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Rule #1

Fred Weasley x FemReader

Being best friends with Ginny Weasley was the easiest thing in the world. Or, at least, it had been at the start. The two of you had three simple rules.

#3. Always save each other a seat.

#2. Never lie to one another.

#1. Ginny’s brothers were off-limits.

It was rule #1 that you found yourself currently in contempt of. But how were you meant to know when you’d made that promise that a few years down the track everything would change?

———————————————————————

You had been best friends with Ginny Weasley for as long as you could remember.

It had started sometime in first year, when you found her crying in the girls’ bathroom after throwing a book at moaning Myrtle. You didn’t ask questions. You just sat next to her, pulled a Chocolate Frog from your bag, and said, “You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’m here.” That was the moment it began. Since then, your friendship had become a constant in both of your lives. Like the hum of the Hogwarts Express, or the steady whistle of the wind through the trees by the Black Lake.

And there were rules. Unspoken at first, but eventually written down during a sleepover at the Burrow in a notebook charmed to sparkle and float around Ginny’s room. The most sacred of them all: “Don’t fall for one of my brothers. Ever.”

You remembered the moment it was written with almost photographic clarity. Ginny had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, face twisted with frustration as she doodled angry lightning bolts in the margins.

“Honestly, it’s like every girl who’s ever spoken to me suddenly wants to be my best mate the second they lay eyes on one of them,” Ginny muttered bitterly, tossing her quill down. “Lavender started cozying up to me last year and I thought maybe she actually wanted to be friends. But no. She just wanted to ask if Ron was ‘as tall in person as he looked from across the Great Hall.’ Gross.”

You laughed back then, genuinely amused and a little horrified. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were,” Ginny huffed, brushing her hair back with a quick, irritated flick. “Then there was Marietta. She was practically joined at my hip during dinner and the whole time she was working up the courage to ask if I’d introduce her to George. George!”

“She couldn’t even pretend to care about you, could she?”

“Not for a second,” Ginny snapped. Then her expression softened as she looked at you. “That’s why I like you. You’re not here for any of that rubbish.”

Back then you had smiled and laced your pinky through hers, swearing on it. Now, whenever it was even remotely brought up (like when Angelina tried to hangout with the two of you to get a date with Fred) you had to force yourself to smile, even as your heart twisted.

You hadn’t intended to fall for one of Ginny’s brothers, but sometime in the past four years, you had. Something about Fred’s clever jokes, his chaotic grin, and the way he always found time to check in on you had chipped away at your resolve. You had been entirely helpless to the painful and slow fall into irrevocable affection for the older twin, and you had said nothing, because of the rule. Because you loved Ginny.

You remembered her smile that night, soft and genuine.

“If I ever find out someone’s only in my life to get to one of them,” she said. “I’ll never forgive them. Promise me you’ll never do that.”

“Of course,” you had sworn.

You meant it, back then. You couldn’t have predicted you would genuinely fall for one of them. And you still meant it now, in your own twisted way. You had no intention of doing anything about your feelings. Loving Fred from a distance didn’t count. Did it?

But lately it had become harder to look away. He was noticing you, and not the way he noticed everyone else. Not with the performative charm or cheeky quips he tossed around like fireworks. No, he was watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Catching your eye across the dinner table. Sitting closer than he used to, finding reasons to touch your arm when he laughed. Or maybe you were imagining it.

But you and Ginny had rules.

And you were already breaking rule #1.

———————————————————————

The Burrow was as chaotic as usual. The second you stepped through the crooked front door with Ginny, the scent of fresh bread and stewed onions wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The air was humid with the smell of summer earth and something sugary baking in the oven. A breeze drifted in from the open kitchen window, carrying laughter from the garden and the sounds of someone (probably Ron) grunting as he lugged trunks upstairs.

“Welcome home!” Molly was fussing as she grabbed each one of them by the face and planted a big kiss on their cheeks.

“Gross, mum!” The boys groaned and wiped their faces with their sleeves as they came into the house.

“My darling girls!” Molly greeted the two of you, pulling both you and Ginny into a tight hug.

“Hey, Mrs Weasley,” you greeted with a warm smile. You’d spend so much time here that the Burrow had come to feel like your second home, and the Weasleys like a second pair of parents.

“Oh, how you’ve grown up since the last time I saw you!” The stout woman patted your check affectionately, then stepped back to gesture to the already set table.

“Lunch, everyone! On the table, NOW!” Molly Weasley’s voice thundered through the house with such maternal command it could’ve made a mountain walk.

You hadn’t even had time to protest when Arthur took your trunk before you were swept up in the current of Weasley children charging into the kitchen like a herd of hippogriffs. Chairs scraped, plates clattered and elbows jabbed for better positioning. It was always a game of survival when it came to getting a good seat at the Burrow’s table.

Fred emerged from seemingly nowhere at your side, grinning like he’d just won a prize. “Well, well,” he said in that voice of his, low and amused, with just enough of a lilt to make your stomach flip. “Guess this seat’s mine, yeah?”

He reached for the chair to your left, the one you’d secretly been hoping he’d take, and yet, also dreading he would. You acted on pure instinct in panic and an act of self-preservation when you placed your hand firmly on the back of the chair before he could pull it out. “That one’s taken,” you blurted out a little too quickly.

Fred raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “By who?”

And before your mouth could catch up with your thoughts, before you could invent some excuse or redirect him to the other side of the table, Ginny shoved past Fred, bumping him with her hip. “By me, you great big git. Rule #3, remember? Now move!” she snapped cheerfully, shooting you a triumphant smile as she slid into the seat beside you.

Fred snorted, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. “Betrayed. By my own blood.”

He dragged himself to the far end of the table with a theatrical sigh, collapsing into a chair beside George. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he stole a bread roll before the basket had even hit the table, catching you looking just in time to shoot you a wink. You felt heat rise to your cheeks.

Ginny leaned over, scooping potatoes onto your plate. “Honestly, you’d think they’d learn by now that we always sit next to each other. I think he did it on purpose just to mess with us.”

You forced a laugh, stabbing at a carrot with more force than necessary. “It’s exactly the completely irritating thing he’d do,” you said weakly.

But your heart was thudding too loudly in your chest to believe it. You had wanted him to sit next to you. Just a little. You could still feel the ghost of where his arm would’ve brushed against yours. How his knee might’ve bumped yours under the table. You could imagine it far too easily. Close enough to smell the spice and smoke of his cologne, to hear every stupid joke murmured just for you.

But then you looked at Ginny, happily chatting to her mum about the drive there, glowing with sun-kissed freckles and full of trust. The guilt returned with full force, crashing like a wave over your ribs. You weren’t going to mess this up. Not this.

You promised yourself right then and there: You would stay away from Fred this summer. No matter how many times he winked at you. No matter how charming his smile was. No matter how much your hands itched to reach for his under the table.

He was Ginny’s brother. And you were Ginny’s best friend. And those two things could never, ever mix.

———————————————————————

Your first few days at the burrow passed without a problem. Ron kept to himself mostly, sending letters back and forth to Hermione and Harry in between practicing quidditch with the twins. When the twins weren’t out in the field zipping about on their broomsticks, they were locked in their room. No one quite knew what they were up to in there, except for the intermittent explosion that shook the house and earned a few lectures from Molly. Percy was off on some sort of internship at the Ministry of Magic. Which of course left you and Ginny to your own devices.

