What happens when Fred’s new owl accidentally sends a letter meant for George to the wrong person? The mysterious recipient might just write him back. And it might end up being the best mistake Fred has ever made.
Fred is looking forward to finally placing a name and face to the young woman he’s been imagining.
Warnings: suggestive content, sexual innuendo, spicy, set in a world where task 2 was before the Yule Ball, and Voldemort didn’t return, and Cedric Diggory didn’t die.
Part 4
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To my girl with the crimson fingertips,
There it is again - that rush. That sensation of my chest being far too small to hold how I feel about you. You call me your Freddie and I forget everything else. The noise of the common room, the smell of toast George set on fire again, even Peeves singing something crude about trousers from the ceiling. None of it matters. Just your words. Just you.
So you saw me at the second task. I knew you were there. Somehow. I couldn’t explain it if I tried. I just…felt like I was being watched. Not in the bad way. Not like Filch creeping around corners. It felt warm. Safe. Like someone out there cared whether or not I was okay. I looked up more than once thinking maybe I’d find your eyes in the crowd.
I didn’t.
But that’s okay. Because I know I’ll see them one day.
And when I do, I hope you’re looking back at me like I look for you now - Everywhere.
Your self-assuredness is one of the most magnetic things about you, and knowing I fall under the category of “what you want” just about knocked the wind out of me. (Do you see what you do to me with just ink and parchment? It’s downright unfair.)
As for the scandalous confession, I knew it. Part of me hoped you saw me first. That this wasn’t all some stroke of luck, but that you noticed me before. That somehow, your gaze lingered longer than it should’ve and maybe you smiled to yourself, wondering.
And Earl - that dashing little traitor. His nails match yours? Brilliant. It’s only fair I suppose, if he’s chosen his side. He looks like a Gryffindor now. You’ve ruined me. I smile when I think about a bird. You’ve made me soft, mystery girl.
A date. The astronomy tower. After the tournament.
You don’t know how much I’ve needed that moment to look forward to. I’ll be there. Even if it rains. Even if there’s thunder. Even if the stars don’t show. Because you will. And that’s more than enough for me.
Until then, keep watching for me. I’ll be watching for you too.
Yours, hopelessly,
Freddie
P.S. I can’t stop glancing at crimson nails in the hallways. You’ve made it harder, but more thrilling.
P.P.S. What do you think our first words will be when we finally see each other face to face?
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To my dearest Freddie,
Have you considered that perhaps you have the same effect on me? That my heart pounds in my ears and my stomach flutters when I see an envelop signed with your name? That my lips might wonder what it would be like to touch yours?
I am getting too bold now. You truly are rubbing off on me.
The third and final task of the tournament will be approaching, but before then is the Yule Ball. Will you be attending? I will be. I’ve just received my dress in the mail, and I am beyond pleased. I’ll be looking out for you, of course, imaging what it might be like to steal a dance.
As for Earl, I can confirm he will be wearing Hufflepuff yellow next. To show where his true loyalties lie.
Yours - the girl who will be keeping an eye on the calendar, awaiting our date with much anticipation.
P.S. I might need to stop giving you clues or you’ll catch me.
P.P.S. Our first words when we see each other? Probably ‘hi’?
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To the girl who makes me grin like a fool in the dormitory (which, by the way, is becoming a real problem - Lee is suspicious),
You say you’re getting bold, love, you’re killing me. Every line in your letter had my heart doing laps like it’s training for the Quidditch Cup. You wonder what it would be like to touch my lips and now I’ve got a quill hovering over parchment and no thoughts in my head except what if.
If this is me rubbing off on you, then please, never stop. I’ll take every bold, fluttering, heart-skipping word.
The Yule Ball. Oh, how I’ve been waiting for that to come up.
Yes, I’ll be attending, though I haven’t asked anyone yet. I kept telling George I was “waiting for the right moment,” but truthfully, I think part of me was hoping something like this might happen. That something more might brew between us in these letters. Something that would make me look across the dance floor, find your eyes, and know.
You’ve received your dress, have you? And you’re beyond pleased? Well now I’m beyond curious. I’ll be scanning the crowd for the girl with a gaze that knows me far too well for a stranger. Maybe we’ll bump into each other. Maybe fate has a flair for theatrics. Perhaps we could even find a way to have that dance?
As for Earl…The betrayal cuts deep. But if he must be wooed with wardrobe, I suppose I deserve it. Tell him I miss him. And that yellow does bring out his eyes.
The calendar is burning a hole in my wall, by the way. Every day I tick off brings me closer to you. Our date. Our reveal. I think of it more than is probably healthy.
