#fredliveson

[rubiedmoon]

The Constant

There is an art to being ignored, and YN YLN is the bloody Da Vinci of it. 

Most people can’t ignore me. It’s not arrogance; it’s just a statistical fact. Between being six-foot-three, having hair the color of a lit flare, and generally being responsible for sixty percent of the explosive noises heard in the castle corridors, I tend to draw the eye. George says I demand attention like a starving kneazle demands milk, but he’s one to talk. We’re a matched set of loud. 

But YN? She has this way of looking right through me, as if I’m made of glass, or perhaps something even less interesting. A vacuum. A void in the space-time continuum where a Weasley should be. 

I was currently leaning against a bookshelf in the darkest corner of the library—a place I usually avoided unless I was hiding from Filch—watching her. She was sitting three tables away, surrounded by a fortress of books that would make Hermione Granger weep with envy. She was a Ravenclaw, which meant she spent half her life in her own head and the other half looking at the rest of us like we were particularly slow-witted flobberworms. 

"You're staring again," George whispered, appearing from behind a stack of Hogwarts: A History volumes. "It’s bordering on creepy, Freddie. Even for you." 

"I am not staring," I whispered back, not taking my eyes off her. "I am observing. It’s scientific." 

"Right. Scientific. Like when you 'scientifically' observed her during Potions and melted your cauldron?" 

"That was a structural defect in the pewter." 

YN shifted. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her quill scratching furiously against a roll of parchment. She had this intense focus that was honestly a bit terrifying. It was also, unfortunately, the most attractive thing I’d ever seen. It was the challenge of it. I could make a room full of Slytherins laugh (eventually), I could charm McGonagall into reducing a detention, but YN treated my existence like a rounding error she was trying to correct. 

"She’s out of your league," George said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "She knows words with more than four syllables. She understands Arithmancy. You thought a dodecahedron was a type of dinosaur." 

"I was six!" I swatted his hand away. "And she’s not out of my league. She’s just… calibrated differently." 

"Go on then," George challenged, grinning that wicked grin that usually meant one of us was about to end up in the Hospital Wing. "Go ask her about her… I don't know, her rune translation. Dazzle her with your intellect." 

"I don't need intellect," I straightened my tie, which was currently acting as a headband, and pulled it down to my neck. "I have charisma." 

I strode out from the stacks, adopting what I hoped was a casual, confident swagger. I approached her table. She didn't look up. The scratching of the quill didn't even pause. 

I cleared my throat. Loudly. 

Nothing. 

I leaned my hip against the table, casting a shadow over her work. "Evening, YLN. Bit late for heavy lifting, isn't it? That book looks like it could crush a first year." 

YN paused. She didn't look up immediately. She carefully dotted an 'i', set her quill down, and then slowly raised her eyes. They were grey, sharp, and currently filled with a polite sort of exhaustion. 

"Weasley," she said. Her voice was cool, like the stone floor of the dungeons. "To what do I owe the pleasure of you blocking my candlelight?" 

"Just checking on the welfare of the student body," I said, grinning. "You’ve been sitting here for three hours. I was starting to worry you’d calcified." 

"I have an Ancient Runes essay due tomorrow," she said, looking back at her parchment. "Unlike some, I don't plan on inventing a sweet that makes me vomit to get out of class." 

"Puking Pastilles are a marvel of magical engineering, actually. Very complex charm work involved." 

"I'm sure," she murmured, dipping her quill again. "If you don't mind, Fred? I’m trying to calculate the semantic drift of the chaotic rune sequences in the 13th century." 

"Right," I said, faltering slightly. "Riveting stuff. Semantic drift. Chaos. Big fan of chaos, personally." 

"I've noticed." She looked at me again, her brow furrowing slightly. "Is there something you actually want? Or are you just hovering?" 

I want you to look at me like I’m not a waste of time, I thought. "Just wondering if you wanted a break," I said instead. "Kitchens? House elves are knocking up a fresh batch of tarts." 

She sighed, a small puff of air escaping her lips. For a second, her expression softened. "I can't. I really have to finish this." 

"All right," I backed off, hands raised in surrender. "Don't let me stop the drift." 

I walked back to George, who was shaking his head in mock pity. But as I turned the corner, I looked back. YN was watching me go. She held my gaze for a split second before snapping her head back to her books. 

"See?" I whispered to George. "She looked." 

"She looked annoyed, mate." 

"Reaction is reaction," I said. "I'm wearing her down." 

It took three weeks to upgrade from "annoyed glances" to "actual conversation." 