Your plan of avoiding Fred had been going splendidly. The only times you would see him were during meals, and with the buffer of the whole family present there were no issues that had arisen. He’d not tried again to steal Ginny’s chair by your side. You’d worked to memorise his and George’s schedule, knowing what times to avoid the bathroom or the kitchen for snack break. You’d even taken to using the bathroom at the latest possible time, once the house had gone uncharacteristically quiet and you knew everyone else was in bed.

Hence why you were there now. The bathroom mirror was fogged with steam from the shower someone had taken earlier. You deduced it was probably Ron, based on the trail of damp footprints leading down the hall to his bedroom. You stood at the sink in your pyjamas, brushing your teeth, the tap running low to hide in the silence.

You leaned closer to the mirror and wiped a clean patch of glass to check your reflection. Your hair was a bit of a mess from a full day of hanging about the garden. Your skin a little tinged by the sun. The dim golden light from the hallway behind you spilled in from the half-cracked door, soft and flickering like candlelight.

The door creaked further open. You flinched, mid-brush. And then you nearly choked on your toothpaste. Fred stood in the doorway, shirtless, rubbing a towel over his wild and wet hair, a pair of well-worn pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips. Water glistened on his shoulders. His freckles were more pronounced under the soft bathroom light, and his grin was…absolutely illegal.

You turned back to the sink immediately, hoping the toothpaste foam in your mouth would distract from the fact your pulse had just shot up like a firework.

“Evenin’,” he said casually, like this was completely normal.

You didn’t answer, mostly because you couldn’t speak with a mouth full of mint-flavoured panic.

Fred moved behind you, stepping inside without hesitation and reaching for a comb that sat on the bench. You could feel his presence, radiating a warmth that pulsed just inches away from your spine. The tension twisted tighter with each breath. You were practically vibrating.

“You always brush your teeth this agressively?” he asked, his voice low and amused. “Looks intense.”

You spat your toothpaste into the sink and grabbed your cup to rinse. “Just thorough,” you muttered, praying your voice didn’t sound like it was shaking.

Fred leaned on the counter beside you, one arm braced as he turned his body toward you. “Right. Very serious business, dental hygiene. Sexy stuff.”

You gave a tight, nervous laugh and tried not to look at his collarbone, or his chest, or the single drip of water trailing down his sternum. You tried. But Merlin, you were failing.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” you asked, drying your hands quickly, your eyes fixed anywhere but on him.

“I was,” Fred said, tilting his head. “But then I remembered the bathroom gets much more interesting around midnight.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He smiled, cocking a brow. “You’ve been sneaking in here late every night like you’re hiding something. Thought I’d investigate.”

“I’m brushing my teeth, Fred. Hardly a great mystery of the universe.”

He leaned a little closer, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. His voice dropped an octave, teasing but edged with something heavier. “Well, then maybe I’m the one with secrets.”

You hated that your stomach flipped. That your legs felt suddenly unsteady. That this was exactly the kind of moment you’d dreamed about for years, and yet now it was the last thing you could afford.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“And yet here you are,” he said. “Cornered. In a bathroom. With me.”

He was still smiling. But his eyes - those gorgeous hazel eyes - searched yours with something more than just mischief. There was the weight of a hopeful question in them.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Fred, put a bloody shirt on!” The moment shattered like glass.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, her eyes narrowing immediately as she took in the scene. Fred shirtless and grinning, you red-faced and stiff near the sink.

Fred didn’t move. He just glanced at Ginny over his shoulder, as if annoyed to be interrupted. “What?” he asked, unbothered.

“You’re disgusting,” she snapped, elbowing past him. “You can’t just wander around half-naked like some trollop!”

Fred looked delighted by that. “Trollop? Really, Ginny? You wound me.”

She made a face. “Honestly, you’re like a feral cat.” Then, without hesitation, she wedged herself firmly between you and Fred, standing like a barrier. Completely oblivious to the electric tension that had just been vibrating in the room.

Fred smirked at you over her shoulder, lips twitching, like he knew exactly what he’d done.

Ginny turned to you, unaware. “Ready for bed?”

You nodded mutely. Behind her, Fred gave you a lazy wink and finally retreated, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he strolled out of the room like he hadn’t just flipped your entire emotional state upside down.

Ginny looked at you and scrunched her nose. “Honestly. He’s so weird sometimes. Sorry you had to see that.”

You managed a smile, small and tight. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

But as you followed her down the hall toward the room you were sharing, your heart was still racing. Your skin still buzzed from his nearness. Your mind - the traitorous thing - kept replaying that moment when he’d leaned in, eyes soft, voice low.

And you knew then, with a certainty that made your stomach sink, that this summer was going to be really, really difficult.

———————————————————————-

It had been five days since The Bathroom Incident - a title you’d privately christened it with during your increasingly dramatic internal monologues. And for five blissful, tormenting, nerve-fraying days, Fred had been…good. No more shirtless intrusions. No surprise appearances when you were alone. No wandering conversations with too much eye contact and not enough space between your bodies.

Just casual, everyday Fred Weasley. Joking with his siblings, tinkering with George, throwing fruit across the kitchen, absolutely no more cornering you against a sink like he wanted to eat you alive.

You’d convinced yourself it was over. That he’d gotten bored of teasing you and moved on. That maybe you were in the clear.

Until this morning. You’d just woken up, sunlight stretching warm fingers across your face through the open window, when you heard it.

“We’re going into town for the Sunday market!” George’s voice rang out through the hallway. “Come on, grab your shoes!”

You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes as Ginny barged into the room already half-dressed, tying her hair up with a ribbon. “You’re coming too,” she declared, tossing your shoes toward the bed. “It’ll be us and the twins.”

Your stomach turned. Just the four of you. On a sunny day. Walking into town. All together. You, Ginny, George…and Fred.

Before you could argue, Ginny had already bolted back out of the room, mumbling something about losing her favourite jacket.

You took less than five minutes to pull on a cute outfit and brush your teeth before you waked into the hallway, trying not to look like you were internally screaming. At the bottom of the stairs, Fred was waiting.

He leaned lazily against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in a sweater rolled at the sleeves and worn jeans. Casual and comfortable has never looked so dangerous before. The second he saw you, a slow grin unfurled across his face like a cat who’d spotted a cornered mouse.

“Well, well,” he said, voice soft enough that it felt like it was just for you. “Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get you all day.”

You blinked. “What?”

He pushed off the railing and took a step closer. Close enough that you caught the familiar scent of spearmint and gunpowder. “I mean, I’ve barely seen you all summer. I was starting to worry I’d developed a contagious rash and somehow wasn’t aware.”

You folded your arms. “Maybe you have. Have you checked?”

“Oh, thoroughly. I’m in top condition.” He winked, words dripping with innuendo.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a small smile. He saw it - of course he saw it - and leaned in just a little more.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’d accuse you of hiding from me if I didn’t already know with certainty that you were.”

Your heart thudded too loudly in your chest. Before you could deliver a scathing comeback - or worse, blush - Ginny’s footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Fred stepped away with impeccable timing, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning innocently as Ginny reappeared with a cropped jacket and her hair now tied in a messy ponytail.

