Between Attention and Allure
Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader
Summary: The story shows how the tension and complex dynamics between you and Fred Weasley gradually build. At first, he seems playful and elusive, but over time he deliberately draws your attention, showing jealousy toward Cedric Diggory and subtly signaling his interest.
Do you dare to play his game?
Warnings: Slow Burn / Fluff & light romance / First Kiss / Friends to lovers / Light rivalry / Light Angst / One-shot
Fred Weasley was never supposed to matter this much. He was a blur of laughter in crowded corridors, a flash of ginger hair disappearing around corners, a voice that could turn the dullest moment into something alive. He belonged to everyone and no one at once, untouchable in his brilliance, impossible to capture.
And yet, somewhere along the way, he became the center of every thought I tried to push away. It wasn’t just a crush—those were simple, fleeting, harmless. This was something heavier. Something that clung to me in quiet moments, tightening its hold whenever he was near.
I caught myself memorizing him in fragments: the curve of his grin, the lazy confidence in his stride, the way his eyes lit up just before he said something clever.
The worst part was the way he looked back sometimes, his gaze lingering just a second too long, reading the quiet thoughts I never dared to voice.
He knew. Of course he knew.
And instead of ignoring it, he played with it.
Today the Great Hall was crowded, the hum of voices echoing off stone walls as I moved down the Gryffindor table, gathering signatures for the new student committee initiative.
“Just a quick signature,” I said, sliding the quill toward a fifth-year who scrawled his name without hesitation.
And then I reached them. Fred and George sat sprawled across the bench.
George leaned forward immediately, scanning the parchment. “Always knew you had ambition.” He signed with a dramatic flourish.
Fred leaned back in his seat, one arm draped across the table, eyes fixed on me with infuriating amusement. “And what do I get if I sign?” he asked lazily, twirling the quill between his fingers once George passed it along.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “You get the satisfaction of helping other students,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone even.
Fred’s grin widened. “Mm, doesn’t sound like much of a reward. I was hoping for something more fun.”
George groaned. “Just sign it.”
But before Fred could, another voice cut in.
“Hey, I heard about the petition,” Cedric said, his warm smile disarming as he leaned slightly closer, “I think it’s a brilliant idea. Count me in.”
I blinked.
“Actually,” he continued, leaning toward me with a conspiratorial grin, “I could help you get more signatures. Two heads are better than one, right?”
Before I could answer, Fred let out a sharp laugh. “Careful, Diggory. Sounds like you’re trying to steal my job.”
Cedric glanced at him, unbothered. “Didn’t know you were planning to help.”
Fred’s eyes flicked to me, catching the way I was still smiling at Cedric. Something dangerous sparked there. “Oh, I’m helping,” he said smoothly, finally pressing the quill to parchment with a flourish that rivaled George’s. He shoved it back into my hands, brushing my fingers deliberately. “See? Always dependable.”
I swallowed hard, heart racing. Cedric and I moved down the table, collecting more names, his presence warm and encouraging beside me. But every time I glanced back, Fred’s gaze was on us, sharp and unreadable.
Later, when we delivered the parchments to Professor McGonagall, her stern gaze softened. “Looks like you’ve gathered quite a few signatures,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Well done.”
Relieved, I stepped into the corridor with Cedric. He was mid-sentence when a familiar voice rang out behind us.
“Don’t let Diggory take all the credit!” George teased, and I turned to see the twins lingering in the hall.
Fred wasn’t smiling. He tossed a small ball between his hands, his eyes locked on me with unsettling intensity.
I managed a steady, “I won’t.”
Cedric excused himself a moment later, leaving me at the stairwell with Fred. He leaned close, his voice low enough to send a shiver straight down my spine.
“So,” he drawled, eyes flicking over me, “is this how you’re getting signatures now? Batting your lashes at Diggory?”
