💭 cozy, stress-napping, non-sexual boob appreciation, clingy boyfriend, “they make him feel safe,” soft comfort ficlet
A/N: I've had this in my drafts for a while, so while I work on some other one shots, enjoy this!
⸻
It starts with a nap.
Or more specifically—Harry flopping onto your bed face-first with a groan and winding up with his face planted directly in your chest. You expect him to move, to roll off, to apologize even.
He doesn’t.
He sighs. Deeply. Like he just found the exact frequency of peace.
“…I’m not moving,” he mumbles.
And he doesn’t.
⸻
Turns out, Harry really, really likes your boobs.
Not like that. (Well…) It’s not sexual. Not right now.
It’s emotional support.
When he’s tired? Face in your chest.
When he’s anxious? Grabs one. Squeezes it like a stress ball. May or may not kiss it softly through your shirt.
When he’s jealous? Burrows into your cleavage and sulks like a Victorian fainting wife.
“Harry.”
“Mmph. I’m recalibrating.”
⸻
He says they’re soft. Warm. Smell like you.
They help him sleep better.
He doesn’t know why. They just make him feel… safe.
Like the world isn’t so heavy when he’s curled into your chest with your hand in his hair and your heartbeat right in his ear.
Like he’s not Harry Potter—the Chosen One, the boy who lived, the accidental celebrity.
He’s just yours.
⸻
He swears it’s not sexual.
And to be fair, it isn’t. Not when he’s half-asleep, hair still damp from a shower, snuggled under the duvet with his head on your chest and one leg hooked over your hip like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“You’re just… really comfortable,” he mumbles, nuzzling against you.
You hum, fingers carding through his hair. “You sure? You’ve had your face buried in my tits for the last ten minutes.”
“Exactly,” he says, muffled. “Warm. Perfect. Excellent for mental health.”
You snort.
⸻
Sometimes he’s the little spoon, curled against your chest like he’s charging emotional batteries.
Other times, he’s the big spoon — except you’ll feel him shift behind you in the middle of the night, hand sneaking under your shirt just to cup a boob like it’s a healing crystal.
“Harry,” you’d whisper, half-laughing, “are you seriously—?”
“My hands are cold,” he says every time, completely serious. “And they’re so warm.”
He never does anything else.
Just falls asleep like that — hand full of you, heart quiet, breath even.
Because your chest?
That’s home.
⸻
“You’re spoiled,” you murmur once, brushing a curl from his forehead as he uses you like a living pillow.
Pairing: Fred x Reader {Established Relationship} + George Weasley x Reader.
Summary: It’s the ultimate taboo, the line in the sand you shouldn’t even acknowledge and yet, you can’t stop thinking about your boyfriend’s identical twin.
Warnings: SMUT. Taboo topics. Blowjobs, oral (M receiving) NO TWINCEST. Indecent thoughts, probably some swearing. Cock slut. Handjobs. Twins sharing a room. Cock drunk?
Word count: 1.4k
"Fuuuuuuck."
It's long and drawn out, the evidence of his pleasure, and way, way too loud.
"Sssssh!" You whisper through your smile, lips never breaking contact with the smooth skin of his cock. You feel him shift slightly and raise your eyes back to his, seeing him rub the palms of his hands across his face
You could stop, but you really, really don't want to. He looks gorgeous like this, magnificent even. The hard plains of his taught, manly body from the years of quidditch practices juxtaposed with the slightly softness of his belly, perhaps the evidence of minor over indulgence of his mother's cooking but who could blame him. He's perfect, and all yours.
You try to deny the smile that threatens to bloom across your face, your mouth too occupied and too full to really smile but if he looked back down at you there's no doubt he'd see true joy in your eyes. Your lips close around him, cheeks hollowing once more as you fight to take more of his length so that he hits the back of your throat. You suck hard, watching as his body recoils from the sensation before you slip your lips back down the length of him, keeping your suction firm until your lips reach his tip once again. You're playing with him, resting him, to see how much you can get away with before his naturally dominant nature takes over. You're rewarded with another deep groan, his breathing staggered and shaky, and most notably, increasingly audible.
Your tongue wraps around his tip from inside your mouth, blocking your teeth as your lips never leave his smooth skin. You lick across the small veins just below his tip, the sensitive spot you know could bring him to his knees if he weren't already entirely horizontal. Your own breathing is laboured, mainly because your mouth is too full to allow anything other than quick breaths through your nose. It's intoxicating.
You can see his stomach muscles contorting as you take him deep again, letting him really feel how deep you were taking him, his good girl.
He lets out a gasp that sounds suspiciously like a whine and you have to renew your efforts to stop smirking, feeling more empowered than ever at your hold over him.
He won't last much longer, you'd been teasing him for too long. Winding him tighter and tighter until he explodes, your game having been played perfectly and your prize earned.
You can see the way he's twitching, hardly able to catch his breath as your mouth works over him perfectly, knowing exactly what he needs but still denying him. His muscles are contorting and contracting involuntarily, his face scrunched into a vision of delicious agony, his full balls beginning to pull up almost threatening his release.
You pull back. His cock falls from between your lips as your hand delicately wraps around him at the base, the weight of his rock solid cock surprising you even now. He's vividly pink and swollen, his tip almost red out of need. You stick out your tongue, flattening it against the veiny underside and lick a strong stripe all the way from base to tip.
He lets out a noise that is a perfect mix between a groan and a whine, so distinctly unique to Fred, so passionate and so loud.
"There's no way a blowjob feel's that good."
A groggy voice says from across the room, sounding thick with sleep and so very deep.
You should be startled, horrified at being caught with your boyfriend's cock in your mouth and his pre-cum smeared all over your lips. You should feel the sinking weight in your gut at being caught and the shame that often followed. You shouldn't feel aroused. Despite logically knowing all of this, it does nothing to stop the way your core clenches at the voice or how it only prompts you to watch to suck Fred harder, to really give him a show.
Your eyes meet Fred's in the darkness, the moonlight pouring in from between the broken shutters illuminating the room only partially. Even in the semi-darkness you can read his expression, and he yours, the unspoken rule bending before your eyes. The taboo finally breached, a line in the sand being completely ignored.
It takes little more than a nod of Fred's head for you to move, a subtle gesture, to get off of your knees at the side of his bed where you were crouched. You miss his cock the second you move away, your mouth suddenly feeling empty and unfulfilled.