“All right,” she said, tossing her eyes toward Fred. “You better not make me carry everything again.”

“No promises,” he said, already leading the way out the door.

The walk into town was bright and breezy, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes. Fields blurred gold and green beside you, and wildflowers nodded gently in the tall grass. Ginny was by your side for the most part, until she got into a long conversation with George about quidditch and the two walked ahead, occasionally darting into little bursts of sibling bickering. It left you and Fred side by side more than once, though you always kept just enough space to pretend it wasn’t wanted.

The Sunday market stretched along the village square in a mismatched quilt of tents and booths. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, honeycomb, spiced nuts, and something fried you didn’t dare question. Laughter floated above the hum of shoppers and merchants calling out their deals.

You kept close to Ginny, using her as a human shield against Fred’s increasingly amused glances. The two of you stopped at a table of handmade jewellery, and your fingers drifted toward a delicate pair of crystal earrings shaped like intricate flower clusters. They caught the sunlight just right.

You picked one up, turned the tag over to see a sum that was too much. It wasn’t completely outrageous like the necklace Ginny had peered at with a pigeon’s-egg-sized stone, but it was more than you could justify. You set them down gently.

“Cute,” Ginny said, glancing over your shoulder. “But you’d probably lose them in, like, three days.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Ginny laughed and moved to the next booth, where a ridiculous plaid hat caught her eye. George followed, already pretending to model one for her.

And suddenly, it was just you and Fred again. You glanced up. He was already there, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on yours. He nodded toward the earrings. “Those were nice on you.”

You blinked. “I didn’t try them on.”

“I imagined them on you,” he said easily, his voice low and teasing. “I have an excellent imagination. In fact, I can picture anyone, anywhere in just about any position.”

You rolled your eyes. “You really never turn it off, do you?”

He stepped closer, the crowd bustling around you like a river splitting. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with me all morning.”

You snorted. “I have not.”

Fred tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Okay. Not flirting. Actively ignoring me. Which is basically the same thing, just in reverse. It has the same effect.”

You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You’re impossible to tolerate.”

“And yet you’re still here talking to me.” He leaned in, voice dropping, “What does that say about you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but then Ginny reappeared, holding up a hat so absurdly shaped it looked like a squashed owl. “Do I look insane or fabulous?”

“Both,” George said immediately.

“Perfect,” she grinned.

Fred stepped back again, and just like that, the moment dissolved.

The walk home was slower, the sun dipping lower in the sky. You carried a small paper bag of sweets Ginny had insisted on buying, and Fred whistled absently as he kicked pebbles down the lane. You didn’t speak again, but you felt his presence the entire way.

Back at the Burrow, the house had returned to its gentle, midday hum. You’d taken a shower first, and Ginny had waited until she heard the water stop before swapping places with you. By the time you stepped out, dried off, and slipped back into your clothes, it was nearly time for afternoon tea.

You returned to Ginny’s room, searching for a brush to untangle your wet hair. And there, sitting neatly on Ginny’s bed, right where your pillow had been, was a small white box tied with a black ribbon.

Your heart stopped. You looked around like someone might leap out from the closet yelling “Gotcha!”

But no one did. You approached slowly, eyes wide, and lifted the box. Inside, tucked in soft tissue paper, were the delicate and dazzling earrings from the market. With them was a folded note in crooked handwriting: Couldn’t let them get away. Thought you might wear them next time you’re trying so desperately not to look at me. - F.

You clutched the box like it might combust in your hands. Footsteps creaked from the hallway. Ginny.

You moved fast, your heart hammering as you shoved the box into your trunk, the tissue and ribbon crumpled in your fist. You nearly tripped getting the top shut before the door opened.

Ginny strolled in, towel around her hair. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the blue shampoo bottle. I think one of the boys messed with it.”

As she unwound the towel, her usually ginger locks dropped around her shoulders in a curtain of green. You forced a smile, heart still galloping, hands still tingling.

“Oh Gin,” you said, covering your mouth, every nerve in your body on high alert. “Let’s get that fixed up. I’m sure your mum will have something to help.”

You took her by the shoulders and led her out of the room, mind still stuck on what you were leaving behind. The earrings were hidden. The note, too. Your secret was safe. Though now, you were technically at risk of breaking another rule.

#2. Never lie to one another.

———————————————————————

The kitchen of the Burrow smelled like butter, thyme, and the kind of warmth only a Weasley home could conjure. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the cooking. You stood at the counter beside Ginny, a cutting board in front of you and a particularly potent batch of onions halfway sliced beneath your trembling hands. Your eyes stung fiercely.

“I swear, I think I’m going blind,” you sniffled, blinking rapidly as tears dripped down your cheeks.

Ginny laughed, pointing her wooden spoon at you. “Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. It’s just an onion!”

“I’m not being dramatic, my eyeballs are melting—” You let out a soft, strangled laugh, wiping at your face with your sleeve and slicing again.

The two of you had been helping Molly for the past hour, peeling vegetables, shelling peas, and listening to Celestina Warbeck crooning softly from the wireless. The afternoon sun cast long strips of light across the warped wooden table, and despite the heat and chaos of the kitchen, it was cozy. Familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it had been, until the back door suddenly burst open with a crash.

“—AND HE SCORES! WHAT A MOVE FROM THE LEGENDARY BEATER!”

“OH, SHUT IT, YOU OVERGROWN GNOME—”

Fred and George exploded into the kitchen like a pair of firecrackers, both sweaty and flushed, yelling in Quidditch commentator voices as they barrelled through the doorway. George had a quaffle tucked under one arm. Fred was lunging for it like a seeker gone mad.

Molly spun around from the stove. “Boys! Absolutely not! Not in my kitchen!”

But it was too late. Fred dodged Ginny, slipped on the corner rug, and stumbled directly into you. You barely had time to gasp before the impact jolted your arm. The knife in your hand slipped.

“OW! bloody hell!” You recoiled instinctively, dropping the knife and clutching your hand. Blood was already rising fast to the surface of your finger, running in a hot, red line down your palm and onto the floor.

“WHAT did I just say?!” Molly’s voice could’ve curdled milk.

“Fred!” Ginny shouted furiously. “You idiot!”

“Oh, shit, you’re crying!” Fred’s eyes widened as he saw your tear-streaked cheeks and the blood on your hand.

You glared at him, though your vision was blurry. “It’s the onions, you twat!”

But your voice trembled. From the pain. From the sheer overwhelming chaos of it all. And - fine - maybe from Fred being way too close again.

Fred looked properly horrified now. “Merlin, I didn’t mean to. I was just…George was…right, c’mere. I’ve got something that’ll help. C’mon.”

Before you could protest, he was already gently but insistently guiding you toward the stairs, his hand warm on your back. You wrapped a kitchen towel around your bleeding finger, trying to keep the pressure steady as you glanced back at Ginny.

“Go, go,” she called, exasperated. “Before you bleed into the mashed potatoes.”

George had dropped the quaffle and was already picking up the knife from the floor, apologizing to Molly in the most unconvincing tone possible.

You followed Fred up the stairs, your heart pounding harder with every creak of the steps. You told yourself it was just because of the injury. The adrenaline. The pain. Not because you were heading into Fred Weasley’s bedroom for the first time.