My breath caught. “What? No—I wasn’t—”
He arched a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. “Relax. I’m impressed. Bold strategy. Though I’d hate to see how far you’d go if you needed a hundred more names.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”
“Mm. And yet—” Fred slid an arm around my shoulders in one smooth, careless motion, tugging me closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His warmth seeped straight through me, my pulse racing.
“Oi, George!” Fred called down the corridor, not even bothering to remove his arm. “You coming, or are you planning on letting me walk this charming committee leader all the way back to the tower on my own?”
George snorted, jogging to catch up. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said, grinning at me. “He’s just hoping you’ll write him a pass when he skips his next library session.”
Fred gave a mock gasp of offense, squeezing my shoulder lightly before steering me forward. “You wound me, brother. I’d never rely on cheap tricks.” His eyes slid to mine then, a glint of mischief dancing in them. “Well. Almost never.”
Back in my dormitory, I lay staring at the canopy of my bed. My heart still hadn’t slowed, not really—not since Fred’s arm slid around me as if it belonged there. The memory of his warmth pressed against my side left me restless, wide awake.
But the confusion was worse.
Was he… jealous? Was that what that sharp grin meant, that pointed comment about Cedric? Or was I only imagining it—another trick, another game?
And yet tonight, it hadn’t felt like a joke. Not entirely. The way his arm stayed heavy across my shoulders, the way his gaze lingered when George wasn’t looking—it all felt too deliberate. Too careful to be careless.
I rolled onto my side, burying my face in the pillow, frustrated with myself. Maybe Cedric’s easy smile, his willingness to help, had been useful for more than just gathering signatures. Maybe Fred had needed a reason to step closer. If so… perhaps I could use that.
The thought sent a thrill down my spine, equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. If Fred was going to play games, maybe it was time I learned how to play back.
The next morning, I slid into my usual seat at the Gryffindor table, parchment tucked under my arm. The air smelled of toast and pumpkin juice, and the chatter of students swelled around me. Cedric spotted me from the Hufflepuff table and raised his hand in greeting before turning back to his friends.
I smiled—just enough for Fred to notice.
Sure enough, when I reached for the jam, Fred leaned across from further down the bench, his elbow bumping George’s plate. “Careful there,” George muttered, glaring at his brother.
But Fred’s attention was fixed on me. “Busy morning already? Got another petition to drag Diggory into?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was a sharpness beneath it.
I pretended not to notice, calmly buttering my toast. “Maybe. He does have good ideas.”
Fred’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. “Good ideas…”
George snorted into his porridge, but Fred didn’t laugh. He was watching me far too closely, as though waiting for me to slip.
“Fred...” George drawled, leaning back with a cheeky grin. “You might get jealous if she talks to Diggory too much.”
Fred’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing just enough to make George chuckle. “Don’t be daft,” he said, voice tight, though the edge in it betrayed him.
I felt my chest tighten, the thrill of watching Fred squirm sending a warmth straight through me. George leaned forward, pretending to inspect my toast. “I mean, really,” he said, whispering loudly enough for Fred to hear, “you might want to keep an eye on her. She seems… attentive, don’t you think?”
Fred’s jaw ticked, and for a heartbeat, he looked dangerously amused and annoyed at once. “Attentive, huh? Careful, George, you’re treading on thin ice,” he warned, voice low, laced with a teasing menace that made me bite my lip.
George shrugged innocently. “I’m just making observations. You know, helpful ones.”
“Helpful, is it?” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer. “We’ll see how helpful you are in a minute.”
George’s grin widened, clearly delighted with himself, and leaned back, leaving Fred’s attention fully on me now. The tension between us hummed, electric, almost tangible, as I tried to pretend nothing had shifted—though every nerve in my body screamed that it had.
During the day, I had made my way to the library, and now it was quiet, the usual hush broken only by the scratch of quills and the occasional turning of a page. I carried my parchment toward an empty table, determined to finish notes for the committee.