Did you have an oral fixation? Perhaps. How fun it would be to explore.
"You tell us mate," Fred says as he watches you creep around his bed and into the bed beside his. His voice is deep and thick, a hint of breathlessness and strain.
You're welcomed into the unfamiliar bed, of course you are. So familiar and yet so foreign, it's an intoxicating mix. You want to kiss him, to compare and experiment. You'd always wondered how different they'd be; would George's slightly more crooked nose bump yours a little more? Mostly you'd wondered how different it would be if you were sat on his face, but you concede that it would have to remain an open question in your mind, at least for now.
He's slightly leaner than Fred, not exactly a secret to anyone who had ever looked closely between the pair like you had, their little differences so telling to those in the know. He's also a little longer.
He tastes completely different, a heady flavour that has you addicted in mere seconds, your lips never wanting to part from his silken flesh. Your lips glide across him so slowly and deliberately, memorising his shape and the way he reacts to your actions. You find your rhythm in no time at all, the one that has him gasping and groaning in a way that can only be described as absolutely sinful.
"Well?" You hear Fred ask. It nearly doubled your arousal hearing your boyfriend's voice, knowing that it was very much not your boyfriend's cock that your lips were stretching around. Your reminded anew of who's cock is lodged deep in your throat, who's precum had started to leak into your tongue.
"Fuuuuuuck," the breathless man beneath you pants, the groan so needy that your dripping core clenches once again around nothing. Given their reactions, maybe they weren't completely different.
To say you are surprised when you feel a hand on your shoulder is an understatement, almost choking on the slightly curved cock shoved deep in your throat. You pull away out of curiosity to see your boyfriend watching you with dark eyes and slightly parted lips.
His hand runs down the length of your arm and reaches for your hand, entwining your fingers before he slips both of your hands down towards his still very erect cock.
Almost instinctively, your other hand shifts to George's cock too, not wanting to be unjust. You stroke Fred just how he likes using your entwined hands, two sets of fingers wrapping around his cock as he manoeuvres you for his pleasure. You mimic the rhythm on Fred's cock and replicate it for the other figure who is watching with heavy lidded eyes, silent but desperate for the same treatment.
You're rewarded with the most gratuitous moan that's delivered in perfect synchronisation making you feel electrified. There's a brief moment when all sense of time and space falls away and all you can sense at the two men beside you, the two cocks so heavy and pulsing in your hands. You're hardly able to discern which voice belongs to which man, so similar and so different. All thought falls away as you slip into your own personalised subspace, their cock's gliding as one through your hands. You're addicted, hopelessly and thoroughly ruined by this entire experience, the delicious taboo and the danger it brings fuelling you like the purest form of adrenaline. You're torn between never wanting this to end and desperate to bring them both to their ends and taste their cum.
You're completely at their command though you know you hold all the power. You only hope that this is not the last time.
“aren’t you meant to be studying, weasley?” you say, giggling as he plants soft kisses on your jaw.
your arms are wrapped around george’s neck as you sit on his lap, letting him nip and kiss as he pleases. “shh, give me a break, darling,” he replies breathlessly.
he told you he was behind on homework, so of course you said yes to accompanying him in his dorm like the good girlfriend you are. you didn’t realise he’d prove to be so… unproductive with you around.
“maybe i should go, i’m clearly distracting you..” you murmur, already making a move to get up but his grip on your waist tightens frantically like a vice.
“you stay right here. i focus better with you near me,” he lies through his teeth. you part your lips in a laugh, knowing the truth as you settle back into him.
summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality?
words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE
warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love
a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )
add yourself to my hp taglist here!
The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.
It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers. Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center.
“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”
“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly.
“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”
“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder.
“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”
“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air.
A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand.
“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”
You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.
“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”
You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”
“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article.
“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, “...Interesting.”
“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.”
“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”
“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”
At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.
“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”
He took the book from your hands in response and closed it.
“Hey, I was reading that—” you began.
“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”
You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”
“I was going to suggest something else.”
“And what is that?”
“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”
“So you’re suggesting that, what?”
“That we say we’re a couple.”
“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”
“Why not?”
“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”
“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”
You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.
“Fine, but only on one condition.”
“What’s that, love?”
“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him.
Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”
“Dream on.”
He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”
“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”
“You’re on.”
So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights.
Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.
i. the pda competition, part 1
Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do.
Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework.
“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”
Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment.
“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away.
You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”
You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever.
Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart.
“What was that for?” you hissed.
There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.
“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.
“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”
Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.
“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.
ii. the pda competition, part 2
After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas.
You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together.
“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”
“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.”
“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you.
“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”
“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face.
“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”
You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly.
“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened.
“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”
“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”
“Not for long!”
Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.
“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”
“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”
“With me, obviously.”
“I’d rather be anywhere else.”
“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”
“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”
“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail.
“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display.
Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words.
When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.
“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”
Again, Fred was left speechless.
“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”
“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”
More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship.
Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx
You were so going to win.
iii. the serenade
You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying.
A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears.
“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise.
“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…”
Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps.
“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…”
“What the—”
He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”
“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.
Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen.
“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright
I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night
I love you, baby, trust in me when I say
Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray
Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay
And let me love you, baby, let me love you”
A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice.
It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for.
“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion.
You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade.
Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred.
You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely.
“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”
There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?
iv. the nightmare
Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep.
Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths.
After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—
“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”
You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”
“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”
“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”
“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”
His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again.
Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to.
You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw.
“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”
You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind.
“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”
“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”
Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”
“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.
“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”
“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”
“I’d like that.”
He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.
I’m here, whenever you need - F.W
v. the hospital wing run-in
“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by your bedside. “This is the third time this month.”
“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out.
“What is it this time?”
“I broke my ankle.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing).
She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”
You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.
“Guys—”
“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply.
“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”
The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”
They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him.
“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”
Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach. “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?”
“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space.
Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”
“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”
“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”
“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.
“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”
“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.
“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”
“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.
“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”
“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”
“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”
“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”
“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”
“Oi! You can’t just—”
“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”
He ended up staying overnight.
You didn’t protest at all.
Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose.
vi. the howler
For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him.
He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.
“What’d I miss?” he asked you.
“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”
A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons.
“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”
Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this.
With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages.
“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”
A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor.
“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”
“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered.
“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”
“And you thought this was the best idea?”