The door clicked open, and he stepped aside to let you in.

His room smelled faintly of parchment, broom polish, and something warm and boyish and entirely him. It was surprisingly neat for a Weasley. Trunks were stacked in a corner, shelves cluttered with joke prototypes, and Quidditch posters pinned crookedly across the walls. There was a pair of socks hanging off the end of his bedpost. A sweater crumpled on the floor. But it felt lived in, personal. Like stepping into a corner of his world you were never supposed to see.

You froze awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can sit,” Fred said, waving a hand at the bed. “I promise my mattress doesn’t bite.”

You managed a weak laugh and perched on the edge, careful to keep your hands to yourself.

He crouched in front of a trunk and rummaged around. “Right, here. We just finished a batch of this last week. Might sting, but it works miracles.” He pulled out a small tin with a garish orange and purple sticker slapped across it.

You squinted at the label. “WWW? What’s that stand for? ‘Weasley’s Weakest Work’?”

Fred grinned, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Close. Thirty-three percent correct, actually. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George and I, we’re starting a joke shop. After Hogwarts.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, pride sneaking into his voice. “We’ve been designing products for years. We’ve got a whole trunk full of prototypes. Salves, candies, decoy spell crap. You’d love it. You’re basically our ideal test subject - easily injured and highly opinionated.”

“Charming,” You snorted. “So is that what the hexed shampoo fiasco was all about? Ginny was furious. Her hair was green for days.”

“No, that one was just for fun,” Fred sat beside you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm. He gently peeled the blood-soaked towel from your hand, and you hissed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly soft. He dipped his fingers into the tin and dabbed the salve onto your cut.

It was cool and tingly and smelt like peppermint. Within seconds, the pain dulled, and you watched in shock as the raw skin knitted itself closed.

Your mouth fell open. “That’s…actually brilliant.”

“I know,” he said smugly, wrapping a thin bandage around your finger. “And, don’t worry. It won’t scar. Just reapply twice a day.”

“How are you not rolling in money already?”

He laughed and you smiled, until you realised you were still holding hands. Neither of you moved. And the silence that settled between you wasn’t casual anymore. It buzzed. Tense and breathless.

Fred’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his thumb unconsciously brushing over the inside of your wrist. “Why’ve you been avoiding me?”

You blinked. “I haven’t.”

He tilted his head. “You have. You’ve been dodging me like I’ve got dragon pox. Why?”

You tried to smile. To brush it off. “Maybe I just don’t like you, Fred.”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious now. “Or maybe it’s the opposite.”

Your breath hitched. He was so close you could see the golden flecks in his eyes. Count each of the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose

Before you could answer - before you even knew how to answer - the door burst open.

George stood there, eyebrows raised. “Alright, you two, break it up. Dinner’s ready. And Mum’s not in the mood to wait.”

You yanked your hand back, your face going hot.

Fred sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Cheers, George. Great timing.”

George grinned knowingly and stepped aside. You stood quickly, muttering a thanks under your breath and rushing out the door, heart hammering, head spinning.

This summer was going to ruin you. And you finding it a lot harder to mind at all.

———————————————————————

The attic smelled like dust and old wood, warmed faintly by the day’s leftover sun and lit only by a string of enchanted fairy lights that twinkled like stars overhead. The ghoul in the corner moaned softly to itself, chewing on what remained of Fred and George’s bribe - a sticky handful of Drooble’s gum and a crumpled chocolate frog box. For now, it was satisfied. Mostly.

When you climbed through the attic hatch behind Ginny, the stale air hit your face like a wave. Ron, Fred, and George were already sprawled across the mismatched rugs and floor cushions in a circle, a deck of enchanted cards floating lazily in the center.

“There you are,” Fred said as you and Ginny slid the hatch shut behind you. His eyes flicked to yours briefly and he smirked like he had been waiting specifically for you.

You tried not to react, though your stomach was already betraying you with its little flip. He looked far too smug for someone sitting crisscross in moth-eaten socks and a Quidditch tee.

“About time,” George chimed.

“Don’t push it,” Ginny said, elbowing her brother before tossing a pillow to the ground and flopping down.

You settled in beside her, your knees brushing the woven edge of the rug, directly across from Fred. Unfortunately, he was watching you. Still. And you knew he hadn’t stopped.

The bottle of firewhisky came out shortly after. Fred uncorked it with a flourish, holding it up like it was some ancient treasure.

“Compliments of the cabinet behind Dad’s broom collection,” he announced.

Ginny laughed. “Mum’s going to have your head if she finds out.”

“She won’t,” George assured her, “unless someone blabs.”

“Ron,” said everyone at once, and Ron flushed beet red.

The bottle made its way around the circle, and eventually it landed in your hands. You hesitated only a moment before lifting it to your lips. The whisky burned hot, sharp, and smoky as it slid down your throat. You exhaled, eyes watering slightly.

“Easy,” Fred said from across the circle. “Don’t want to fall asleep before the game starts.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, and passed the bottle back, straight to Fred. His hand brushed yours as he took the bottle from your grip. But instead of drinking right away, he rotated it slowly and deliberately in his hand, fingers lingering around the mouth of the bottle. Then he placed his mouth right over the spot your lips had touched and drank without breaking eye contact.

The burn in your throat came back tenfold, but for a completely different reason.

He licked a drop from his bottom lip and grinned. “Tastes better this way.”

Your breath caught. Ginny, completely oblivious, was already giggling at something George said. The cards were floating again, but your world had narrowed to that lazy, firewhisky-laced smirk and the way Fred’s eyes lingered just a beat too long.

Goosebumps erupted down your arms.

The moment passed too quickly. You tried to pretend it hadn’t affected you, that you weren’t wondering what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to feel that heat not through shared glass, but skin.

The shuffled deck split evenly amongst them and a chaotic, barely-rule-following game of Exploding Snap ensued. There were chips of lightning, minor burns, and raucous laughter as the ghoul muttered irritably in its corner. A slightly scorched card flew past Ginny’s head and she ducked with a cackle.

Eventually, the ghoul grew bored. With a loud metallic CLANG, it started knocking on the pipes behind it, clearly unhappy that its stash of goodies had run out.

“Right, time to clear out,” George said, already grabbing the cards and stuffing them into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

“I’ll bring more sweets tomorrow,” Fred muttered toward the ghoul, who let out a pitiful moan in reply.

George and Ginny were the first down the hatch. You were about to follow when Ron knocked over an old crate, sending it crashing into a pile of dusty cauldrons.

“Shit,” Fred hissed. You all froze.

Footsteps echoed below. Heavy ones. Then the creak of a bedroom door.

“Mum,” George whispered, eyes wide. “And Dad.”

There was no time to think. There was only enough time for Ron to jump down before George scrambled to shut the attic hatch. Ginny looked back at you from below.

“We’ll come get you when it’s safe,” she whispered, and then, click. The hatch was sealed.

You and Fred were completely alone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft flickers of the fairy lights and the distant, irritable tapping of the ghoul’s fingernails on wood.

Fred let out a breath. “Well, I guess we’re trapped.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous exhale. He held up the bottle of firewhisky. “Still got this. Want to play truth or dare while we wait?”

You tilted your head. “Really? That’s what we’re doing?”