The breakthrough happened, ironically, because of a prank that went wrong. George and I were testing a prototype for a Portable Swamp in the third-floor corridor. We’d miscalculated the humidity variable, and instead of a swamp, we’d created a localized, high-velocity mudslide. 

I was currently ankle-deep in sludge, trying to vanish it before Filch arrived, when I heard a familiar sigh behind me. 

I turned around. YN was standing on the dry stone step, her Ravenclaw tie perfectly straight, looking at the disaster with a critical eye. 

"You used the wrong viscosity charm," she said flatly. 

I wiped a glob of mud from my cheek. "Did I now?" 

"Yes. You’re using a fluid-based expansion charm. For a swamp, you need a semi-solid suspension charm. Otherwise, you just get… this." She gestured to the river of muck sliding toward the trophy room. "Flowing dirt." 

I stared at her. "You know how to make a Portable Swamp?" 

"I know the theoretical arithmancy behind manipulating matter density," she corrected, stepping carefully over a puddle. She pulled out her wand. She flicked her wrist—a sharp, precise movement—and muttered an incantation I didn’t recognize. 

The mud stopped flowing. It bubbled, thickened, and then rapidly condensed into a neat, dry pile of dirt in the center of the hall. 

She tucked her wand away. "Clean up the dirt, Weasley. And check your variables next time." 

She turned to leave, her robes swishing. 

"YN!" I called out. 

She stopped. 

"That was bloody brilliant." 

She looked over her shoulder. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I know." 

That was the moment. That tiny smile. It was like seeing the sun come out in the middle of a blizzard. I was a goner. 

After that, I became a nuisance. A persistent, charming, ginger nuisance. I started sitting near her in the Great Hall, engaging her in debates about magical theory that I barely understood just to hear her talk. I walked her to classes she didn't share with me. I left prototype joke products on her desk with notes asking for "professional analysis." 

She pretended to hate it. She rolled her eyes, she sighed, she told me I was a distraction. 

But she kept the products. And she stopped telling me to leave. 

It was mid-October when things shifted from playful to... complicated. 

The war was brewing. You could feel it in the castle walls. The Daily Prophet was full of disappearances. The sky seemed permanently grey. People were scared, and scared people don't laugh as much. George and I were working overtime to keep morale up, but it was exhausting. 

I found YN in the Astronomy Tower. It was past curfew, bitterly cold, and the wind was whipping around the stone parapets. She was wrapped in a thick wool cloak, staring out at the Forbidden Forest. 

"You're going to freeze," I said, stepping out of the shadows. 

She didn't jump. She just tightened her grip on the stone railing. "I like the cold. It clears my head." 

I moved to stand beside her, leaning my elbows on the ledge. "Thinking about semantic drift again?" 

"Thinking about my parents," she said quietly. 

I went still. I knew her parents were Muggles. Dentists, or architects, or something normal and safe. "They okay?" 

"They're confused," she said. "I sent them a letter telling them I might not come home for Christmas. That it’s safer if I stay here. They don't understand why coming home is suddenly so dangerous." She looked at me, her eyes vulnerable in a way I hadn't seen before. "They don't know there’s a maniac trying to take over the world." 

"They're safer not knowing," I said softly. "Ignorance is bliss, and all that." 

"Ignorance is a variable you can't control," she countered, her voice shaking slightly. "If they don't know the danger, they can't calculate the risk. They can't protect themselves." 

"That's what you're for. And the Order. And… well, me." 

She laughed, a brittle sound. "You? You're going to protect my Muggle parents in London?" 

"I'd give it a go," I said, turning to face her fully. "I'm handy with a wand, despite what Snape says." 

She looked at me, really looked at me. The wind blew a strand of hair across her face, and without thinking, I reached out and tucked it back. 

Her breath hitched. She didn't pull away. My hand lingered on her cheek. Her skin was cold, but her eyes were burning. 

"Why do you do that?" she whispered. 

"Do what?" 

"Act like everything is a joke, but then… look at me like that." 

"Maybe because you're the only thing I take seriously," I said. The words tumbled out before I could check them for safety. It was true, though. With George, with the business, with the war—I was always performing. With YN, I just wanted to be Fred. 

She closed her eyes, leaning slightly into my hand. "Fred," she breathed. 

I leaned in. The distance between us vanished. I kissed her, and for a moment, the cold wind, the looming war, the fear—it all just stopped. She tasted like peppermint and cold air. Her hands found the lapels of my robes, pulling me closer, anchoring me. 

It was perfect. Until she pulled away. 

She stepped back, her eyes wide, hand covering her mouth. "I can't." 

"YN—" 

"No," she shook her head, backing toward the stairs. "No, this is a mistake. I can't do this. Not now." 

