Betrayal
Fred Weasley x Reader
Summary: After Fred finds out you’d been hiding your Death Eater mark this whole time, he refuses to speak with you- so you confront him.
CW: Angst, arguing
Directory
The Hogwarts grounds were heavy with the dull, rhythmic patter of rain. The storm had rolled in unexpectedly, blanketing the castle in a thick shroud of gray. Despite the downpour, the Quidditch pitch was alive with anticipation. Today’s game was set to be a fierce one, but your mind was elsewhere, entangled in a storm of its own making.
Fred Weasley hadn’t spoken to you in days. You had messed up—badly. He’d seen your death mark. Being with you was already a risk to him, you being a Slytherin and all, but to have the Death Mark burned into your skin? That was too much for him. Thankfully he didn’t tell anyone about it and kept it to himself. You only got it cause your parents had forced it onto you. You didn’t necessarily have a choice. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the damage was done, and now Fred was angry. No, angry was an understatement; he was furious, betrayed, and the sting of his silence cut deeper than any words could.
Standing under the bleachers, you watched Fred’s red hair dart in and out of view as he prepared for the match. The rain was coming down harder now, the pitch turning into a slick expanse of mud and water. Players ran back and forth, but all you could see was him, determinedly ignoring your presence as he readied his broom.
You pulled your cloak tighter around you, trying to muster the courage to do what you came here for. Fred was stubborn, and it wasn’t in his nature to forgive easily, especially when hurt by those he trusted. But you couldn’t let things end like this. You couldn’t let him take off into the sky with this weight between you.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped out from the shadows and onto the rain-slicked grass. The cold stung your cheeks, and the wind whipped your hair wildly around your face. You pushed forward, each step heavy with the gravity of what you were about to do.
“Fred!” you called, your voice barely carrying over the noise of the storm. He didn’t turn. You tried again, louder this time, your voice cracking as you fought against the wind. “Fred, please!”
He paused, shoulders tensing, but still didn’t turn around. The other players were mounting their brooms, readying for takeoff, but Fred just stood there, staring straight ahead. His knuckles were white as he gripped his broom, and for a moment, you feared he wouldn’t even acknowledge you.
“Fred, I’m sorry!” you shouted, finally reaching him. The rain pounded against the earth, each drop feeling like a reprimand from the skies above. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to what?” Fred’s voice was cold, cutting through the noise like a blade. He turned to face you, his expression hardened. The Fred you knew, the one with the easy smile and mischievous twinkle in his eyes, was nowhere to be found. “Didn’t mean to betray us? Didn’t mean to agree to put that mark on your arm? Didn’t mean to lie to me for 3 years?”
His words hit like a punch to the gut. You had no defense, no excuse that would make this right. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the way he couldn’t even look at you without a flicker of pain crossing his face. And it was all your fault.
“I know I messed up,” you said, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please, Fred, I can’t lose you. Not like this.”
Fred looked at you, rain dripping down his face, mingling with the frustration in his eyes. For a moment, there was something else there—something softer, something that made your heart leap with a sliver of hope. But then he glanced down at your arm covered in your cloak and it was gone, replaced by the mask of anger he had worn since everything fell apart.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not just about the mark. It’s about trust. I thought you knew you could trust me and I could trust you. I thought you were on our side. I thought you were different than half the other Slytherins here. And now—”
Fred’s voice wavered, a flash of vulnerability cracking through the anger. He took a shaky breath, gripping his broom as though it were the only thing anchoring him in the storm.
“And now,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion, “I don’t even know if I can look at you without feeling… without remembering how easily you broke that trust. You have no idea what it’s like to have the one person you care about the most let you down like that.”
You swallowed hard, each word twisting like a knife in your chest. This wasn’t just anger; this was heartbreak. The realization settled in, heavy and cold like the rain soaking through your clothes.
“I do know,” you said quietly, your voice almost lost to the storm. “Fred, you have to believe me. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. I would do anything to take it back, to make things right.”
Fred stared at you, the rain running in rivulets down his face. His expression was conflicted—anger, sadness, and something else flickering behind his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again, shaking his head like he was trying to shake off the pain.
“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t just fix this with an apology.”
You stepped closer, desperate to close the chasm that had opened between you. “Fred, I know it’s not enough, but I’m not giving up on you. I’m not giving up on us. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please… just tell me what to do.”
For a moment, Fred just looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to find something in your eyes that would make everything okay. You reached out, gently touching his arm, hoping that the connection, however slight, might bridge the gap between you. Fred flinched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away, his eyes locked onto yours.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said finally, his voice strained. “I want to believe you. I want to trust you again, but… how am I supposed to forget? How am I supposed to act like it doesn’t hurt every time I look at you?”
Your heart ached at his words, at the raw honesty of his pain. The rain was relentless, soaking you both to the bone, but you barely noticed. All you could see was Fred—the hurt in his eyes, the tremor in his voice. You wished you could just take it all back, erase the mistakes and start over. But you couldn’t. All you had were your words and the hope that somehow, they might be enough.
“I’m not asking you to forget,” you said softly. “I’m asking you to give me a chance to earn your trust back. To show you that I’m still the person you believed in, that I’m still the person who cares about you more than anything.”
Fred looked at you, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening on his broom. The storm roared around you, the wind howling as if the sky itself was raging at the injustice of it all. And then, finally, Fred took a deep breath, his gaze softening just a fraction.
“I need time,” he said, his voice barely audible over the wind. “I don’t know if I can just let this go. But… maybe I can try. Maybe.”
It wasn’t the forgiveness you’d hoped for, but it was something—a flicker of hope in the midst of the storm. You nodded, tears mingling with the rain on your cheeks, grateful for even the smallest chance to make things right.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Fred. I promise.”
Fred nodded, still looking conflicted, but he didn’t pull away as you squeezed his arm gently. He glanced up at the sky, the rain still pouring down in sheets, and then back at you. For the first time in days, there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes, a small, hesitant glimmer of the Fred you knew and loved.
“We’ll see,” he said quietly, before mounting his broom and kicking off into the sky.
You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful, knowing that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But for Fred—for the chance to make things right—you were willing to weather any storm.
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