“We’ve got time. And no escape.” He patted the floor beside him.

Despite your instincts yelling at you not to agree, you sat. Not too close, but close enough to catch the cinnamon-heat smell of him, firewhisky and warmth.

“Fine. But I go first,” you said. “Truth or dare?”

He leaned in, elbow resting on one knee, still holding the bottle between two fingers. “Dare,” he replied, too fast.

You rolled your eyes. “Predictable.”

Fred raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you said, drawing your knees up, “you’re always the first to take risks. Always the showman. But when it comes to being genuine? You flinch.”

A beat of silence. Fred’s smile dropped an inch. Not gone, just softened. “You think I can’t be genuine?”

You shrugged, heart hammering. “Prove me wrong, then. Pick truth.”

“Fine,” he said. “Ask me a truth.”

You studied him. The freckles, the messy hair, the too-confident posture covering something far more careful underneath. “Why haven’t you told anyone about the joke shop?”

That made him pause. The flicker in his eyes changed, turning sharper. More focused.

Finally, Fred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because Mum thinks it’s a waste of time. Childish. She wants us to join the Ministry. Be ‘respectable’ like dad. But I don’t want that. George doesn’t either. This—” He held up the firewhisky like it was part of the dream. “—this is the only thing I’ve ever felt is really mine.”

Your chest swelled at the honesty. “I think it’s brilliant,” you said quietly.

He looked at you, something unreadable softening his features. Then he smirked again. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

You panicked. “Truth.”

“Do you like anyone?”

Your mouth went dry. “Yes.”

His eyes glittered. “Who?”

“That wasn’t your question,” you shot back quickly, hiding your fluster behind a smirk of your own.

Fred chuckled. “Alright. Touché.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Truth or dare.”

He yawned dramatically. “Truth. And see, I didn’t even flinch.”

“Are the rumors true about you and Angelina Johnson?” you asked, voice just slightly sharper than intended.

Fred let out a bark of laughter. “What? No. That wasn’t me.”

You raised a skeptical brow.

“It was George,” he said, dead serious. “They got caught snogging in the common room, and everyone assumed it was me since I took her to the Yule Ball.”

You blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Yep. She’s more into sensative gits than charming ones, apparently.” The air between them grew charged. Thicker. He sat up straighter. “Truth or dare?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then answered, “Truth.”

He leaned closer. “Who do you fancy?”

Your stomach twisted, pulse thudding loud in your ears. “I change my mind,” you blurted. “Dare.”

He grinned like he’d won. “Thought you might. In that case…I dare you to kiss me.”

The world stopped.

“I’ll take a drink instead.” You offered, reaching for the bottle.

Fred turned the firewhisky upside down and a single drop ran from the lip of the bottle.“We’re out.” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “What a shame.”

You were frozen in place, mind trying to come up with a fourth option that didn’t seem to exist.

Then, slowly - so slowly - he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair gently behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the edge of your earring - the ones he had bought you from the market. You watched him realise it, watched his lips twitch upward.

“These suit you,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. He was so close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the faint red in his lashes, the faint smell of firewhisky and citrus and boyish heat.

Your cheeks burned. The world felt like it was tilting slightly sideways.

Fred said softly. “All you have to do is give in.”

You wanted to. Oh Merlin, you wanted to. Your lips parted. Your eyes flicked to his. But then the attic hatch creaked open.

“Oi,” George called, voice echoing. “Coast is clear.”

You jumped apart like lightning had struck. Your skin still buzzed where his hand had touched you.

Fred stood slowly, offering you a hand. You took it before you could think better of it.

Nothing had happened. But it had almost happened. And you didn’t think you’d ever stop thinking about that almost.

Neither of you said a word on the way down the ladder. But your ears were still ringing, and yu couldn’t shake the ghost of his voice murmuring, ‘All you have to do is give in.’

———————————————————————

You never usually woke up this early, but sleep had been impossible after last night.

The attic. The firewhisky. His voice, low and teasing, asking if you fancied someone. The way he dared you to kiss him, and the way your body had wanted to obey more than it ever had anyone. You’d never felt anything like that before. That tightrope between longing and fear, between want and wariness. Between what you craved and what you shouldn’t want.

You’d almost done it. Almost leaned in. Almost let yourself fall.

The early morning air was soft against your skin as you walked through the garden behind the Burrow. The grass was cool and damp with dew, the sky still tinted with pale grey and lavender. There was a hush to the world here, like it was holding its breath, just like you were.

You moved slowly between the rows of wildflowers and gnarled trees, trying to clear your head. But all you could think about was him - the fire in his eyes, the way his gaze flicked to your mouth, the smell of firewhisky.

You shook your head, willing the memory away, when a low voice broke through the quiet. “What are you thinking about?”

You nearly leapt out of your skin. “Bloody hell—” you gasped, spinning around. But before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, warm and strong. His hand.

“Shhh! It’s just me,” Fred said, his voice low and urgent as he pulled you further into the field.

You struggled instinctively, swatting at his arm until you were both well out of view of the house. He released you the second you were far enough away, and you whipped around, shoving his chest hard.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” you hissed, your heart thundering in your chest.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was tension under the smirk. “I needed to talk to you. Alone. And you’re a lot harder to pin down these days.”

You crossed your arms. “So you thought sneaking up on me and dragging me into a field was the best option?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You glared, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you catch yourself. “What do you want, Fred?”

He exhaled, the teasing edge dropping as he takes a step closer. “Last night. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Your throat went dry. “We’re not playing truth or dare anymore. I don’t have to answer that.”

“I’m not playing either,” he said. His voice was low now, and earnest. And he was closer. You could smell him again - cinnamon and something warm and boyish, still clinging to his skin.

He stepped forward again and gently took your arm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. It sent a flicker of heat up your spine.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” he confessed. “So why didn’t you?”

You swallowed thickly, knowing this was a dangerous game. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Maybe not. But I think I deserve one.”

You stayed silent, your heart in your throat, body humming like live wire. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist.

“You want to know what I think?” he asked, and you looked up at him, caught in that impossible gaze. “I think you’re just as interested in me as I am in you. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth, but your voice barely came out. “You’re wrong.”

It was shaky. Unconvincing. Pathetic.

Fred lifted a brow, unimpressed. He leaned in until you could feel his breath brush your cheek. “No, I’m not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You couldn’t. Your whole body was screaming to close the distance, to surrender.

“Why won’t you just say it?” he whispered. “I’m standing right here, telling you that I…” His voice faltered for the first time, softens. Vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.“I care about you. I want you. I have for a while now.”

It hit you like a punch to the ribs. The tenderness, the honesty in his voice. Your chest tightened. “I do too,” you admitted, your voice betraying you. “But I shouldn’t.”

Fred frowned, still not understanding what was holding you back. “Why not?”

“Because of Ginny,” you said, the words ripping from your mouth. “Because she’s my best friend. Because I made a promise. Rule number one. Her brothers are off-limits.”

Fred blinked, then let out a sharp breath and laughed under it, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you kidding? That’s what’s stopping you?”

“It matters.”

“Not to me,” he said, stepping closer, impossibly close now. “And Ginny doesn’t have to know.”

Your breath stilled. “Fred…”

“All you have to do,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers grazing the earring he gave you, “is give in.”