"Why?" I demanded, hurt flashing through me. "Because I'm a Weasley? Because I'm not smart enough?" 

"Because you're a target!" she snapped, her voice cracking. "I can't… I can't care about you, Fred. I can't have another person to lose. The probability of casualty is too high." 

She turned and ran down the spiral stairs, leaving me alone with the wind. 

She avoided me for a week. 

It was miserable. George stopped making jokes about it after day two, when he found me staring at a blank piece of parchment for an hour. "Give her space, Fred," he’d said. "She's scared. We all are." 

But I didn't want to give her space. Space was where the silence lived. Space was where she convinced herself that being alone was safer. 

I cornered her on a Tuesday, coming back from Charms. She was walking fast, head down, clutching her books like a shield. I stepped in front of her path near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. 

"Move, Fred," she said, not looking up. 

"No." 

She tried to side-step. I mirrored her. 

"Fred, I am not in the mood." 

"I don't care about the mood, YN. I care that you're treating me like a stranger because you're bad at math." 

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. "Excuse me?" 

"You heard me. You're a Ravenclaw. You're supposed to be brilliant. But you've got the equation wrong." 

"I am trying to be rational!" she hissed, looking around to ensure the corridor was empty. She dragged me by the sleeve into a small alcove behind a suit of armor. "Do you have any idea what’s happening out there? People are dying. Families are being torn apart." 

"I know!" I shouted, my voice echoing slightly. I lowered it, stepping closer, crowding her space. "I know, YN. My dad was attacked by a snake the size of a sofa last year. My brother is in Romania dealing with dragons. I know exactly what’s happening." 

"Then why are you pushing this?" Her voice trembled. "Why do you want to start something that’s doomed? If we’re together, and something happens to you… it will destroy me. I can’t afford that distraction. I need to be sharp. I need to survive." 

She placed her hands on my chest, trying to push me away. "Please, Fred. Just let it go. Find some nice Gryffindor girl who thinks your jokes are funny and doesn't overthink everything. Get rid of me." 

I grabbed her hands. I held them tight against my chest, right over my heart so she could feel how fast it was beating. 

"Is that what you think this is?" I asked, my voice rough. "You think I'm just looking for a laugh?" 

"I think you're looking for fun, and I am not fun right now. I am terrified." 

"I'm terrified too!" I admitted. "That’s the point! The world is going to hell, YN. It’s dark and it’s miserable and we might not make it to thirty. That’s exactly why I can’t stay away from you. Because when I’m with you, I’m not just waiting for the next bad thing to happen. I’m actually living." 

She looked down at our joined hands, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Fred, please. It's too hard. Just… go." 

I let go of her hands. I took a step back. 

She let out a shaky breath, looking relieved and devastated at the same time. She adjusted her bag, wiping her face. "Thank you. It’s for the best. You’ll see. In a week you’ll forget all about—" 

I didn't leave. I leaned back against the stone wall, crossed my arms, and stared at her. 

She paused, frowning. "What are you doing?" 

"Waiting." 

"Waiting for what?" 

"For you to finish talking rubbish." 

"I am not—I told you to go!" 

I pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward her. The playful glint was gone from my eyes; I knew I looked intense, maybe even a little dangerous. I wasn't the joker right now. I was a man fighting for the only thing that made sense. 

"YN," I said, locking eyes with her. "Do I look like I'm easy to get rid of?" 

She froze. The question hung in the air between us, heavy and electric. 

"I’ve spent six years blowing up toilets and turning corridors into swamps," I continued, my voice low and steady. "I’ve been sent nearly four hundred howlers by my mother and I haven't changed a bit. I’ve battled boggarts, banshees, and Merlin knows whatever else there is. I am the most stubborn, persistent, annoying bloke in this entire castle." 

I took another step. She backed up until she hit the stone wall of the alcove. 

"You think you can just calculate the odds and scare me off?" I shook my head slowly. "You think telling me it's 'dangerous' is going to make me run? You don't know me as well as you think, YLN." 

"Fred..." Her voice was a whisper. 

"I am not a variable you can cancel out," I said, placing my hands on the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. "I’m the constant. Whether you like it or not. I am going to be here. I am going to make you laugh when you want to cry. I am going to carry your books even when you tell me not to. And if this war comes for us? I am going to stand right in front of you." 

She stared up at me, her chest heaving. The logic in her eyes was warring with something else. Something raw. 

"You're an idiot," she whispered, but there was no heat in it. 

"I'm a Gryffindor," I corrected, a small smirk returning to my lips. "Brave to the point of stupidity. And I am crazy about you." 