“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice said. I looked up to see Cedric leaning against a bookshelf with one arm, a grin on his face. “Need a hand?”
“Uh… sure,” I said, trying to sound casual.
We spread out the parchments and quills, working side by side. Cedric talked quietly about his own plans for the committee, his warmth and calm efficiency a stark contrast to the simmering tension I had been feeling with Fred.
“Here, let me help you with that section,” Cedric said, leaning closer. “You’ve got a bit of ink on your cheek—here, I’ll wipe it off.”
I blinked, a small smile tugging at my lips, when a low clearing of a throat froze me mid-motion. I looked up.
Fred was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, right across from us, his sharp gaze pinning me in place.
“Maybe you two should take a break,” he said, his tone casual but carrying an unmistakable edge.
Cedric waved a hand, still holding his quill. “It’s not exactly exhausting work, Fred. Just a few notes for the committee.”
Fred’s eyes flicked between us, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just a moment,” he said, stepping closer. Before I could react, his hand lightly cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away the tiny smear of ink Cedric had pointed out. His touch was gentle, deliberate, but the heat in his gaze made my pulse spike.
“There,” he murmured, eyes locking with mine. “Better.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he shook his head slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“You’ve got to pace yourself with all these committee notes. Don’t tire yourself out,” he added, his tone casual, almost teasing—but the slight edge in his voice made me stiffen.
Cedric cleared his throat. “Well… we could take a short break, maybe stretch a bit—”
Fred’s smirk deepened. “No need,” he cut in smoothly. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your hard work.” He stepped back half a pace, his eyes still locked on mine. “I only came for a book.”
He glanced briefly at the nearest shelf, then gave a careless shrug. “Actually… doesn’t matter which one.”
With that, he turned on his heel, striding away with practiced nonchalance. Just before disappearing behind the rows of shelves, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.
My breath caught, heat rushing to my cheeks before I could stop it.
Cedric let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he bent back over the parchment. “Typical Fred.” he said lightly, as if it explained everything.
I forced myself to look back down at the parchment, quill trembling faintly between my fingers. Maybe I’d imagined it—the way Fred’s gaze had burned, the way his touch had lingered a moment too long. Maybe it was nothing. Just another trick, another game. He was good at that. Too good.
And yet… my pulse still hadn’t settled. Not since he winked.
Evening fell quickly, and the parchment in front of me had begun to blur. Letters danced on the page, refusing to stay still, so I gathered my notes and returned to the tower. I thought I’d fall asleep right away, but sleep never came. I could still feel the warmth of his hand against my cheek. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that flash in Fred’s gaze as he disappeared between the shelves.
The next day, once classes ended, the common room buzzed with life. Gryffindor always did—wizard chess clattered on one table, books lay abandoned across sofas, someone plucked a violin near the fire.
Of course, Fred and George had claimed the best seats. George leaned intently over the chessboard, while Fred lounged back in his chair, spinning a piece idly between his fingers instead of playing.
“Need an opponent?” I asked, meaning to pass by.
Fred tipped his head back, eyes gleaming. “Sure you want to play me? I hear chess requires a clear head. Dangerous thing, sitting across from me.”
George groaned. “Play him. He’ll give up soon anyway—his favorite tactic is distracting his opponent with nonsense.”
I smiled and sat down. The stone pieces stirred to life, clattering into neat rows.
Fred resting his elbow on the table. “So… Diggory was hovering around you again today?”
I pretended to focus on the board. “Maybe. Why?”
“Not asking,” he said easily, though his eyes lingered. “Just observing.”
“I didn’t realize you were so observant.” I moved my bishop, forcing his rook back.
Fred whistled low. “Clever. You’ve got an eye for strategy.” He leaned in, voice dropping just enough for only me to hear. “Tell me—do you approach people the same way?”
My heart stuttered, but I only shrugged. “Maybe. You probably do too.”