You shivered as his thumb traced the shell of your ear. His touch was so soft, so gentle, it was almost unbearable. You should have pulled away. You knew that.

But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in. Just the smallest tilt of your chin. Just enough. But that’s all he needed.

Fred cupped your face in both hands and kissed you. It was everything you imagined and more. It was hungry and hesitant all at once. Warm and desperate, like you’d both been waiting too long. His lips melded into yours like he’d somehow already memorised the shape, and you melted into him without thinking.

The world fell away. There was only the sun-drenched field, the soft birdsong in the trees, and his hands anchoring you like he never wanted to let go.

And for a single, breathless moment, you didn’t want him to.

———————————————————————

The grass was still wet with dew as you and Fred made your way back to the Burrow, your fingers entwined with his, warm and certain despite the slight chill in the air. The morning was quiet. Hushed and golden in a way that made it feel like the world had agreed to keep your secret, if only for a little while.

You couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could he.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you murmured, voice still breathless from the high of it - of him.

Fred glanced sideways at you, that lopsided grin tugging at his lips, his eyes still lazy with affection. “I can,” he said simply. “Been a long time coming, don’t you think?”

Your heart fluttered helplessly. “Have you really felt like this for that long?”

Fred nodded, squeezing your hand. “Since you called me insufferable for making that potion explode in the common room. You had ink on your cheek and told me I was going to fail out of Hogwarts.”

You laughed, a quiet sound that felt like summer. “That was third year.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the way your hands fit together so naturally, like they’d always belonged there. “I wish it didn’t feel so complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond right away. You just walked with him, each step soft and heavy all at once, and the closer you got to the crooked silhouette of the Burrow, the heavier your chest became.

As the back door came into view, you felt Fred’s fingers twitch against yours. You both knew what had to happen. You dropped his hand, carefully, reluctantly. Like letting go of a lifeline.

You reached the back door first and stepped inside.

Ginny was at the kitchen table, flipping through the Prophet, but her eyes flicked up the moment she heard the creak of the floorboards. They landed on you. Then on Fred. Then back to you.

She looked suspicious. “Where were you two?” she asked, casual, but not really.

You didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered too long on the space between your hands. Your stomach twisted.

“I, uh…I couldn’t sleep,” you said quickly. “Went for a walk.” You shrugged as if it meant nothing. “Fred must’ve had the same idea.”

There was a beat of silence. The paper in Ginny’s hands crackled as she slowly turned the page. Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Uh huh,” she said, noncommittal. Then she looked back down at the paper.

You forced a laugh and stepped past her into the kitchen, your heart thudding wildly as Fred moved behind you without a word. You felt his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken questions. Ones you didn’t want to answer.

Because now it wasn’t just Rule #1 you’d broken. You’d lied to her face.

Rule #2. Never lie to one another.

You told yourself it was just a little white lie. A protective one. A harmless one. But it didn’t feel harmless. It felt like the beginning of something you couldn’t take back.

———————————————————————

You’d spent the whole day glued to Ginny’s side. It wasn’t like she noticed. She just thought you were in a good mood, maybe a little extra chatty, a little too agreeable. But every time she laughed, or looped her arm through yours, or offered you a bite of the plum she was eating on the porch swing, your stomach twisted tighter and tighter.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know what you’d done that morning. That you’d walked into the garden one person and come out another. That Fred had kissed you like he meant it. And worse, that you had kissed him back.

Worse still: you had liked it. You had wanted it.

And now, you couldn’t look Ginny in the eye without feeling like your whole skin was buzzing with guilt.

So you stuck close. You did the dishes with her. Helped her weed the vegetable patch. Laughed too hard when she told you that joke about Seamus Finnigan and the exploding butterbeer. You didn’t so much as glance in Fred’s direction during dinner, even though you could feel him looking.

It was late now. Everyone had gone to bed. You were brushing your teeth with heavy limbs and hollow thoughts, the kind that came from trying too hard to act normal. Your eyes were tired. Your mouth still ached faintly from the press of his.

You reached for the towel when suddenly a strong hand clamped over your mouth. You gasped, but before you could scream, you were pulled backwards, into the tiny shower room, the door snapping shut behind you with a soft click as it locked.

You shoved at the hand, heart racing, until it dropped away. You spun around, your back to the wall, and saw him.

Fred. He was slightly out of breath from the effort, hair mussed, eyes bright.

You glared at him, even as your pulse stuttered. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

He grinned like he’d been waiting all day to see you. “I missed you today,” he said simply.

And then he kissed you. There wasn’t any teasing this time. No playful smirk. Just heat. Sharp and overwhelming. His hands framed your face, and yours found his shirt and fisted there, like maybe you could anchor yourself to him and forget what you’d done.

You kissed him back like you hadn’t been thinking about anything else since sunrise. And for a moment, there was only him.

But then, your hand slid up and brushed against the chain around his neck and your chest cinched tight.

You broke the kiss, breathless. “Fred—”

He looked at you with dazed affection, lips parted. “What?”

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I feel so guilty about Ginny.”

His brows drew together slightly, but he didn’t let go of your waist. “I really don’t think she’d be upset.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know that.”

“I know she loves you,” he said. “And I know if she thought we made each other happy, she’d be glad for it. I think we should tell her.”

You felt the words land inside you like tiny, cruel promises. “No! We can’t tell her,” you said, voice firmer now. “We can’t tell anyone.”

Fred’s hands loosened. “No one?”

You nodded. “Promise me, Fred. Please. You can’t say anything.”

He looked reluctant. “Even George?”

You hesitated, because of course George already knew. He probably knew before either of you did. “Even him,” you said anyway. “If he knows anything already, then you need to make him promise not to say a word.”

Fred exhaled, then nodded. “Alright. I promise.”

You stared at him, heart thudding against your ribs. He reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and smiled gently.

You kissed him one more time. Slow and lingering and filled with the quiet ache of knowing this wasn’t going to get any easier.

And so it began. The start of something you couldn’t name yet. A kiss in the garden. A locked door. A promise made in whispers. The beginning of a secret.

———————————————————————

You’d gotten so used to hiding it, you almost started believing you could keep it hidden forever.

It became a rhythm. A dance you and Fred had perfected over the past few weeks. A series of glances and touches and moments stolen between the cracks of your everyday life. You lived for the quiet thrill of it. The way your heart leapt when he leaned in just a little too close in the hallway, or the way your pulse skittered when he brushed your pinky with his under the table at dinner.

Sometimes, he’d manage to sit beside you, his thigh pressed against yours beneath the tablecloth, warm and steady like a secret only you were allowed to keep. His hand would rest casually on his knee until it inched over to yours, fingers tapping, tracing lines across your skin no one else could see.

And when he couldn’t sit beside you, he’d claim the seat directly across, his foot nudging yours under the table until it became a full-on game of footsie that had you biting your lip and looking anywhere but at him. Every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d grin like he was proud of himself. Like he was daring you to keep playing.

You were hopelessly smitten. And for the first time in a long time, really happy.

Fred made you laugh when things felt heavy. He kissed you like he meant it, even in the briefest snatched moments. He told you you were brilliant, and brave, and beautiful in all the ways no one ever had before. And you believed him.