“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”
“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”
vii. the pda competition, part ∞
As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other.
You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds.
Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).
“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”
“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”
“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”
“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.
“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”
“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”
“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”
viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)
It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.
“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?”
You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb.
“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”
“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”
“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”
“But—”
“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”
Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold.
It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say.
“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.
“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”
Your face burned. “What do you—”
“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”
“I…”
Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”
“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”
“Indeed, my lady.”
You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”
“I always look good, though.”
“I look better than your greasy arse.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”
Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all.
When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise.
“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”
“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”
“Without a shadow of a doubt.”
ix. the thunderstorm
The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes.
“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”
You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….
It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…
A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore.
As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”
“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it.
“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”
“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”
“Oh—good point.”
“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?”
“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”
“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!”
“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”
The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”
x. verum exeat (let the truth come out)
The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it).
But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small.
“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.
“Not drinking?”
“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”
You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.”
“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.”
“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.”
“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”
“Do you not, really?”
“I do, but I—”
“You what?”
“I just hate him!”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”
You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”
“You…really mean that?”
You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”
“Y/N, I—”
Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole.
“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”
“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder.
“OW—”
“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped.
“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”
Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.
Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for.
A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.
Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.
“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on.
“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.
“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”
“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.”
“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”
“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”
“Do what?”
“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”
“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”
“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”
“Y/N—”
“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”
“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”
“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”
Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”
And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon.
You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real.
And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end.
“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”
“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”
“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.
“There’s no money on the line this time?”
“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”
“And what is that ‘something else?’”
“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”
xi. the promise
—FOUR YEARS LATER—
Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when.
So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit.
But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own.
It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans.
Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring.
Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear,
summary: you and neville are paired for a herbology assignment. thanks to professor sprout's matchmaking skills, your friendship turns into something a bit more.
warnings: none, fluff
pairing: neville x fem!reader
wc: 3.2k
a/n: for a matchup i did<3 sorry for the wait!
“A line, please!” Professor Sprout chirped. “Let me pair you up—no nitpicking.”
You shuffled into the blob of a line, pressing against someone’s shoulder. Professor Sprout patted dirt from her clothes and then observed the students.
“Let’s see…” She tapped her chin. “Abbott with Weasley.”
The redhead shuffled to the awkward-looking girl.
“Granger with McKennon.”
The brunette girl walked to a taller boy.
“Y/L/N with…” Professor Sprout looked in the back. “Longbottom.”
You turned your head, facing a red-cheeked boy in the corner. Offering a small smile, he returned one as you walked over.
You both stood in silence, waiting for Professor Sprout to finish pairing up the students.
“Go to your pots and start planting! I will grade based on how good these cuties grow!”
Glancing at the brown-haired boy next to you, he awkwardly shuffled to the nearest pot.
“I’m Y/N,” You said, putting on a pair of black gloves and trying to break the ice.
“I-I’m Neville. Longbottom. Neville Longbottom.” Neville stammered, clumsily putting on a pair of gloves as well.
“Nice to meet you, Neville Longbottom,” You smiled. “Do you…have any idea what we’re doing?”
He nodded his head excitedly. “I can help. And explain…I guess.”
“And I’ll watch and learn?”
“Yup,” Neville grinned. Pointing at the glass container, he explained, “Those are mucus leaves—they help clear congestion and loosen mucus.”
He poured fresh dirt into an empty pot, then patted it down. “They thrive in…flat dirt.”
“Right.” You watched his hands flatten the moist dirt.
“Can you take the roots?” Neville asked. Inside the container, there was a jiggly, partially translucent plant.
“...It doesn’t have roots.” You replied, poking the jelly-like plant.
“Oh.” Neville stopped patting down the dirt and walked to the glass container. “It doesn’t have any roots at all.”
“How’re we going to plant it?”
He looked from the plant to the pot, deep in thought. “...Just drop it in…there?”
“That would work.”
“Hopefully.”
You snorted, picked up the slippery plant, and plopped it on top of the neat dirt.
Stepping back and observing the pot, you mumbled, “This doesn’t look right.”
“Maybe I’ll dig a hole, then we cover it,” Neville suggested.
You picked up the plant, and Neville dug a hole in the middle of the dirt with a rusted shovel. Dropping it inside the small hole, you scooped the dirt back on top of it.
Cleaning dirt off your apron, you glanced at Neville—he was skimming through the pages of a small leather notebook.
Peeking at the title, you read the lopsided words, ‘Herbology notes.’
“Herbology notes?” You asked. Neville looked at you, then crookedly smiled.
“...Yeah. Everyone–well, they tease me about it, but I think these are extremely helpful.”
“Can I see?”
He nodded, handing over the small book. The pages were thin and delicate, filled with small illustrations and sloppy notes.
The page with a bookmark was for the mucus leaves—professionally known as ‘Sanator Mucosi’—and there was basically no writing.
“Nothing?” You inquired, tracing your thumb on the ridges of the browned parchment.
Neville scratched the back of his neck. “...This is a newer plant to me. Never read about it, but I’ll ask Professor Sprout about it later.”
You hummed in response. Then, you spotted something in smaller letters next to a picture of it.
“‘Bottom of the pot works better than the top.’ You do know something about the Sanator Mucosi.” You closed the leather book and placed it on the table.
“I…had that written?”
You smiled, picking up the shovel and handing it to him. “Obviously. Now scoop out this dirt; I’ll hold the plant.”
–
Most of the students had struggled with the planting section.
Hermione Granger’s Sanator Mucosi ripped in half.
Dean Thomas’s clung to his face after he dropped it.
Ron Weasley’s grew legs.
The students gathered around your glowing pot and Neville's.
“Beautifully done! Five points to both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!” Professor Sprout beamed, looking at the already-growing plant. “Now, let’s use Y/L/N’s and Longbottom’s Sanator Mucosi as an example for the essay due tomorrow.”
A few people sighed; others grumbled, but you and Neville seemed to be the only ones who were thrilled to write about it.
“One full parchment on how to plant, and how we can benefit from a properly cared-for Sanator Mucosi.” Professor Sprout continued, ignoring the bitter students' blatant remarks. “Class dismissed! See you all tomorrow!”
As class was dismissed, you caught up to Neville.
“That was probably the best I’ve done in Herbology.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Thanks for…being helpful.”
He shrugged. “It’s no biggie…honestly, thanks to this book.”