P.S. You’d say “hi”? How dreadfully polite of us. I was rather hoping I’d say something charming and you’d laugh and the world would stand still. But “hi” works too. So long as it’s followed by a smile.
P.P.S. Give me one more clue. Just one. For courage.
Yours in every way that matters,
Freddie
P.P.P.S. Do you believe in fate?
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To the boy who makes me embarrassed of my own thoughts (some of which are too bold to reveal),
To make myself clear, I will not be attending the ball with a date, and if I see you with one I shall hex you until your teeth touch the floor. I am protective of what is mine, and if you want to be inside that small circle you’d do well to remember it.
I might be convinced for a dance, however there must be rules. The first of which is that you cannot see me. It would ruin the fun of the anticipation.
Yellow does indeed bring out Earl’s eyes, and though he certainly would not want to leave me, I may send him to you on weekends to keep you company and make you think of me. You can thank me later.
I realised I have forgone asking you questions, though I suppose that it because I feel as though I know you well now. But here is another: what is something about you that no one else knows? Not even George?
And a bonus for good measure (to make up for the ones I missed), what is one of your most secret, scandalous thoughts?
Yours truly, a girl with a green dress.
P.S. I hope you have enough clues to find me.
P.P.S. I believe in fate guiding us, but I also believe we make our own choices within that. There are an infinite amount of possibilities. I’m glad I’m alive in the one that has led me to you.
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To the girl with the green dress (who may or may not be trying to kill me softly with these letters),
Merlin help the poor sod who tries to ask me to the ball. I might just hex them myself in your honour. And as for arriving with a date? Not a chance in hell. I’ll be walking through those doors with only one thing on my mind - you.
Normally I wouldn’t let a blindfold near my fantastic head of hair, but for you? For a dance with you? I think I could bear it. I’ll be waiting for your move.
You say you’re protective, and I must admit, there’s something dangerously hot about that. Makes me want to belong to you more than I already do (and that’s saying something). I’d ask if you were mine in return, but I’m fairly certain you already are. Stolen, quietly and completely.
Earl may visit me whenever he pleases. He’s a brave lad for enduring this tug-of-war. Crimson, yellow…he’s a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff hybrid now. We’ve created something beautiful.
Now, your questions.
You always ask the ones that stick in my chest.
Something no one knows about me?
Sometimes, when it’s late and I can’t sleep, I sneak out and sit by the Black Lake. I bring something I’ve made - a prototype, a sketch, a half-finished idea - and I think about the future. Not just about success, but about who I’ll be with. For the longest time, it was a faceless, blurry dream. Lately though…it’s not so blurry anymore. She wears green, has wit like a whip, and knows me in ways I didn’t think were possible through ink and parchment.
And you want me to share a scandalous thought? Alright, but I’ll blame this one on you.
The last time I saw a girl in green, I wondered if the colour matched what was beneath. And when I think of you in that dress, well, let’s just say I’d very much like to find out.
(Send Earl away for that weekend, would you? I don’t think he should witness it.)
You’ve given me just enough to search now. I’ll look for you, green dress, clever eyes, bold heart. I’ve always loved a challenge. But if I find you - when I find you - I might just kiss you right there, in front of the whole damn school.
P.S. I’m keeping that last line of yours close. It might be the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever written to me.
P.P.S. I’m counting down the days.
Yours - dangerously,
Freddie
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To the boy in the dashing dress robes,
I watched you tonight. Saw you dance to your heart’s content with George and Lee. Saw you deny Angelina Johnson that dance she requested. I must admit that made my heart smile with pride. I saw you look for me in every girl wearing green. You did find me, though I shall not confirm which one I was.
But the highlight of the night was certainly our dance together. I was so pleased when you showed up in the courtyard, even if your handsome face was mostly covered by that blindfold. I hope it didn’t mess up your precious hair too badly. I must say, you are a wonderful dancer which was something I hadn’t expected from you. You are a man of many talents.
You needn’t worry. I am yours. Wholly. Completely. Irrevocably.
Earl is a brave soul and I think he likes being fought over. It was just this week that I realized how entirely spoiled he is. And overfed. He may need to be put on a diet. Between both of us, all of these sweet treats will have him dropping our letters before they can arrive and we can’t have that, can we?
I’d like to hear more about your future. What do you picture for yourself? For the lucky woman who will get to be by your side? What life will you lead?
Well, well, your thought was scandalous indeed (and it did not disappoint). So I shall not either.
I can confirm I was wearing something matching beneath my dress. Something made of thin lace and not much of it. Perhaps I will let you find out what it looks like, someday. We will have to find Earl a babysitter.
