I'll cry if I want to ~ Fred Weasley fanfiction
After not being asked by Fred to the Yule Ball, you go with Roger Davis, but he leaves you at the beginning of the night until things change.
Pairing: Fred Weasley + reader
warnings: being left at the yule ball, crying, nothing else, but lmk
word count: 1700
Requests are open, just be sure to follow the request guidelines.<3.
The faint music coming from the Great Hall only weighs down my heart as I listen to it. The music is jaunty and lively, I can hear the chatter of everyone talking and even worse, the laughter. The stairs are cold and dark, only illuminated by the light coming from inside the hall. My dress falls on the stairs below me and I rest my head on my hand, and my elbow on my knee.
Consistently, someone would come out from inside the ball and talk about how wonderous the party is and how beautiful the decorations are. I haven’t gone inside. I couldn’t go inside. Not while he’s inside having the time of his life with someone other than me, both of them having their worlds redefined.
“Why aren’t you inside?” Hermione asks me, slumping down on the steps beside me, kicking her shoes off. I tilt my head towards her and I shrug. The truth burns my chest but at least it doesn’t seem like I’m the only one dismayed. I say, “I don’t have anyone to go with.”
“Aren’t you going with Fred?” She says, sitting next to me on the steps, and I purse my lips. I wanted to go with Fred, but he didn’t seem to want the same thing. I look down at my dress, the edges no doubt getting covered with dust from the stairs, it’s a shame that I wasted such a dress on a night like this. I remind her, “Fred asked Angelina, remember?”
She nods her head, she was there afterall, when Fred decided to ask Angelina to the Yule Ball, in front of possibly half of Gryffindor house while we were trying to focus on our school work with Snape lurking behind us. Unlike Hermione, I didn’t finish my work fast enough to be able to leave after the event happened, I had to stay and mess up my essay because I was too busy thinking about the both of them dancing the night away.
“I can hardly believe that no one asked you out,” she says, trying to distract from her own problems, but I can see her eyes turn glossy. If talking about myself helps her take her mind off things, then I’ll do it. I swallow my pride.
“Roger Davis asked me,” I mumble quietly. Hermione's head jerks towards me, almost so appalled that she reaches her hand up and clutches the neckline of her dress. She says loudly, “Roger Davis!”
A few people around us turn to look at us in suspicion. More and more people gather outside the hall to either kiss their dates goodnight or to cry because of them. What a disastrous night this is. Hermione shyed away and she repeated again this time, quietly while she shuffled closer to me, “Roger Davis, but he’s awful, Birdie!”
“Yes, I know,” I say, mournfully, ignoring the nickname that was made popular by none other than Fred himself. Roger Davis was an arrogant slime. He cheated when he could on both tests and women, but most importantly, he cheats during Quidditch and that made him the perfect prospect to irritate Fred. I explain, “I knew he’d make Fred jealous.”
“That’s the most stupid reason I ever heard someone agree to date someone else for,” Hermione says, chest puffed out and her noise in the air. She may be dressed like a lady right now, but she’s still a fourteen year old girl. The plan seemed fool-proof, so I might as well go put on some bells on my head, and wear large pointed shoes. I say, “You’ll understand someday, Hermione.”
I lift my hands to my face and rub, not at all gently, the makeup feels heavy on my face now, though there’s a tinge of sadness in me to waste the time and effort spent to make sure I looked extra good tonight. I thought it made sense if Fred asked me, ever since the ball was announced, he’d been alluding to it. The flirtations winks and the lingering hands, though I can imagine the boundaries dissolving when someone starts to like their friend.
“Why aren’t you dancing with him now?”
Another thing about Davis is that he’s a Ravenclaw and he isn’t anything if not smart. That’s how he got away with most of the things that he does. The second I reached the bottom of these stairs, it only took one look at Fred before he knew exactly what this was. Fred didn’t even wave to me before he ran to the Great Hall, only sparing Davis a glare. I say, “He preferred to dance with Fleur Delacour.”
She nods her head and places her hand on mine. My feet ache yearning to dance the way they should be when they aren’t, it only stings more when I hear the sound of the footsteps moving in unison inside during a slow dance. I start to ask Hermione about her troubles; why she isn’t with Viktor Krum? Why I just saw her screaming and Ron and Harry (mostly Ron)? The heartfelt talk is disrupted when someone looms over us both, blocking the few rays illuminating from the party going on.