“You should write some more in the notebook. About Sanator Mucosi.”
“I should.” Neville fidgeted with the hem of his sweater.
“So you just write about plants in there?” You questioned.
“Yeah…that and a few other things.” Neville looked away nervously.
“Like what?”
“Rocks.”
“Rocks?”
“…crystals.”
Your eyes went wide in excitement. “I love crystals! Crazy, I’ve never met anyone who liked them too—well, except for that Lavender Brown girl…she’s a bit rude.”
He looked slightly confused. “You like them…too?”
“Yes! Can I see what you’ve written about them?”
“Sure.” Neville flipped to a particular section of the book and gently gave it to you.
Taking it in your hands, you saw the filled page of amethyst crystals—their rarity, different names for all kinds of languages, and how they connect to mythology.
“Merlin…” you whispered, admiring the color-coded sections. “You sure know a lot about them, Longbottom.”
“Yeah…I-I know a thing or two.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve never really let anyone…see.”
“See?”
“My notebook.”
Your smile faltered. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” You frantically pushed the book back into his hands. “I didn’t mean to intrude–”
“No, It’s alright,” Neville reluctantly took his leather book back. “I just meant, y’know, no one cares enough to see it.”
You felt your face soften; what was once embarrassment turned into sympathy. “No one cares about it?”
He nodded.
“About—this notebook?”
He nodded again, looking at you with genuine eyes.
“Oh, Neville.” You breathed. “This is the greatest thing I think I’ve ever laid my hands on.”
His eyes widened—in hope, or adoration, you really didn’t know.
“...Really?”
“Yes, really.” You nudged his side as you both entered the warm castle. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
Neville smiled. “Y-yeah. Around.”
—
You had never felt more braindead in your life.
Sighing, you tightened your grip on the strap of your leather bookbag. Entering the dim Hufflepuff common room, you decided to take a break and relax on one of the tufty couches.
As you plopped down on the beige cushion, you heard a shuffle of feet come from behind you.
“Hey Y/N,” a voice said. Turning your head, Hannah Abbott stood nervously.
“Hi, Abbott,” You greeted tiredly, patting down your hair. “What’s up?”
“The… essay. Do you mind helping? I’m on the last part, but I’m a bit stuck—thought you might know.” She asked.
You wrinkled your nose in remembrance of the tedious assignment. “Right. I’ll need to finish it tonight.”
“Oh, alright. Good luck with it!” Hannah waved, retreating to the corner with the rest of her stressed friends, worrying about their overload of assignments.
You took a deep breath, recollecting yourself. Massaging your sore temples, you thought, get it done already, then you can sleep for eternity.
Heaving yourself upon your feet, you lazily left the warm common room and went into the empty hallways.
You passed by laughing students, groups of dawdling boys, and a worried Professor McGonagall, clutching her witch hat and mumbling things under her breath.
“...foolish students, messing around near that tree…” You heard as you passed.
You raised an eyebrow, hurrying to the library.
Inside the well-lit library, several students sat at desks, looked through shelves, and whispered in small groups.
Turning a corner, you saw a familiar brunette boy sitting alone at one of the desks.
“Hi, Neville.” You grinned, standing in front of him. Neville looked up with wide eyes.
“Oh, hey, Y/N.” He waved, smiling.
“Mind if I sit here?”
“Yeah!” Neville replied. You slowly raised an eyebrow.
“Oh.”
“Wait- I meant, no, I don’t mind.” His cheeks burned a bright red.
Pulling out the chair and sitting in it, you noticed the book in his hands.
Not a book, but something like it.
“Your notes again?” You questioned.
Neville looked up at you again. “Um- yeah. Adding a few more things.”
“What else could you add in there?” You smiled. “It’s like you have everything.”
“Well, notes for the Sanator Mucosi.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about that for a second.” Pulling out your parchment, Herbology book, and quill, you took a deep breath.
I got this, you thought, dipping your quill in ink. Just an hour. It’ll be done.
As Professor Sprout’s prompt repeated over and over in your head, you began writing the essay.
Sanator Mucosi is a confusing plant…
…different texture than any plant…
The scratching of your quill was stopped when the boy across from you gently tapped your hand.
You looked at him with a tilted head.
“Hm?”
“...Professor Sprout told us that there were a few other plants with a jelly-like texture.”
“Oh. Really?”
Neville nodded. “A hundred and fifteen others, I think.”
You frowned. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember that.”
“Well, now you know, yeah?” Neville gave a small smile.
You felt your ears burn. Eyes diverting from his, you bit the inside of your cheek.
“Yup. Yeah. Thank you…for telling me.”
“No problem.”
You scratched out what you wrote with black ink.
You replaced it with:
The Sanator Mucosi has a different texture than most plants, except for 105 others.
“A hundred fifteen,” Neville said quietly.
Your eyes scanned the sentence again, then you frustratedly huffed.
“Merlin, did I mess it up again?” You groaned, noticing the mistake.
“Not too far off, though.” Neville teased, scribbling down something in his notebook, then flipping the page. “Sorry, am I being a know-it-all?”
“No. I’m just being an idiot.”
“A brilliant idiot.”
You rolled your eyes. Scratching off the number, you corrected your mistake. As you continued your writing, you felt a tap again.
“Yes, Mr. Know-it-all?” You sighed. Neville gave a lopsided smile.
“Seventeenth century, not sixteenth. That virus didn’t exist–”
You eyed him, which told him: don't make me look like more of an idiot.
“Sorry. Never mind.” Neville scratched the back of his neck. You scratched out the numbers and replaced them with the right ones.
“Thank you for telling me. I forgot. Again.” You mumbled.
“I don’t think I’ve met anyone more forgetful than me,” Neville huffed out a laugh.
You flipped a page in your Herbology book. “And that’s not a good thing.”
—
A bright red “O” was stamped on your piece of browned parchment filled with scribbles and ink splatters.
And so was Neville’s.
“I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Neville.” You beamed, nudging his side. He blushed, looking away.
“I-It’s no problem,” Neville replied, waving a dismissive hand. “You were nearly half-asleep when you finished that.”
“And you kept me up.”
“In a bad way…?”
“Good way.” You shrugged, walking up the steps of the castle. “Obviously a good way. I can't write if I’m asleep, Mr. Know-it-all.”
“Is that what you’re going to call me?” Neville laughed. “Mr. Know-it-all?”