Yours, the girl in the green lace.
P.S. your scandalous thoughts are more welcome than you might think. Perhaps I should share some of mine too?
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To the girl in the green lace (who is rapidly becoming the reason my heart might burst out of my chest),
You’re going to kill me, you know that? Slowly, sweetly, and with just a flick of your wicked quill. I’m not sure how you expect me to survive knowing you were watching me last night…knowing you were out there in green, and I didn’t even know which girl you were. I saw five - five - wearing that exact shade. I stared so long at one of them she dropped her pumpkin juice. I may owe someone an apology.
But at least I got one dance. I was surprised when I saw your note and the blindfold at my table - I have no idea how you managed to sneak past both myself and George to leave it there unnoticed. Well done, mystery girl. As for our dance itself, it was magical. Even though I couldn’t see you, I could smell your perfume. Something sweet and floral. If you see me around the castle with my nose in the air, it’s because I’ll be trying to track you down by smell.
You said it - you’re mine. Wholly, completely, irrevocably. I read those words under the covers so many times I could recite them in my sleep. (I think George is getting concerned.) There is no hex strong enough to protect me from what I feel for you. And I don’t want one.
Earl is beyond spoiled. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts demanding a custom bed and weekly grooming spells. But if he keeps delivering letters like yours…he can have the run of the Gryffindor tower.
Now - my future. I see a shop. Small, chaotic, and loud, full of laughter and explosions. A business with George, our names in fireworks above the door. But when I think of the life I want…I see a house with a garden. A cat curled in the window. A kettle always warm. And a woman. Walking around barefoot, laughing at my latest invention, pinning her hair up in a quick, distracted way that already lives in my imagination. She’s scolding me for tracking in dirt again, and I’m grinning because she’s never looked more beautiful. There’s love there. Not the loud kind, but the steady, quiet one that builds itself into the walls.
You ask about the lucky woman beside me in that life. I think…she’s the one who made it all possible. She saw something in me worth loving before anyone else did. Before the fame, before the gold lettering and store signs. She made me believe I could be something more. She’s you.
As for your matching green lace…Merlin. My quill nearly broke in half. Now I’ll never see that colour again without blushing like a schoolboy (thigh I suppose I still am). You’re a menace. A beautiful, brilliant, heart-stopping menace. And yes, someday, I will find out what it looks like up close. Slowly. Carefully. Reverently. And Earl will absolutely need a sitter.
So yes, send your scandalous thoughts. All of them. Every last one. I’ll treasure them like gold. But be warned, I’ll return them in kind. And I don’t hold back.
Yours - burning for you,
Freddie
P.S. Did you have a favourite part of the night? Other than us dancing, of course. I want to picture it the way you did.
P.P.S. I think I’m going to dream of you tonight. And I sincerely hope I never wake up.
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To the boy who better be dreaming of me,
It brings me a special kind of joy and satisfaction to imagine you, quill gripped tightly in your hand as you think about all the things you’d like to do to me. Perhaps I’d like to hear them as well. Your thoughts. The private ones that occur in the dark of night when you sneak off to the black lake.
Cedric is busy preparing for the last task, and though I adore Luna, she may not be the best person to speak to about these ever growing feelings I have developed for you. I long to tell someone about it, even if I do love keeping you my secret. Have you told George about us? Or is he still in the dark?
I think Earl knows what he carries is gold to us. He has steeper demands each time he brings me one of your letters that I covet so dearly.
You and George would make a spectacular business. One to rival Zonko’s no doubt. You could call it ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezez’ or something equally as odd and exhilarating. I’d be honoured to support you in that journey.
As for your life plan, I adore the sound of it. I little cottage with plants galore. Perhaps a dog instead of a cat - I am partial to shepherd dogs. And certainly Earl. And you. My light. My laughter. The only person who can challenge me - keep up with me - and appreciate me as I am.
I saw you working in Herbology today, sleeves rolled up. Long fingers tending to the plants so delicately yet so expertly. Makes me wonder what else those beautiful hands would be good at?
Yours - the girl whose body is on fire at the thought of you.
P.S. I adored the decor. A winter wonderland indeed. And I loved the dancing and the music. Music always has a way of expressing the emotions words can’t. What was your favourite part? Obviously, our dance excluded.
P.P.S. I did have a dream of you.
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To the girl who owns my dreams (and a dangerous amount of real estate in my head),
You are going to be the death of me. A glorious, blushing, stomach-flipping, leg-weakening death. I can’t stop rereading the way you talk about me, the way you see me - sleeves rolled up, hands in the earth, thoughts in the stars. You’ve turned me into a lovesick mess, and I fear I may never recover.