He’s standing at the last step of the stairs, looking like something out of a dream, the world around him covered in a haze of stardust. He truly was a vision. I cling my top teeth and bottom teeth together, forcing my mouth closed, so it doesn’t fall open in awe. He looks completely different in his suit. He says, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Hermione looks between Fred and I and then she stands. She exclaims some nonsense excuse, “I need to go find my heels,” nevermind that she has them in her hands as she skitters away. Fred takes her place beside me on the stairs, just farther.
“I saw Davis dancing with Delacour,” he mentions, twiddling with his fingers like he didn’t want to mention it at all. My cheeks heat up with embarrassment. I didn’t manage to get his jealousy but I managed to get his pity. I turn my head away from him, wanting to curl up and die.
“You should go, you don’t want to leave Angelina waiting,” I say, looking back at the entrance of the Great Hall that’s flashing with a pastel blue snowy light as the rock song shifts to a more slow song. I doubt that Angelina would want to miss that. Fred leans forward into my line of sight, head tilting to the side, his shaggy hair framing his face perfectly. I hope that tomorrow doesn’t hurt like today does.
“I don’t think Angelina would mind, she’s dancing with George,” he says, and I frown thinking of George’s own date. I ask, “What about Alicia?”
“She’s sick, she wasn’t able to come,” he explains, I didn’t even hear about Alicia getting sick. There’s no reason for me to be sitting on the stairs wallowing when I could be taking care of my friend. I rise, the fabric of my dress falling just below my ankles, protected from the dirty floor by my heels.
“I should go make sure she’s okay,” I turn and begin to climb the stairs. Fred stops me, standing holding me in place by my wrist even when I’m two steps away. My heart imitating a hummingbird’s wings.
“Stay.”
If he wanted me to stay then he should’ve asked me to the ball instead. So many opportunities squandered over the last month; at every meal, at every class, after every Quidditch practice, and all the moments shared together. He clears his throat. He drops my hand and he goes up the two steps. Now, he’s towing over me again. He admits, “I should’ve asked you.”
It stood my heart in its tracks and lodged my breath in my throat. He seems to have regained some sense. I say nothing. He heaves before repeating, “I should have asked you…I was…scared.”
I find that hard to believe. I’ve seen him face, irritate and escape trolls, and I watched him as he tried to put his name in the goblet for this forsaken competition. He even faced Mrs. Weasley while she’s angry, the scariest of all. I scoff, “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. Everything is different when it’s with you,” my cheeks flush again, this time far from embarrassed. He pushes a piece of a strand of my hair that fell from my updo behind my shoulder. He pushes the lapels of his suit down, adjusting the color, the heat rising up his neck noticeable when he does. He continues, “I saw the risk and I-I folded.”
He’s talking slowly, his voice gentle and low. Unlike the usual loud and confident tone that he takes. It makes my palms sweat. The risk, the risk, the years of friendship thrown away if there’s a mistake in the relationship. He sighs, “When I saw you with Davis, I couldn’t take it.”
“I haven’t danced to a single song yet, couldn’t if it wasn’t with you,” he says. Fred takes both my hands in his and he pleads, “Please, spend the rest of the night with me, I’ve already made us waste enough time.”
When did he learn to talk that way? It’s so…swoony. Then the piece de resistance, he smiles. It’s been years and his smile still hasn’t lost its powers. I mirror his expression and squeeze his hand. I cave in, “It would be a shame to waste this dress. And my hair also looks pretty good.”
“You look beautiful,” he echoes, and I roll my eyes, fondly. The song changes from inside the Great Hall back to an upbeat song. Fred recognises the song instantly, he beams and even bounces a little. Two years ago, he spent the entire summer only listening to his song day and night. He exclaims, “That’s bloody brilliant! I love this song.”
He tugs me towards the Great Hall or more like sprints actually. I laugh as I steady myself running down the stairs, and laugh again as I enter the winter wonderland and prepare myself for what could possibly be one of the best nights of my life. I just have to remember to tell Hermione that jealousy does work.
a/n: I hope you enjoyed reading! If you think this didn’t completely suck, feel free to check out my other masterlists. You can also support the blog or buy me a coffee here.
Birdie series masterlist.
