisses, hand-holding, and secret smiles, you realise you don’t want it to end. And neither does he.
———————————————————————
It had started as a joke. Most things between you and Fred Weasley did.
The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackled lazily behind you, painting the walls in warm gold and scarlet while you lounged across one of the battered old couches. Fred sat opposite you, leaning back against the cushions with his usual lazy grin, legs sprawled shamelessly, a bag of Every Flavour Beans balanced on his stomach.
“You’re insufferable,” you said, tossing a cushion at him when he made yet another snide remark about your Charms essay.
“Accurate,” he replied cheerfully, catching it with one hand. “But I’m also right.”
“Right about what, exactly?”
“That you’d never last five seconds in a fight without your wand. You rely on magic too much.”
That was how it began, with an offhand jab, a spark of mischief, and you being you, couldn’t let it go.
“Oh, really?” you said, sitting forward with narrowed eyes. “I could absolutely take you down without a wand.”
Fred snorted, loud and unbothered. “Sure you could. Just like Ron could take on a Hungarian Horntail with a toothpick.”
“Are you challenging me?”
“I’m mocking you. But if you want to call it a challenge, I’m not stopping you.”
That was all the invitation you needed. You launched yourself across the room before he could blink.
Fred yelped as you collided with him, the bag of sweets flying into the air. The two of you tumbled off the couch and hit the rug with a soft thud, laughter spilling out of you as you scrambled to pin him down.
“Merlin’s beard, you’re insane!” Fred wheezed, wriggling under you as you wrestled for control. “This is not how civilised people settle disagreements!”
“You’re just saying that because you’re losing!” you shot back, managing to straddle his hips and shove his shoulders back against the floor. You grabbed his wrists and pinned them on either side of his head, grinning triumphantly. “Victory!”
Fred looked up at you, his hair mussed, eyes glinting wickedly in the firelight. “You think you’ve won?”
“I know I’ve won.”
Then he flipped you. It was so fast you barely had time to yelp. One second you were on top, the next the world had spun, and you were flat on your back, your legs still hooked instinctively around his waist. Fred hovered above you now, one large hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other braced against the floor beside you. His grin was infuriatingly smug.
“Who’s winning now?” he asked, breathless and victorious.
“Get off!” you gasped between bursts of laughter, wriggling and bucking beneath him. The movement only made things worse. His grip tightened, his chest brushing against yours, and the warmth of his body pressed into you in a way that was definitely not part of the original challenge.
And that’s precisely the moment the portrait hole swung open.
“Wait, where are—OH MY GOD!” Alicia’s shriek pierced the air like a banshee’s wail.
You and Fred froze. Six pairs of eyes stared back at you from the doorway - George, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia - all slack-jawed and scandalised.
“What?” you asked blankly, still pinned beneath Fred. “What happened?”
Angelina was already covering her eyes with both hands. “Oh, absolutely not, I did not need to see that!”
Lee let out a long, low whistle. “Well, that’s one way to tell us you’re finally together.”
“We’re not—!” you started, but George was already howling with laughter.
“Told you they’d crack before the end of term,” he crowed, holding out his hand. Lee groaned and slapped a Galleon into it.
“What? You guys made a bet?!” you demanded, still very much trapped beneath Fred.
Lee shrugged sheepishly. “We had a running pool on how long it’d take before you two stopped dancing around each other and snogged already.”
“Dancing around…? We’re not together!” you protested, heat flooding your cheeks.
“Sure,” Alicia said dryly, fishing out a few Sickles and handing them to Angelina, who accepted them with a smug grin. “And I’m the Minister for Magic.”
The realisation hit you then of how compromising this must look. You, on your back, legs wrapped around Fred, his body pressed firmly against yours as he held your wrists down. Oh Merlin, no wonder they were screaming.
Fred, to his credit, looked just as flushed as you felt. But there was a glint in his eyes that was mischievous and deliberate. He tilted his head toward your friends, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.
“All right, all right, you lot,” he drawled. “Clear out and give us some privacy, will you?”
The girls screamed again. George doubled over laughing. Lee muttered something about losing two bets in one night. And just like that they filed out, cackling, hooting, throwing knowing looks over their shoulders as they disappeared up the stairs. The silence that followed was deafening.
You shoved at Fred’s shoulder until he rolled off you, both of you sitting up and avoiding each other’s gaze.
“Well,” you said finally, voice strangled, “that was…horrifying.”
“Speak for yourself,” Fred chuckled, brushing dust off his jumper. “I found it rather enlightening.”