George groaned dramatically, sliding his king forward. “For Merlin’s sake, stop flirting over the chessboard. You’re making the pieces uncomfortable.”
Fred flashed him an innocent smile. “This isn’t flirting.” His knee brushed mine beneath the table—and stayed there. “This is competition.”
The pieces clashed and shattered, but I barely noticed. Every move Fred made carried something heavier than the game. Every glance said: I see you.
When my queen finally cornered his king, Fred laughed, leaning back in defeat. “All right. I admit it. You win.” His gaze caught mine, more serious than it should’ve been. “But don’t worry—I never lose twice in a row.”
George clapped his hands. “Brilliant. I’m off to get tea before the two of you set fire to the board.”
When he disappeared, silence thickened around us. Fred rested his chin on his hand, leaning close enough that the firelight flickered in his eyes.
“So?” he murmured. “Do you like playing with me… or against me?”
My pulse thundered. Somehow I managed, “That depends.”
Fred’s smile spread slowly, like he’d heard exactly the answer he wanted. Then he leaned back, casual again, and began resetting the pieces for another match.
“Ready for round two?” he asked, voice deceptively light.
Fred won the next game with ease, his smirk triumphant as he tipped my king over. I managed a wry smile and murmured my congratulations before retreating to the armchair by the fire.
I unrolled fresh parchment, determined to draft the committee proposal for Professor McGonagall. But the words tangled uselessly in my head, every neat line collapsing into thoughts of Fred—his grin, his voice, the way he leaned just a little too close.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself focus.
With a quiet sigh, I gathered my notes. “I’ll be in the library,” I said, pushing myself up.
George, sprawled across the sofa, raised his brows. “Meeting Diggory?”
Fred’s elbow jabbed into his side before I could respond. I caught the motion from the corner of my eye—the casual, brotherly shove, but his jaw was tight. I didn’t stay to watch the rest. I only muttered something about needing quiet and slipped out.
The library was just as I hoped—silent, vast, rows of shadows and candlelight. I had already settled at a corner table, quill scratching across parchment as I tried to force the proposal into shape. By the time I was halfway through a paragraph, the hush had begun to ease the tightness in my chest.
“Mind if I join you?” a familiar voice cut softly through the silence.
I looked up, startled, as Fred appeared beside my table, a book tucked loosely under his arm, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Fred Weasley… in the library? And alone?” I managed, arching a brow.
His grin spread easily. “What, you thought I couldn’t read? I’m full of surprises.”
Before I could respond, he slid into the chair beside me, casual as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My quill hovered uselessly over the parchment. Somehow, having him so close made every word I’d been struggling to write vanish.
He leaned over, pretending to glance at my notes. “Show me that,” he murmured, tilting my parchment toward him. When he took the quill from my fingers, our shoulders brushed, and a jolt shot through me.
We were close enough that our legs touched under the table, and I became painfully aware of every subtle movement. My eyes flicked to a passing student, and I froze—they were staring. Fred Weasley, in the library. No wonder they looked like they’d seen a ghost.
Fred’s fingers snapped in front of me. “You listening?” he asked, tilting my face toward him. I blinked, caught in his gaze, and my thoughts scattered.
He leaned a fraction closer under the pretense of pointing at the notes. His arm brushed mine again, a slow, teasing contact. I swallowed, aware of how impossibly close we were, how my heart had started hammering like a drum.
“Hmm… maybe like this?” he murmured, his voice low, guiding the quill. His knee nudged mine, our legs brushing in a deliberate, almost playful way. I could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his hand lightly pressing my thigh under the table.
His face tilted closer, just inches from mine. My breath caught. He hesitated, searching my eyes, as if asking silently for permission. Then, ever so gently, his lips brushed mine—soft, tentative, testing the waters.
Fred pulled back slightly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Still with me?” he murmured.
I struggled to find words, my mind a swirl of excitement, confusion, and something deeper that made my stomach twist. “I… I suppose,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady.