It was dangerous, yes. But it was yours. Until the day it wasn’t.

It was late afternoon, the sky hanging heavy with sun and heat, and most of the Weasleys were outside flying or napping or doing chores. Ginny had been reading on the porch when you told her you needed to grab something you’d forgotten in the backyard.

That was a lie. Fred had told you to meet him in the broom shed.

You slipped away quietly, past the rose bushes and around the back of the house where the old wooden shed waited beneath the trees. The door creaked as you opened it and there he was, leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you.

You didn’t even make it two steps before he pulled you in.

His kiss was warm, familiar, and tasted like the honey biscuits Molly had made for tea. You melted into it, hands sliding into his hair, your body fitting against his like it belonged there.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” he murmured against your mouth.

You smiled into the kiss. “What if someone finds us?”

“They won’t.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “George is on Ginny duty. We’ve got time.”

You were about to respond - about to tell him you’d missed him too - when the shed door flew open.

You jolted back like you’d been burned. Ginny stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, lips parted in silent disbelief. Behind her, George winced and muttered, “Shite.”

“I knew it,” Ginny said, her voice low and trembling. “I bloody knew it.”

You stared at her, frozen. Every part of you was suddenly cold.

“Ginny—” Fred started, stepping forward.

She didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were locked on yours, betrayal carved into every inch of her expression. “How long?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

George stepped forward. “Sorry mate, I tried to stop her—”

“You knew?!” she rounded on George like a storm, her fists balled at her sides. “You knew and didn’t say a word?!”

“I only found out recently,” he said, holding up his hands. “And it’s not my business—”

“Not your business?!” she shouted. “She’s my best friend, Fred is my brother, and you’re my other brother! How is this not our business?!”

“Ginny, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice soft, cracking. “I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”

“But you didn’t!” she shouted. “You lied to my face. Every single day. Do you think I’m stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No, Gin, I never—” You stepped toward her but she stepped back.

Her face was red with fury, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. “I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone.”

Fred reached for her, voice low. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t defend her. Don’t pretend this was nothing.” She looked at you again, and it nearly broke you. “You broke our rules.”

And then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the shed. George gave Fred a grim look, then jogged after her.

And just like that…it was over.

The warmth, the secrecy, the giddy, fluttering joy that had filled you so completely. It all shattered in the space of ten seconds.

Fred turned to you, hands raking through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

You were shaking. “I didn’t know what to say. I froze.”

He pulled you into his arms, held you like it might fix things. “She just needs time.”

You nodded against his chest, but your heart wasn’t so sure. Because you hadn’t just broken the rules. You’d broken Ginny’s heart.

———————————————————————

You tried for days. Tried to talk to her, to explain, to say something, but every time you got close, Ginny slipped away like smoke.

You followed her into the garden the next morning, calling her name as she picked harshly at the overgrown mint leaves along the back fence. She didn’t turn around. When you got close enough to speak, she stood up and walked inside without a word.

Later, you found her in the kitchen, arms folded tight, back resting against the counter as Molly spoke to her in a low voice. You hovered in the doorway, unsure, heart thudding against your ribs. Ginny met your eyes for a second - just one second - and then looked away like it hurt.

You tried again on the stairs, whispering her name as she passed. She didn’t even glance at you.

You hated this. You hated how silent everything felt. How your chest ached with things unsaid.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the hills on the third day and the Burrow settled into its evening hush, you were exhausted from trying. And Ginny still hadn’t said a single word.

You crept up to your shared bedroom slowly, quietly, like maybe she’d be soft again if you just approached the right way. You reached for the doorknob, turned it gently.

Locked.

You knocked. “Ginny?”

Silence.

You knocked again, a little louder this time. “Ginny, please. Can we just…can we talk? Please?”

Nothing. Not even a shuffle from the other side. You pressed your forehead to the wood, eyes stinging.

After a long minute, you sighed and padded back down the stairs. The Burrow was quiet now. Most of the lights were off, save for the soft, golden glow from the living room. You curled up on the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the worn knitted blankets, tucking your knees to your chest. This was where you’d been spending your nights lately, not wanting to bother Molly or Arthur about other sleeping arrangements.

The silence felt louder than Ginny’s anger. It echoed. You must have sat there for almost half an hour before you heard soft steps on the stairs.

Fred. His hair was a mess, like he’d been lying in bed unable to sleep too, and his eyes found yours with immediate concern.

“You okay?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.

“She locked me out again,” you murmured. “She won’t even look at me.”

Fred’s brow furrowed as he sat beside you, draping his arm over your shoulders and tugging you closer. “I’m sorry.”

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her this mad. She’s not even yelling anymore. She just…won’t see me.”

Fred let out a breath, warm against your temple. “She’ll come around. Ginny’s stubborn, but she’s not heartless. She just needs space.”

You nodded, letting the quiet settle between you again. It wasn’t the happy silence from the shed, or the secretive warmth you were used to with him. It was heavier. But his presence still helped. Still steadied you.

He rubbed circles into your arm, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You closed your eyes. “I hope so.”

And then the bottom step squeaked. You both turned.

Ginny stood in at the bottom of the staircase, holding an empty glass. Her eyes landed on you curled beside Fred. You saw the moment it hit her. The twist of disgust, the flick of her lip curling as she scoffed softly.

She didn’t say anything. Just rolled her eyes, and turned on her heel.

You threw the blanket off and jumped up. “Ginny, wait!”

She was already halfway up the stairs, empty glass still in her hand.

“Please, can we talk?” you called, following her up.

She didn’t even pause.

“Ginny—”

She reached the bedroom door, yanked it open, stepped inside. You made it just in time to catch the door slamming in your face. The sound echoed through the Burrow like a curse.

You stood there for a moment, fingers resting on the closed door, throat tight, heart cracking a little more. You didn’t even knock this time. You just turned and walked back downstairs.

Fred was waiting. His expression softened as he saw your face. “She slammed it again?”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice not to break.

He opened his arms. You walked straight into them. And for the rest of the night, the two of you stayed curled up on the couch. Not saying much. Just holding on.

———————————————————————

The next morning was unbearable. You sat between Fred and George at the breakfast table, the tension thick enough to slice with a wand. Ginny was across from you, lips pressed into a thin line, her toast untouched. She didn’t look at you. Not once. She didn’t even speak. Not to Fred. Not to George. Not even to Molly when she asked if she wanted more pumpkin juice.

Fred’s knee bumped against yours under the table. You didn’t move. But you didn’t lean into him either. You were ashamed. It hurt, having Ginny’s silence weigh this heavy on your chest.

After breakfast, Ginny stood without a word and disappeared up the stairs, her braid swinging sharply behind her. The door to her room slammed moments later.

You didn’t follow this time. You knew better now.

Fred glanced at you, eyes soft. “Come on,” he said. “Walk with me.”

You let him lead you outside into the warm morning light, the sun stretching long and lazy over the Burrow’s messy backyard. The garden was overgrown in the loveliest way. Wildflowers sprawling into vegetable patches, vines curling along the fenceposts. Fred brushed his fingers against yours as you walked, and when he caught your eye, his smile was crooked and bright like he was trying to make things better without saying it out loud.

You stopped in front of Arthur’s old work shed.