“Fred—”
“Think about it,” he said, leaning back on his hands and watching you with that annoyingly cunning glint. “They already think we’re together. What’s the harm in playing along?”
You blinked. “Playing along?”
“Yeah. Let’s give them a show. Milk it a little. They’ll never see it coming.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“Which is precisely why we should do it.”
You groaned. “Fred—”
“Come on,” he said, grinning like a devil. “It’ll be fun. We’ll hold hands in the hallways, steal each other’s pudding, maybe even stage a dramatic breakup in the middle of Transfiguration…”
“Fred.”
“Besides,” he added, his voice softening just slightly, “it’ll make them feel like they won the bet. That way, we get to laugh at them and collect free desserts for a week.”
You hesitated. You knew this was reckless. Dangerous, even. But the idea of pranking your friends (and proving them wrong in the process) was too tempting to resist. And maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted to see what it would be like.
“Fine,” you sighed. “But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal,” Fred said, his grin stretching wider. “Now, darling, should we start with a kiss goodnight?”
You threw a pillow at his face.
———————————————————————
The plan was supposed to be harmless. Just a prank. A joke. A way to make your friends squirm and maybe score a free dessert or two. But by the second morning, you already knew you were in trouble.
It started innocently enough. Breakfast in the Great Hall, same as always. Only this time, Fred slid onto the bench beside you instead of across from you, his arm draping lazily across the back of your seat.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he greeted, loud enough for half the table to hear.
You choked on your pumpkin juice. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’re my girl, aren’t you?” he teased, eyes dancing.
Across the table, George smirked over his toast. Angelina raised a knowing brow. Alicia tried - and failed - to hide her grin behind her goblet.
Fred only leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Play along.”
So you did. With a sigh, you leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. “Good morning, babe,” you said sweetly.
The whoops and wolf whistles from your friends were immediate. George clutched his chest dramatically, Lee pretended to wipe away a tear, and Angelina muttered something about finally.
And the strangest part? It didn’t feel that different. Fred had always been close. An arm slung around your shoulder, a hand ruffling your hair, a teasing poke to your ribs. So now, with his warmth pressed against your side and his cheek resting lightly against your hair, it felt…natural.
By Wednesday, the act had taken on a life of its own. You were studying in the library when Fred appeared behind you, his chin hooking over your shoulder as his fingers brushed lightly across the page.
“Are we learning or are we sleeping?” he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.
“Learning,” you hissed, though your heartbeat said otherwise.
He hummed in mock disappointment. “Shame. I was hoping for an excuse to carry you out of here dramatically.”
“Fred, we’re in a library.”
“Romantic setting, isn’t it?”
You shoved him off with a laugh, but he didn’t go far. He never did. He settled beside you instead, stretching his legs under the table so they brushed against yours. Occasionally, he’d reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, murmuring some sarcastic comment about your textbook that made you snort mid-sentence.
And for the first time, you found it hard to focus. Instead of thinking about the words in front of you, you thought about the warmth of his knee brushing yours, the way his gaze lingered on you a beat too long, the faint smile tugging at his lips when he thought you weren’t looking.
By Friday, the line between pretending and something else had begun to blur. The two of you were sitting under the oak tree in the courtyard, sharing a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. The autumn air was crisp, leaves swirling lazily around your boots. Fred, ever the dramatic idiot, had decided this was the perfect setting for a ‘fake boyfriend moment’.
“Feed me,” he said, mouth open like an oversized child.
“Absolutely not.”
“Feed me, or I’ll tell everyone you confessed your undying love for me in the Astronomy Tower.”
You rolled your eyes but popped a sweet into his mouth anyway. He caught your wrist before you could pull away, holding it gently in his larger hand.
“See?” he said softly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. “We’re very convincing.”
“Mm,” you murmured, trying not to focus on the warmth of his skin against yours. “Almost too convincing.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The world seemed to shrink to the space between you, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your wrist, the golden flecks in his brown eyes, the faint curve of a smile that didn’t feel staged at all.
You cleared your throat and yanked your hand back. “We should…probably go to class.”
Fred grinned and stood, offering you his hand. “After you, love.”
By Sunday, it was no longer about the show. Not really.
Fred didn’t pull away when no one was watching anymore. He didn’t drop your hand once you were around a corner or stop brushing your hair out of your eyes when the others weren’t looking.
One evening, the common room was empty. It was just the two of you by the fire, your legs tucked beneath you on the couch as Fred sprawled beside you. His head rested lazily in your lap as he read aloud from one of George’s joke product prototypes, his voice a comforting hum against the crackle of the flames.