But oh, what a way to go.
You want to hear my thoughts? The private ones? The ones that creep in after curfew when the castle is quiet and the moon paints everything silver? Then brace yourself, sweetheart. Because I think about your voice in my ear, low and teasing. I think about your fingers trailing down my back, the way your breath would hitch when I press you against the wall just before kissing you like I’ve been starving for it. I think about your hair between my fingers, your lips against my throat, the way you’d say my name like a secret only you get to keep. I imagine you curled up beside me, skin warm, eyes soft, telling me with every look that I’m yours. I think of green lace and the sound of your laugh when I trace my fingers down your ribs just to make you gasp.
And I think of making you feel so good you forget the world exists.
There. Now who’s holding the quill too tight?
You asked if George knows. I haven’t told him everything, but he suspects. He saw me grinning like a fool after I got your last letter and said, “Alright, who is she and where can I send the thank-you card for making you tolerable?” So…yes, in his own way, he knows.
As for Earl, if he asks for a gold-trimmed miniature throne, I might cave. He’s carrying letters that will be written into my bones one day.
You do know how much it means to hear you say you believe in our future, don’t you? That you’d share that life with me - dog, garden, Earl and all. It makes me feel unstoppable. Invincible. Like I could take on the world as long as you’re holding my hand.
And speaking of hands…if mine have lit a fire in your thoughts, I assure you they’re more than capable of making every one of those flames burn brighter. Just say the word. I’ll show you what it’s like to be touched by someone who already worships the ground you walk on.
Yours - aching, dreaming, always yours,
Freddie
P.S. My favourite part of the night was right at the end, when the last song played and I closed my eyes and pretended you were in my arms. I almost felt you there. You fit perfectly.
P.P.S. Tell me your dream in detail. Every bit. Leave nothing out.
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To the boy who has haunted my sleep,
Your last letter had me flustered beyond the point of saving. Reading your provocative promises has become my new nightly routine. I’d love to make them come true.
I think about you as well. Of the way you would kiss me. The way your hands would travel over my body. To all the places my robes hide. I think of how your wild red hair would feel between my fingers. Your broad, muscled back beneath my scraping nails as you ruin me. You would tower over me, Freddie, and I’d revel in how my neck would need to crane to reach your mouth.
You can tell George to send his ‘Thank you’ to the Hufflepuff common room.
Earl gave me a look today, as though he knew the seductive things you wrote to me last time. Or perhaps that’s just my imagination playing tricks.
I’m glad you imagined dancing with me, just as I dreamed. Just you and I and the steadily emptying dance floor as the music played. Your hands on my waist and my head on your chest as we sway, revelling in the warmth of each other’s presence. Together at last.
Have you dreamt of me yet? Tell me, what do we do in your dreams?
Yours, a girl who is almost a mystery no more.
P.S. I will be searching for you at the final task tomorrow. And in the tower later. Twilight seems a fitting hour.
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To the girl who’s consumed me - body, soul, and all the spaces in between,
Merlin help me. If I wasn’t haunted by dreams of you before, I certainly am now. You’ve taken root in my mind like a forbidden spell I don’t want to counter. The kind that lingers, potent and dangerous and far too good to ever let go.
You say you’re flustered beyond saving, but love…I live in that state now. You’ve turned my imagination into a furnace. Every line of yours is heat and want and aching anticipation. I think about everything you wrote - your robes falling to the floor like they never belonged there, your mouth against mine, your fingers in my hair and your nails against my skin. The image of your back arching under my touch, your breath stuttering when I press into you. I want to make you forget your name. Just moan mine.
You say I’d tower over you - I’d use it. I’d pin you against a bookshelf or a cold stone wall and make you tremble in the best way. I’d tilt your chin up so you’d look me in the eye while I ruin every shred of composure you had. You’d beg, and I’d give. And I’d take, too, all of you. Every inch, every sound, every thought until the only word in your head is “Freddie.”
And Merlin, you calling me that? That alone could break me.
Tell me when. Tell me where, and I will show you what all this build-up has done to me. I’ll make your fantasies look tame.
As for dreams - you’re always in them. But the most vivid one? You’re straddling me on a windowsill in the Astronomy Tower, moonlight pooling on your skin, that green lace slipping off your shoulder as you whisper filthy, wonderful things in my ear. You’re in control and yet somehow mine. Completely.
The music fades, the castle disappears, and it’s just us - two burning, tangled silhouettes in the dark.