“I mean…that’s what you are.” You both walked down the empty corridor. “Did you ever finish that Sanator Mucosi page in your notebook?”
“Yup. While you were struggling.”
You smacked his arm. “I was only struggling because you weren’t giving me direct answers.”
“Good friends don’t give direct answers,” Neville responded. “They teach.”
You snorted loudly.
“Are you laughing at that?”
“No.”
Looking at his confused face, you burst into laughter.
Neville couldn’t help but grin too. “Idiot.”
“That was–” You caught your breath, a hand on top of Neville’s shoulder. “–the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
“Oh, shut it,” Neville rolled his eyes. “I did finish some pages for crystals.”
“Crystals?” You straightened up, eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Do you mind if I look at them?”
“Sure, when we make it to the library.” Neville nodded. “With the giggling state you’re in, it might take a while.”
You hiccuped. “You’re funny.”
You followed Neville into the library. As you both sat down at the familiar desk, you spread out your assignments.
“Potions and Arithmancy.” You sighed. “My worst classes.”
“You think I’d be able to help?” Neville asked, bringing out a small quill and his leather notebook.
“Your shrinking solution turned into lava, Neville.”
“...Right.”
The pages of your dusty potions book were charred around the edges. Turning it away from Neville, you cleared your throat. “I’m obviously a better potionmaker.”
“Don’t act like I didn’t see the state of your potions book right now.”
“Okay, fine. We’re on the same boat.” You sighed. Nodding towards Neville’s brown notebook, you asked, “So, how’re the crystals lookin’?”
He opened to a page, then slipped the book towards you. “I finally finished the amethyst page.”
The rims of the parchment were tinted a dark maroon; the entire page was decorated with sketches of the crystal and…a green mythology figure.
“Dionysus?” You breathed, tracing a thumb over the ink-drawn image. You looked up at Neville’s blushing face. “You like Greek Mythology too?”
“Um- yeah. I’ve only just gotten into it.”
You admired the detailed portrait of the Greek god.
“Do you…?” Neville mumbled.
“Obviously! Crystals, Greek gods, tarot—I love all of it!”
“Tarot?”
“Yup.”
“You’re like…a witch.”
You laughed. “I can do magic, yes.”
“No- not like a witch—like a witch witch.”
You tilted your head with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. It’s really cool, actually. Gran loves witchcraft. Like, crystal balls and those cards.”
Staring at him with awe, he said quietly, “She gave me a deck of tarot before, but I don’t use them. Maybe you could find some use in them…”
“You’re giving me tarot cards?” You squealed.
“Yeah. I don’t have them on me, but–”
You leaped forward, hugging him awkwardly around his neck above the desk between you both.
Neville froze.
“You’re the sweetest, Neville Longbottom!” You said with delight. Letting go of him and slumping back in your chair, you sighed. “I’ve never met someone as…kind and interesting before.”
“I can…say the same about you.” His eyes diverted to the desk like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Eyes flickering back to the notebook, you flipped a few pages until your eyes landed on the aquamarine crystal.
A light-teal, smooth-edged rock, the crystal for tranquility, peace, and strength within relationships.
Your favorite.
The page was half-full of little information—the basic properties, which chemicals produce it, and some of the historical lore.
“Aquamarine is your favorite?” Neville asked. You broke out of your thoughts of the crystal.
“Yup. Always has been.” Closing the notebook, you sat up in your chair and picked up your quill. “I should start working on this.”
“You should,” Neville said.
As you straightened the parchment, you glanced at Neville. He was just…sitting there.
“Are you just going to sit there?” You asked.
Neville gave a small smile. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“...Are you sure?”
“I don’t mind waiting.” He assured. “Take your time.”
—
Neville was there, waiting for you outside the Potions’ dungeon, a brown package in his hand.
“Hi, Nev.” You greeted, slinging your bookbag over your shoulder.
“Hi, Marine.”
You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Marine?”
“Like aquamarine.”
Giggling, you playfully smacked his arm. “Mr. Know-it-all.”
“Marine.” Neville grinned.
“What’s that in your hand?” You nodded towards the rectangular package.
“A gift to you.”
Your steps faltered. “A gift? For me?”
“Just for you.” Neville handed over the heavy gift. “Guess what it is.”
“Um…” You thought, feeling around the item. “Candy?”
“Nope.”
“A quill set?”
“Not quite.”
“Am I hot or cold?”
“Cold.”
You huffed. “What is it?”
“Guess, Y/N.” Neville grinned.
“Crystals.”
“Warm.”
“Herbs.”
“Warmer.”
Something clicked in your mind. “Tarot cards!”
Neville nodded; you excitedly opened up the package to see a thick velvet box with ‘Tarot Cards’ plastered in gold letters.
“Merlin, Neville, thank you so much!” You smiled, admiring the magenta box. “I’ll open it in my dorm…I don’t want Lavender Brown getting envious.”
Neville laughed. “Wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy either.” As you both walked down the corridor, Neville asked, “Want to go to the library?”
You nodded, hurrying off to the bustling place filled with books.
The normal desk you both sat at was available, per usual. It was in the corner, a more secluded, quiet area. Perfect for duos…or dates.
Taking a seat across from Neville, you set out two pieces of parchment. “Potions is going to be the death of me.”
“Got another assignment?” Neville inquired.
“Unfortunately.”
“How did the last one go?”
“We haven’t gotten it back yet. When Professor Snape skimmed through mine, his frown got surprisingly even more prominent.”
Neville snickered. “Nothing can compare to the face he makes when he sees me.”
“Poor Neville.” You teased.
He rolled his eyes. “Go finish your work.”
You giggled, taking your quill and dipping it into rich, black ink.
Beginning the essay on moonstones, your ink scratched quietly—matching the same pace as Neville’s black quill.
Glancing at him, you noticed him writing something down in his leather notebook.
“What’re you writing about?” You asked, lifting the tip of your quill above the parchment.
Neville’s face burned a cherry-red.
“N-nothing.”
“When you say nothing, you’re hiding something.” Knitting your brows, you observed his tense body. “Are you…okay?”
“Yes. I’m okay.”
You sniggered. “What’re you hiding, Mr. Know-it-all?”
“Nothing.”
“Neville.”
“Y/N.”
“Nev.” You crossed your arms.
“I was just writing down some notes.”
“What notes?”
“Just…notes.”
“Let me see them. I won't judge,” You prodded. “About crystals?”