She looked at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, the fight went out of her. Her shoulders dropped. She let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. 

"You really are impossible," she said. 

"I prefer 'tenacious'." 

"You're not going to leave me alone, are you?" 

"Not a chance." 

She reached up, grabbing the front of my robes, and yanked me down. 

This kiss wasn't like the one on the Astronomy Tower. That one was tentative. This one was desperate. It was a promise. It was an acceptance of the risk. She kissed me like she was trying to memorize me, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as if she could merge our atoms. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground, crushing her against me. I needed her to feel it—that I was solid, that I was real, that I wasn't going anywhere. 

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. She rested her forehead against mine, her eyes closed. 

"Okay," she whispered. 

"Okay?" 

"Okay," she opened her eyes. The grey was clear now. The calculation was done. "If we're going to do this… we do it my way. No unnecessary risks. You wear the protective charms I make you. You don't go looking for trouble unless trouble finds you first." 

I grinned, brushing my thumb over her lower lip. "I can negotiate on the trouble part." 

"Fred." 

"Fine. No looking for trouble. Unless George starts it." 

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. A real smile. "I can't believe I'm dating a chaos demon." 

"You love it." 

"I'm currently evaluating the data." 

"And?" 

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me quickly, sweetly. "The data suggests I'm in trouble." 

The rest of the year was a blur of stolen moments. We found corners of the castle that even the Marauder's Map didn't seem to care about. She helped me study for my NEWTs (or at least, she tried, until I distracted her), and I helped her relax. 

I learned that YN wasn't just books and logic. She had a dry, wicked sense of humor that could cut George down in seconds. She liked sugar quills but hated chocolate frogs because she didn't like her food jumping. She had a scar on her knee from falling out of a tree when she was seven, proving she hadn't always been risk-averse. 

And she learned about me. She saw the worry I hid behind the jokes. She saw how much I feared for my family. She became the quiet space where I didn't have to be loud. 

But the war didn't stop just because we were happy. 

It was May when Dumbledore died. The castle felt different after that. colder. The safety was gone. 

We stood at the funeral, hands clasped tightly between us, hidden by the folds of her cloak. I could feel her trembling. 

"It's starting," she whispered, watching the white tomb. "The war. It's really here." 

"I know," I squeezed her hand. 

"You're going to leave," she said. It wasn't a question. "You and George. You're opening the shop. You're joining the Order." 

"Yeah," I said. "We are." 

She turned to me. Her face was pale, but her eyes were dry. "I have to go back to my parents. I have to get them into hiding. Then… I don't know." 

"You'll be safe," I said fiercely. "You're smart. You'll keep your head down." 

"And you?" she asked. "Will you keep your head down?" 

I smiled, a sad, crooked thing. "I'll try. But you know me." 

"I do." She reached up and touched my face, tracing the line of my jaw. "That's what I'm afraid of." 

"YN," I said, looking deep into her eyes. "This isn't goodbye. It's just… a change in variables." 

She let out a choked laugh. "You've been listening." 

"Always." 

"Promise me," she said, her voice intense. "Promise me you won't do anything stupidly heroic. Promise me you'll come back." 

I thought about the future. The uncertainty. The darkness waiting for us outside the gates. I thought about the joke shop, the radio broadcasts we were planning, the rebellion. It was all going to be incredibly dangerous. 

But then I looked at her. The Ravenclaw who had calculated the odds of loving me and decided to do it anyway. 

"I promise," I said. 

She hugged me then, burying her face in my chest. I held her, breathing in the scent of parchment and vanilla shampoo, engraving this moment into my memory. 

"I love you, Fred," she muffled against my robes. 

My heart hammered. It was the first time she'd said it. 

"I love you too, YN." 

She pulled back, wiping her eyes, putting her mask of calm back on. "Right. I need to go pack. I have to calculate the best route to London to avoid the Death Eater checkpoints." 

"Calculated risk," I nodded. 

She started to walk away, toward the castle. Then she stopped. She turned back, her silhouette framed against the setting sun. 

"Fred?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You were right," she called out. 

"Usually am. About what?" 

"You are incredibly hard to get rid of." 

I grinned, raising a hand in farewell. "Best get used to it, love. I'm playing the long game." 

She smiled, turned, and walked back into the castle. 

I stood there for a long time, watching the spot where she’d vanished. The war was coming. The world was falling apart. But as I walked back to find George, I felt strangely invincible. 

I had a reason to fight. I had a variable worth solving for. And hell, if Voldemort thought he could get in the way of me seeing her again, he had another thing coming. 

I was a Weasley. And we don't go down easy.