Fred’s grin widened, giving me the smallest, almost imperceptible wink. “Good. Because I’m not sure I’d be able to resist… helping you with your work if it keeps going like this.” before leaning in again, this time with more certainty. The second kiss was firmer, bolder, and he pressed me gently toward him, my hands barely steady as my quill slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.
Fred’s hands didn’t stay idle. One slid slowly to the curve of my thigh, pressing and warming me under the table, while the other rose to cradle the back of my neck, tilting my head just enough to deepen the kiss. Every brush of his lips sent a shiver through me, a delicious, aching heat that made my knees weak.
He pulled me closer, his body flush against mine, leaving no space between us. He groaned softly against my mouth, a sound low and hungry, and I realized he wasn’t holding back anymore—couldn’t hold back.
Breathless, my mind scattered, all focus on him—the warmth, the weight, the pull. The world outside the library ceased to exist; there was only the heat between us, the urgent press of lips and hands, and the impossible tension that made it feel like the room itself was shrinking around us.
Fred finally pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against mine, chest heaving, lips brushing my temple in a softer, lingering caress. “Can’t get enough of me, can you?” he murmured, voice husky, eyes blazing. I could only nod, my own hands trembling, aware that nothing—nothing—would let this fire die anytime soon.
The air between us was still charged, my lips tingling, when footsteps broke the spell. I turned—only to see Cedric standing a few feet away, blinking at us like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to.
“Uh… hi?” Cedric’s voice trailed off, his usual steady calm faltering. His eyes flicked from me to Fred, to the quill still abandoned on the floor, and back again. “Are you two… working?”
Fred’s grin stretched slow and shameless, his arm still draped along the back of my chair, thumb brushing the bare skin at my neck like he had no intention of moving. “Depends on your definition of work, mate,” he drawled, eyes dancing with mischief. “We were making… progress.”
Cedric blinked, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or frown. “I only meant—I was going to offer some help with her proposal.”
“She seems to prefer my methods, right?”
My cheeks warm, heart racing, while Cedric gave a small, awkward laugh and slowly retreated, muttering something about “I’ll just… leave you two to it.”
Fred’s grin widened as soon as Cedric was out of sight. “Now that’s sorted,” he murmured, leaning in again, close enough that I could feel every line of his body. “Where were we… oh yes, your notes.”
Fred bent to pick up the fallen quill, twirling it between his fingers like he’d just won a trophy. With Cedric gone, his grin softened—still cocky, but less sharp—as he set the quill back on my parchment.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat with exaggerated seriousness, “as I was saying… if you’d like, I could actually help you with this. Properly. Professionally.” He tapped the parchment with mock gravity. “No distractions this time.”
The words had barely left his lips before I reached out, fisting the front of his sweater and yanking him down to me. Our mouths collided in a kiss that was nothing like tentative—it was fierce, claiming, the kind of kiss that left no room for teasing.
Fred let out a startled groan, half laugh, half surrender, before his hands gripped my waist, hauling me closer as if he couldn’t stand an inch between us. The quill clattered uselessly back to the floor, forgotten again.
I deepened the kiss, refusing to let go, tilting my head to press harder, hungrier. His attempt at “professional” dissolved instantly; he melted into me with a heat that made my chest ache, his lips parting to meet mine with equal urgency.
One of his hands slid up my back, over my shoulder, and tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp against his mouth. That sound only spurred him on—he kissed me deeper, rougher, like he was done pretending he had any restraint left.
When I finally pulled back, breathless, Fred’s freckles stood out against the flush in his cheeks. His grin was crooked, dazed, utterly wrecked. “Professional, huh?” I teased, my voice barely steady.
He laughed under his breath, forehead dropping to mine. “Merlin help me,” he rasped, still clutching me close, “because if that’s your idea of distraction… I don’t stand a bloody chance.”
What neither of us realized was that the day was only just beginning.