“...sure.” He slowly slid the open book towards you.
It was the aquamarine page.
This time, it was filled with notes.
But under the illustration of one, there was a small piece of writing:
Y/N’s favorite rock.
With a small heart next to it.
Your heart stopped beating for a second.
You felt your grip loosening on the notebook.
A…heart?
Remembering my favorite rock…?
From the corner of your eye, you could make out Neville rubbing the nape of his neck, a bright shade of pink.
“This is the note you were working on?” You softly laughed. Neville returned a small grin.
“You could…say that.”
Your heart was warm, heavy with emotions.
“This is cute. Thank you…for remembering.” You slid the notebook back to him. “No one’s ever really cared about my crazy hobbies.”
“...I care,” Neville mumbled reluctantly.
You felt your face burn; you started fidgeting with the hem of your clothes.
Your heart was in your throat—or was it pounding out of your chest?
You didn’t know; it was a lot to process.
Why couldn’t this just slow down?
Clearing his throat, Neville closed his notebook and brought out a thick textbook. “We should get to work, yeah?” He asked quietly.
“Right.” You snapped out of the daze you were in, tucking a strand of hair behind your hot ear. “What do you have due?”
“History of Magic.”
“Ooh! Need help?”
“I would love it.”
And for another two hours, you both helped each other—well, Neville tried to help you with potions, but kept getting certain elements mixed up.
Neville was your best friend. You were his as well.
It was an innocent act. A sweet smile tugged on your lips while you handed him his neatly rolled parchment that the wind had moved infront of you. It was very unusual to him. The way you hadn't given him a reaction others would—fear.
An act of kindness that gave him the wrong idea.
Ever since then, the corridors you walked in were emptier than ever. People avoid you, some of your belongings too appearantly—no reason you can think of. Except, when letters appeared in your dorm it gave you the terrifying idea that it was because of a stalker.
It was all smartly planned. Letters were written using a typewriter, preventing you from getting just a glimpse of who was behind it all.
It started from compliments that crawled down your spine, to comments of what you're exactly wearing that day, to long precisely detailed paragraphs of his fantasies, to confessions of who he murdered.
You spent nights bawling your eyes out about another student getting hunt down. She was a good friend, or that's what you portrayed she was. Tom knew, heard the opposite and took matters into his own hands. He killed those who didn't like you. He thinks it's inhumane to hate someone so kindhearted. Which is quite something, coming from him.
Tonight you unraveled letters once more.
"Come to me and everyone else will be untouched."
Your stalker's plee. With trembling fingers, you opened the other letter next to it.
"Library, fourth table behind the bookshelf. Whenever you're ready, my dearest darling."
You shivered. It was handwritten. An attempt for you to give in. To prevent harm to your classmates.
A decision.
But that's not what scared you.
What did was that you knew who wrote it.
You recognized it on chalkboards, group works, projects, ripped pieces of paper, on a rolled parchment.
You didn't even want to know what would occur if you didn't go—a massacre, probably.
Desperate to keep everyone else safe, you took slow hesitant steps to the given destination. It bugged you to even consider going, but from the letters, it seemed that he had no intent in harming you—just others so he can keep you to himself.
You shook a breath. It was now past curfew as your fingers gently grasp the locked door of the library. It was spell proofed, how could you even get in?—
Click!
The door beneath your palm opened itself to your touch. Part of you thought it wasn't too late to turn back, the other told you it was selfish if you did. With a gulp, you stepped in to be greeted with darkness other than the dim light from the moon passed through the framed windows along with the fragrance of paper, old parchment, and misty wood.
Air got caught in your throat as you linger a little closer behind the said bookshelf. Your eyes shifted to the table, the books laying around, the window, it explored everywhere, all except Tom Riddle.
He leaned on the exact table. Gaze deadly, but lurking nowhere dangerous.
Your eyes brimmed with tears while none fell. His hands carefully found their way to your waist, gently pulling you closer.
As you were completely still, his head was at the crook of your neck—nose grazing the shape of it, sending shivers down your spine. He then inhaled your scent sharply before kissing your jaw.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me." His stern voice whispered. You clenched your jaw, pissed at somehow finding comfort in his hold.
"I'm not." You squeezed out from your throat and felt him slightly smile against your skin.
"I need your word." He muttered as your shallow breaths initiated hesitation.
You gulped.
"I'm all yours." You exhaled, almost stuttering. Though it surprised you when it came out more willingly than it should. He's a fucking murderer for goodness' sake. Keep it together. Keep it to—
"Mmpngh—!" You whimpered quietly and clutched your fingers on Tom's arms as his teeth lightly sunk into your neck, possibly creating marks. You felt his lips twitch into grin when he heard your little reaction.
He pulled away to press his lips against yours. You froze, and mentally scolded yourself before melting into the kiss. Once you pulled away first for air, he went straight back to attacking your neck.
From pecking to sucking leaving you in a mesmerizing mess. The proximity of it all was making it seem like it was unholy, but from his view, this was everything but filthy.
You yourself was overwhelmingly pure. In his hands, it was the definition of otherworldly. It was all he wanted.
It was utterly ridiculous. How he'd easily fell vulnerable at the idea of you. It was about time you came to him, or he'd absolutely lose it.
Weakness—it was what he hated the most. But at your vicinity, it didn't hurt. It didn't burn or cackle at his presence. It lingered. And this time, it wasn't a burden to carry, it was something to hold.
Because in that moment, not only you were his, but he knew he was yours too.
summary: you seem to have fallen for your best friend, which you could handle if only he didn’t constantly touch you
word count: 3.2k
masterlist
It was official: you were stupid.
Only a complete idiot would fall for their best mate and here you’ve gone and done it. Because there was no other explanation for this feeling in your stomach as you looked across the Great Hall and watched Fred Weasley tell some stupid joke to his friends and wishing nothing more than to be the one he told the joke to.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here; just earlier today, Snape had given him detention.
While working on the assigned potion, he decided to mix things up to make you laugh after your bad day.
Before class started Snape decided to ruin the day and give everyone’s essays back. You flunked. Hard. After a big explosion and an awful lecture from Snape, any of Fred’s afternoon plans were ruined. For you.
You stood there, frozen in shock, trying to figure out how to go on with your life from here.
But how could you? This realization felt like the worst thing that’s ever happened to you—right after becoming friends with Fred Weasley himself.