Earl did give me a knowing look today, so I’ve bribed him with dragonfruit to stay quiet.
Yours, breathless and burning,
Freddie
P.S. I’ll be there at twilight. Waiting. If you show, I won’t let you leave without feeling what it’s like to be devoured.
P.P.S. Bring the green lace.
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Thank you so much every on for all the love on this fic! The format will be changing slightly just for the next part, which shall be the much anticipated meet up!
An important part of this article on how students are using AI to think and write for them - even when they’re supposed to be writing about a personal experience or assigned a simple task - is the intentionality with which AI companies are targeting younger and younger students, getting them hooked on having AI think for them until they reach the point where, as this teacher said, a senior in high school claimed he couldn’t write one sentence without using Grammarly. It’s alarming that this student has limited his own abilities in his mind to what a bot can do for him, even though the task is something even a small child can accomplish with effort. That’s like saying you can’t make a grocery list without AI - of course you can, if you choose to try, and you’d almost definitely do a better job.
From the article;
Unfortunately, it’s becoming harder to teach them that their ideas have value because they’ve subcontracted out their minds to their screens. They get their news on TikTok and YouTube and do their shopping based on ads they see in between the videos they watch.
One of my students told me there was no point to writing anymore for my class because now “AI just does it for us.” He doesn’t value the writing process because — despite how hard I’m trying — he’s constantly being bombarded with messages that he shouldn’t.
Whether it’s an advertisement for Grammarly on YouTube encouraging my students to add its new Chrome extension on their Google Docs or a video on TikTok enticing them to download the latest version of ChatGPT, my kids are constantly inundated with carefully curated messages that encourage them to be passive consumers in the classroom.
The messaging they receive is so strategically targeted to my students, it can give them a false sense of who they are, while at the same time increasing their dependence on these products.
It’s working. I see it every day. One of my 12th-graders told me he “can’t write even one sentence without Grammarly.”
“ChatGPT is right there with me all the time,” another student said, “like a friend.”
(…)
Educational institutions continue to uncritically embrace AI, moving at lightning speed to bring it into classrooms without thinking through its dangers, limitations and consequences. AI wasn’t designed for schools, yet we continue to operate as though it was.
Things are, however, looking great for Big Tech companies, who are earning billions of dollars to get our students to outsource their minds, thereby losing the ability to think critically.
Michael Sheen talking about how guilty pleasures don’t exist and his early thoughts about being a drag queen (both things I’d like to see Aziraphale embrace in the finale)
Watch the whole thing here (this clip is at 6:01 and I added the captions)
We have to be clear about what we are witnessing from Immigration and Customs Enforcement in Minnesota.
As a combat soldier, I recognize a mission when I see one — not because it’s announced, but because it’s being carried out. In the span of weeks, ICE and Border Patrol operations in Minneapolis have resulted in the deaths of two Minnesotans. In over a year of combat in Iraq, my battalion of 500 soldiers did not kill a single person.
That difference matters.
My unit spent 397 days on the battlefield. We were shot at. We feared for our lives. Snipers fired from crowds. Improvised explosive devices lined the roads we were ordered to clear. And still, we did not return fire unless strict conditions were met: The shooter had to be clearly identified, civilians could not be in the line of fire, and lethal force had to be the last resort. Why? Because that was not our mission.
Our mission was to build bases, secure supply routes, and protect civilian life. We were governed by Rules of Engagement, the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and the War Crimes Act. Violations were not brushed aside. Soldiers are criminally accountable when we break the law. That accountability is what separates professional soldiers from mercenaries. This isn’t just my experience. It’s the standard.
We have to be clear about what we are witnessing from Immigration and Customs Enforcement in Minnesota.
As a combat soldier, I recognize a mission when I see one — not because it’s announced, but because it’s being carried out. In the span of weeks, ICE and Border Patrol operations in Minneapolis have resulted in the deaths of two Minnesotans. In over a year of combat in Iraq, my battalion of 500 soldiers did not kill a single person.
That difference matters.
My unit spent 397 days on the battlefield. We were shot at. We feared for our lives. Snipers fired from crowds. Improvised explosive devices lined the roads we were ordered to clear. And still, we did not return fire unless strict conditions were met: The shooter had to be clearly identified, civilians could not be in the line of fire, and lethal force had to be the last resort. Why? Because that was not our mission.
Our mission was to build bases, secure supply routes, and protect civilian life. We were governed by Rules of Engagement, the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and the War Crimes Act. Violations were not brushed aside. Soldiers are criminally accountable when we break the law. That accountability is what separates professional soldiers from mercenaries. This isn’t just my experience. It’s the standard.