Fred pushed the door open and gestured inside with a dramatic bow. “Milady.”

You rolled your eyes. “What exactly am I meant to be admiring in here? The rusted rake or the giant spider in the corner?”

He grinned. “Neither. Just trust me.”

You stepped inside cautiously, brushing past hanging tools and stacks of flower pots, turning just in time to see him still grinning at the threshold.

“Fred?”

“Sorry,” he said in a singsong voice, and with a swift flick and a slam, the door shut. The lock turned with a click.

“FRED!” You pounded your hand on the wood. “This is not funny!”

But footsteps were already retreating. You waited - furious - for him to open it again. But the minutes passed. The shed was warm and full of the smell of soil and sun-dried wood, and you were trying to decide whether you were more angry or confused when the door creaked again.

You stood quickly, hope flickering. “Finally.”

But it wasn’t Fred. It was Ginny. She stepped in with a suspicious scowl, looking over her shoulder. “What—?”

Before she could finish the thought, slam. Click.

You both lunged for the door.

“FRED!” Ginny shrieked. “GEORGE!”

“LET US OUT!” you yelled right behind her, slamming your fists against the wood.

But their voices were muffled and maddening on the other side.

Fred called, “Not until you talk!”

George chimed in, “Properly! No hexes, no storming off!”

“Absolutely mental,” Ginny muttered, crossing her arms as she turned her back to you and marched to the far end of the shed. She plopped down on an overturned bucket, staring hard at the dirt wall.

You stayed near the door, arms folded just as tightly, silence stretching between you like a curse.

It must’ve been hours.

The heat in the shed grew heavier, sun filtering through the tiny window above. Your legs began to ache from standing, but sitting felt too vulnerable.

And then, finally, Ginny broke it. “If you wanted to snog my brother that badly, you could’ve at least warned me,” she said coolly, not looking at you.

You bristled. “It’s not just snogging.”

“Oh, please.” She barked a laugh. “You’ve been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers and I found you in a bloody broom cupboard. What else is it supposed to be?”

“It’s real, Ginny.” You stepped closer. “We actually care about each other. It’s not some fling, this means something.”

She turned sharply, fire in her eyes. “And that’s supposed to make it better?”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s worse,” she hissed. “It’s worse because you didn’t just hook up with him. You fell for him. And then you hid it from me. Lied to me. Every single time I asked where you were or what you were doing—”

“Okay, did lie,” you interrupted, chest tightening. “I did…and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” Ginny snapped. “You just didn’t want to deal with the fallout.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” your voice rose. “Look at how you’re reacting! You won’t even listen—”

“Because you went behind my back!” she shouted. “I told you everything. Every crush, every stupid thought I had about Harry or Michael, or whoever, and you were pining over my brother the whole time!”

You stared at her, stunned by how deep her voice cut.

“I just…I thought…” Her voice cracked. “I thought we were friends.”

That one hurt the most. “We are,” you said, stepping forward. “Ginny, I love you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to risk you thinking this was some betrayal. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know I did. I just…I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to fall for him. It just happened. And for years I kept it a secret because I refused to act on it so what was the point? And then it just got worse. And I hate that I made you feel like this. I never meant to. You mean too much to me.”

She looked at you for a long time. Then she sighed, sitting down heavily on a crate. “So…how long has it been happening?”

You hung your head low. “Since last week.”

She raised a brow. “Seriously? That’s…actually not as bad as I was expecting.”

You nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but he was so persistent, and…I gave in. And it’s been…honestly, it’s been amazing.”

Ginny pursed her lips. “And he’s serious?”

“Completely,” you said. “He treats me like I’m the most interesting, maddening person he’s ever met. He actually listens. And he makes me feel—” you paused, blushing a little, “—happy. Really happy.”

She let that hang in the air. Then she exhaled. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“I mean,” she shrugged, “I still think you’re an idiot. But I can live with it.”

You smiled, hesitantly at first, and then fully when Ginny rolled her eyes and opened her arms. You nearly knocked her over hugging her.

“I’m still mad,” she warned into your shoulder.

“I deserve that,” you admitted. “Completely.”

You stayed like that for a long moment. Then Fred’s voice piped up from outside, smug and singsong: “So! All good now?”

Ginny shouted, “If you ever lock me in a shed again, I swear I’ll turn your ears into flobberworms.”

George snorted. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

The door clicked open. You and Ginny stepped out, blinking in the afternoon light, shoulder to shoulder again.

Fred looked at you like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. You gave him a small smile and nodded.

All was not perfect, but it was healing. And that was enough for now.

———————————————————————

Dinner at the Burrow felt normal again.

The clinking of cutlery, the smell of roasted vegetables and gravy, the soft hum of conversation. It was like everything had fallen back into place. You sat beside Ginny again, your shoulders occasionally brushing. She’d even nudged your arm when you reached for the salt before her, and when you made a joke about Ron’s plate being stacked like a tower, she actually laughed.

It was subtle. Soft. But genuine.

From your other side, Fred was watching you with that familiar twinkle in his eye. His foot tapped yours beneath the table like it couldn’t stand not touching you, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

Molly glanced between you and Ginny, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as she set down a fresh loaf of bread. “Well,” she said, voice light, “I must say it’s nice to see you two getting along again.”

Arthur looked up from his stew and nodded. “Things were a bit frosty there for a while.”

Ginny gave a dramatic eye roll and stabbed a potato. “Yeah, well…I got over it,” she muttered, shooting you a sideways smirk.

Ron frowned and pointed his fork between the two of you. “Wait. What were you even fighting about in the first place? You’ve been whispering to each other all evening. Did I miss something?”

Fred, sitting beside you, let out a soft breath - part exasperation, part amusement. Then, without warning, he reached beneath the table and gently laced his fingers through yours. His palm was warm, calloused and familiar. It made your chest tighten, just a little.

And then, just as Ron took another bite of chicken, Fred lifted your joined hands into the air. Like some kind of victory signal.

Everyone froze. Ron choked. Ginny groaned. Molly gasped, then squealed so loudly that even the ghoul in the attic probably heard her.

“Oh! Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!” she cried, practically launching herself out of her seat. Her chair scraped back as she rushed around the table, arms outstretched like she might hug the both of you into oblivion. “You’re together?! You’re really…! Oh I’m just so happy!”

“Mum,” Fred muttered, ducking his head as you laughed and tried to brace yourself for impact. “Breathe, yeah?”

She didn’t listen. Her arms were around your shoulders in a second, pulling you into a tight, motherly hug that somehow managed to be both suffocating and comforting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said to you, eyes misty as she cupped your cheek. “I always hoped it would be you.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized how badly you’d wanted her approval until that very moment.

Across the table, Ron raised his eyebrows at Fred and gave him a slow, impressed nod. “Well, you actually pulled it off,” he said, clearly trying not to smirk. “Didn’t think you had it in you, mate.”

“I aim to surprise,” Fred said, squeezing your hand gently under the table again.

You leaned into his side, heart fluttering. Ginny rolled her eyes again, but this time…she smiled.

“To make myself clear, rules two and three are still applicable,” She pointed between the two of you with a warning glare that held to real heat behind it.

“And rule number one?” You clarified.

“To hell with rule number one. It was stupid anyway,” she shrugged, and you beamed.

———————————————————————

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