You must’ve stood frozen in place for too long because he caught your eye and was now waving you over with his typical charming smile while the people around him were continuing their conversation, oblivious to the turmoil inside you. You briefly considered turning around and running away, but you decided against it. That would make this situation even more awkward than it already was.
Taking a deep breath and mustering a wobbly smile, you made your way over to the Gryffindor table. You exchanged greetings with your friends and headed toward a seat, hoping to get as far away from Fred as you could. But, of course, Fred had other plans. With a grin, he shoved Lee aside and proudly declared the seat next to him as free.
Bloody hell, he was making it hard for you. It’s as if he knew and wanted to torture you now that you had finally realized your true feelings. Feelings that didn’t actually exist; denial was your new best friend.
With no other choice, other than making this one hell of an uncomfortable situation for everyone, you reluctantly sat down next to him, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible.
But to no avail. As soon as you sat down Fred swung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “Thank Merlin you’re here. Could you be a darling and tell our idiotic friends that Snape does in fact secretly love me and that is the only reason he so often chooses to see me after class?”
‘Darling’ and ‘secretly loves me’, seemed to be the only thing your brain registered, not to mention that arm still wrapped around you. Has he always been this physically affectionate with you? It was hard to remember because Fred was looking at you expectantly as if he were waiting for something and…
Finally, your brain catches up, “Oh, that my dear Fred, is what we call detention. And wouldn't you know it, you're supposed to be there... like right now!" You playfully glanced at your imaginary wristwatch.
You could practically see the second he realized you were right. In a hurry, he jumped up from his seat and snatched the last food from his plate. But there was something important he seemed to have forgotten.
With a grin, you asked him, "Aren't you forgetting something?" Confusion washed over his face as he turned back to the table, searching for what he had missed, not finding anything. After a brief moment, he leaned down and surprised you with a kiss on your cheek. Speechless and mouth agape, you watched as the rest of the table erupted in snickers.
"You git!" you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks burn. "I meant your wand!"
Instead of being flustered like you, Fred found the whole situation hilarious. He joined in laughter with his friends and sent you a playful wink. With a glint in his eye, he swiftly retrieved his wand and innocently exclaimed, "Oops!" before making a speedy exit from the Great Hall.
Still trying to process what just happened, you turned to your friends, hoping they could provide the distraction and peace of mind you desperately needed.
Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, George decided to torture you. With a grin, he leaned in and asked if you've figured it out yet. Your whole body tensed up, and you found yourself desperately wishing for an escape.
In your horrified state, you managed to stammer out a weak, "W-What?" The anticipation of his response hung heavy in the air, and you braced yourself for the worst.
George burst into laughter, which echoed through the Great Hall, making everything feel ten times worse. You couldn’t help but feel exposed, as if your deepest secrets were on display for everyone to see.
Through his laughter, George managed to squeeze out, "Bloody hell. Looks like someone forgot the essay for McGonagall that's due tomorrow."
You breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that he had no idea. How could he? You yourself just figured it out. And you’d do anything to keep it that way. You won’t tell a soul about any of it and just pretend that things were normal.
✧
How naive could you be? How in your right mind could you ever think that keeping this from Fred was a possibility?
He knew you better than you knew yourself.
No matter how hard you tried to keep things like always it just wouldn’t go your way. First everything was completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary. You two would banter and share jokes. But as soon as he touched you in any way you panicked and run away from him.
You hadn’t realized how often he reached for you. It apparently had become like second nature for him.
At first you noticed the small touches, like accidentally bumping shoulders while walking together or him gently tapping your arm to get your attention.
But it was the larger gestures that pushed you to your breaking point, stirring up your traitorous heart even more. Like when he reached out and grabbed your hand in the bustling crowd of students during a visit to Hogsmead.
But the absolute worst was when he would slide in next to you, casually drape his arm around your shoulder and pull you close, all while effortlessly engaging in conversation with someone else. And what made it even more unbearable was that no one seemed to bat an eye. It was as if this physical closeness was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, that no one remembered to inform you about.
But as much as you tried to subtly keep your distance you could tell that Fred knew something was wrong. He saw it in the way you would purposefully choose to sit the furthest away from him even when the seat next to him was unoccupied.
You saw the confusion in his eyes when you started to avoid going to Hogsmead with the excuse of finishing your school work. He knew that this was never something that stopped you from spending time with him or your friends.
Since that first year you met Fred on the train, he’d been a constant presence in your life. You stumbled upon Fred and George pulling a prank on their older brother Percy. Instead of telling on them, you decided to join in on the mischief. As a result, Percy ended up with boils all over his face. From that moment on, you and Fred became inseparable. So, when you suddenly started pulling away without any explanation, it felt like the most awful thing you could do to him.
And you could tell that it was hurting Fred too. He wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve; in fact, quite the opposite. But after all the years you've known him, you were priding yourself on understanding him better than most people in his life. He would never outright admit it, but your actions were causing him pain.
He would extend his hand, reach out, but as soon as he noticed that you turned away from him, he would pull back. In that fleeting moment, you could see the hurt and confusion reflected in his eyes, mirroring the hurt you were experiencing.
He even attempted to talk about it once. Normally, he would rely on laughter to uplift your spirits rather than delve into the realm of emotions. So when he approached you before your class, specifically to ask if you were okay, it created an awkward conversation for the both of you. All you could do was promise him, that if anything was wrong, you’d tell him.
What a lie.
His genuine concern shattered your heart. But it wasn't just him who could sense that something was off. You noticed how your friends would exchange worried glances every time you came up with a new excuse to avoid spending time with Fred.
Being around him became an unbearable risk, fearing that he might somehow discover your true feelings for him. It wasn’t just a simple crush; your feelings ran deeper, more intense.
Every time you witnessed his infectious laughter or his ability to light up the entire room with his jokes, a swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, consuming you from within. The guilt of keeping such a significant secret from him and the rest of your friends gnawed at you. But the thought of confessing your feelings and potentially jeopardizing everything held you back.
It has gotten to the point where you chose to spend your free time in the library. You knew that he would never step foot inside of it. So this place became your sanctuary.
But you should’ve known better. Fred Weasley may not be an overly emotional person but he was stubborn to no end.
One night after dinner, that ended with you leaving the table as soon as possible and an excuse, truthful this time, to do your unfinished homework you returned to the only place that felt safe from Fred.