It was supposed to be fake. It was meant to be fake.
But when his fingers laced through yours absentmindedly, no audience in sight, something in your chest shifted. You didn’t want this to end.
———————————————————————
It happened on a Tuesday. There was no grand gesture, no dramatic crescendo. Just a simple moment that changed everything.
You were walking back from Herbology, chatting idly about dinner plans, when Fred suddenly reached out and brushed a leaf from your hair. Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed you.
It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. Not the kind with fireworks and swelling music. It was soft, brief, almost casual. As natural as breathing. As if it were something he’d done a thousand times before. And maybe that was why it took you both a second to realise what had happened.
Fred pulled back slowly, eyes wide, his hands still hovering uncertainly by your cheeks. “I…sorry, I don’t know why I—”
But you could read it all over his face. The surprise, the nervousness…the hope. Suddenly, you were done pretending. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him properly this time. Deep and desperate and real. He froze for half a heartbeat before his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, kissing you back with a ferocity that stole the air from your lungs.
When you finally broke apart, both breathless and dazed, you rested your forehead against his and laughed, shaky and disbelieving.
“This isn’t an act anymore, is it?” you whispered.
Fred’s smile was small, almost shy. A rare sight on him. “It never was.”
And then he kissed you again. The plan had fallen apart spectacularly. And you couldn’t have been happier about it.
For the first time in a week, there was no need to pretend anymore. No more staged hand-holding, no more fake flirting. Every smile, every touch, every stolen glance, it was all real now. And the way Fred looked at you - soft and adoring - made your chest ache in the best possible way.
Still, there was one small problem. No one else knew.
———————————————————————
It happened three days after the kiss. You and Fred had been sneaking around like a pair of lovesick teenagers. It was all stolen moments in empty classrooms, lingering touches under the table, late-night rendezvous by the common room fire. It was stupid and secret and exhilarating. But of course, secrets never lasted long in Gryffindor Tower.
“Alright,” Angelina announced, dropping her bag onto the couch with a huff. “Confession time. How long do we think the ‘fake dating’ charade is going to last?”
You froze mid-step halfway down the staircase. Fred, who was trailing behind you, bumped into your back and grabbed your hips instinctively to steady you.
Alicia snorted from her armchair. “I give it another week before they finally realise they’re madly in love.”
“They’ll be married by Christmas,” George said with a grin.
Lee leaned back against the fireplace. “Mate, I told you they’re probably already sneaking snogs behind our backs.”
“Please,” Angelina scoffed. “If they were, we’d know.”
You and Fred shared a look. Uh-oh. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking ‘should we tell them’? You bit your lip, considering. Then, grinning wickedly, you nodded.
Fred cleared his throat. “Well…funny you should say that.”
Five pairs of eyes turned toward you.
“What?” George said slowly.
You stepped forward, cheeks already aching from trying not to laugh. “We, um…we’re not pretending anymore.”
Silence. A beat passed. Then two. Then…
“I BLOODY KNEW IT!” Lee shouted, punching the air. “I KNEW IT!”
Alicia let out a delighted squeal. Angelina clapped her hands together and did a little victory dance. George groaned dramatically and fished a handful of coins from his pocket.
“Alright, alright, who had ‘under two weeks’?” he grumbled, slapping them into Angelina’s outstretched hand.
“You bet on this again?!” you exclaimed, laughing.
“Of course we did,” George said. “We had to adjust the odds after the last fiasco.”
Fred slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Looks like you lot owe us pudding for the rest of the term, then.”
“You’re disgusting,” Angelina said, though she was grinning ear to ear.
“Gross,” Alicia added with a fake gag.
“Finally,” Lee sighed. “Now maybe you’ll stop staring longingly at each other across the common room like a pair of lovesick kneazles.”
Fred tilted his head, pretending to think. “Mmm…no promises.”
And just to prove his point, he bent down and kissed you right there, in front of everyone. It was soft and brief, but it was enough to make Alicia scream into a cushion, George whoop like a banshee, and Lee collapse dramatically onto the floor in mock despair. When he pulled away, your cheeks were flaming, but you were smiling too hard to care.
“Still gross,” Angelina said.
“Hopelessly gross,” George agreed.
“Utterly revolting,” Lee groaned from the floor.
But their teasing was fond, their grins genuine. And as Fred laced his fingers through yours and tugged you down beside him on the couch, your heart flipped over in your chest. It was by far the best prank you’d ever attempted to pull. Even though you’d ended up the but of your own joke, the outcome was well worth it.