There were only a few students left in the library. You grabbed your Charms Book and settled into a quiet corner, hoping to review your homework for Professor Flitwick.
But your silence was soon disturbed by the one person you wanted to avoid. Which was not entirely true.
The situation hurt, but you couldn’t help wanting to see him — even if only from afar.
Fred appeared to be searching for you because the moment your eyes met, he marched over to where you were sitting.
"Back to doing homework, huh?" he asked, glancing at your table.
"Actually, yes," you replied honestly.
“Oi, sod off. I know you mostly just sit here doing nothing — Lee saw you, you know?” he said.
“I don’t know what Lee thinks he saw but that’s not the truth. This is a library. I study,” you argued.
“Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me. And I have no idea what I could’ve done. You’ve been blowing me off left and right. You’re being pretty obvious and I think it’s time we had this discussion.”
You stared at him, eyes wide open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I already told you, everything is fine.”
“Come off it! We’ve been friends for years and I know when something’s off. You’ve been avoiding me and you have been for weeks. I’m done pretending like I don’t know that. And things aren’t fine since you won’t tell me what it is. What’s this really about?” his voice was low, but you could feel his anger seeping through.
But you couldn’t tell him; too much was at stake. You’d lose your best friend. Even the thought alone was too much to bear.
“Fred, please. I just… I can’t explain it to you,” you pleaded.
“Why the hell not? I’m your friend!” You appreciated his concern, but his persistence was becoming overwhelming. “If everything truly was fine you wouldn’t be hiding here all the time! What’s going on?” he demanded, clearly just wanting answers, answers you couldn’t give him.
“I really can’t tell you. Please, I’m begging you, let it go.” Keeping this from him was killing you. You felt awful holding this secret from him. Deep inside you entertained the notion that he felt the same, but doubts held you back. It was pain-filled hiding something so important from a person that meant so much to you. You wished that he felt the same way, but fear gripped you tight.
Fred's anger was palpable, evident from the fury etched on his face. Madam Pince was shooting both of you disapproving glances. You secretly hoped that she would kick you out, giving you an excuse to escape this conversation.
“No, I’m not giving up. I deserve answers and I’m not leaving until I get them, understood?” He defiantly took a seat right in front of you.
You remained silent, refusing to speak another word. The more he pushed, the harder it became to keep this from him.
“I’ve got all night. Nowhere else to be,” he stated, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. Still refusing to speak, you turned your attention back to your essay, hoping he would eventually relent.
After a few minutes, he broke the silence. His voice now calm and his expression blank. No trace of anger or irritation. It almost seemed like he had come to accept the situation.
“Maybe this is for the best. You clearly don’t want to talk to me, so I’ll guess I won’t bother you anymore,” he said in a monotone voice, before he abruptly stood up and started to walk away, not looking back once.
Hot panic was surging through your veins and in an instant you jumped up, to go after him. Realizing that you were about to lose him either way, you took a chance.
“I like you!” The words echoed through the quiet library, their volume seemingly too loud for the stillness around you. He paused in his tracks, but didn't turn around. Unable to see his reaction, you continued, thinking maybe it was better this way, shielded from the potential disgust his face might reveal.
"I like you, and I'm really sorry, okay? I just need some time to sort things out and get over these feelings. I promise, but right now, I can't be around you. Not right now. That's why I've been avoiding you. Please, please don't hate me," with every word, your desperation spilled out, raw and unfiltered, while your eyes began to burn.
As Fred slowly turned around, his expression was unreadable, and it felt like everything was falling apart. Immediate regret was filling you up. Maybe, if you would’ve stayed silent and kept on ignoring what was going on inside of you, there would have been a chance to mend the friendship later on. But now, it felt like it might be too late.
“You like me?” he asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.
“Please, don’t make me say it again,” you pleaded, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.
His expression slowly transformed into a wide smile, "You're not kidding. You actually like me?"
Confused and feeling a sense of panic, you asked, "Why are you smiling at me like that?"
Fred's grin widened, making him look like a complete idiot, "I can't control it. You've just made me the happiest person in the world. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping to hear those words?"
Silence filled the air. Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"
“I like you too, I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he confessed with a soft grin, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
"So, that's why you were always touching me?" you asked, trying to make sense of it all.
He let out a loud laugh, quickly quieted by a stern look from Madam Pince. He sent her an apologetic smile before refocusing on you and speaking in a hushed tone.
"And here I thought I was being smooth about it. I've been trying to let you know for a while now, actually."
“Bloody hell. You mean you felt the same all this time? Why on earth didn't you say anything?" You were in disbelief, feeling like you were in a dream. Maybe you had dozed off while reading about The History and Evolution of Enchantments and Charms Throughout the Ages.
"Well, why didn't you?" he asked.
"You've got me there," you said with a quiet laugh, looking down at the ground. After a moment of silence, you glanced up and saw him smiling softly at you.
"So... what's the plan now?" you asked, seeking some clarity.
"You like me, I like you. It's pretty clear, isn't it?" he responded.
You squinted your eyes at him, still not fully convinced.
"Now I can touch you as much as I want, and you can't escape anymore," he said with a mischievous grin, taking a step closer until he stood right in front of you.
"Oh, Merlin. You're a git," you exclaimed, unable to hold back a laugh. "Why on earth do I like you again?"
“Because I’m just that irresistible, obviously,” he laughed, joining in with you.
You placed your hand on his chest and playfully gave him a nudge. But before you could pull away, he surprised you by grabbing your hand. As you looked down at his hand enveloping yours, he posed a question. "So, about you admitting you like me... do you wanna back that up with a kiss?"
"Mhm, I'll have to think about that," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if you deserve it, to be honest."
He grinned cheekily and retorted, "Oh, I definitely deserve it. What have I ever done to not deserve it?"
“Let’s try and remember. Just last week you-”
As you were about to list all the things he had done, he surprised you again by silencing your words with a passionate kiss. In that moment, your thoughts faded into insignificance, consumed by the intensity of the kiss. His hand gently caressed your cheek, deepening the connection between you. Your emotions were running wild, and it felt as if your body was ablaze.
After a moment or an hour, he pulled back, and you took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. Opening your eyes, you gazed up at him.
"Sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?" he asked, his playful tone laced with a hint of mischief.
“I can’t remember,” you murmured, connecting your lips with his once more.
You’d been wrong all along—falling for your best friend might have been the best idea of all.
