˖ ⊹winnie⊹ ࣪ ˖

lover of words ᝰ🪶

[weezyweasleys-fg]

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎.ᐟ

𐔌 . ⋮ winnie 𓏵 she 𓏵 ravenclaw <3 𓏵 infj ֹ ₊ ꒱

𐔌 . ⋮ mainly writing for the weasley twins ֹ ₊ ꒱

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི the content and literary pieces i will be posting on this blog are intended for mature audiences. users 18+ only. the translation, reuploading, and illegal use of my works, especially plagiarizing and anything related to ai is strictly prohibited.

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི i would also like to emphasize that all of my weasley twins fanfiction, headcanons, content, etc., are set in an alternate universe where hogwarts provides a system of higher education (college/university) so all my characters are above the age of 20. if not in college or university, they'd be fully consenting adults working in their respective fields. i would never write nsfw about minors, and about twincest.

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི i usually don't do part 2's of my works unless i state that i would, or if it would be highly requested.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 .ᐟ

⤷ ᛝ 𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚜 ᛝ

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ "Surprise...?" (slight nsfw)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Weasley Sandwhich (nsfw 18+)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Twin Flame (slight nsfw)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Mistletoes and Mishaps (comedy/suggestive)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Overwhelmingly Weasley (wholesome/comedy)

⤷ ᛝ𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢ᛝ

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Rowdy (friends to luvrs)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Bruises and Oozes (enemies to luvrs)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Baby Steps (enemies to luvrs)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Taste (secret affair/slight nsfw)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Like Him (angst)

⤷ ᛝ 𝙶𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢 ᛝ

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Bad Idea (slight nsfw)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Sticky Situation (enemies to slightly less enemies)

𝜗𝜚⊹‧ Eyes on the Prize (does good sportmanship exist in relationships?)

[weezyweasleys-fg]

Next fic's gonna be a long George one. Angst by yours truly ofc ;D

[weezyweasleys-fg]

like him | f.w

summary: The war ended five years ago. Why do you stare at your son like you'd seen a ghost?

c/w: aged up, character death, single parent, just pure angst and depression i'm sorry

a/n: i know, not a very good thing to post after months of inactivity, but i'm not crying alone 😔 (inspired by tyler the creator's Like Him, and Sienna by the marias)

w/c: 4.6k-ish

"One... two... three... four..."

Nothing.

Again.

One.

Two..

Three...

Four.

It had been about twenty minutes since you started listening for something. Anything.

But denial was the damndest thing in the room.

You were met with silence. The hollow, empty shell of what used to be the man that showed you how good life could be had none left in him to give.

Just eerily hummed with the already fulfilled promise of nothingness.

The very chest that used to cradle your head like it belonged there and held the heart of the man you're certain you'd marry one day, was...quiet.

You tried counting the beats of his heart like you did when you and he used to tangle your limbs by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.

It was your favorite song.

Now a fading lullaby.

No rise and fall of his torso, and no warmth to be felt when he'd wrap his arms around you like before when days were hard.

With your ear pressed firmly against his chest, the coldness of his lifeless body seeped through his clothes.

You lay sprawled across his upper body weakly, hands clinging onto the fabric of his shirt with little to no strength. Eyes unfocused, nose running, and hot tears rushed down your cheeks, staining them as though grief had engraved itself into your skin.

"I should've stayed with you..." your voice trembled as you whispered. Your grip failing you when your fingers tried tightening around the fabric of his jacket.

"I should've...I should've followed you...Maybe...Maybe I could've done something."

The words scraped over your tongue like barbed wire when they left your mouth. The thought of how things could've turned out if you had done something differently now lodged in your throat like you'd attempted to swallow a whole Bludger at the news you never got to tell him.

— 30 minutes earlier —

You hated the cold. You hated the way it made everything look dull and depressing. The way it made your skin wrinkle and dry up, and how itchy it felt.

That was until he came along.

Second year, outside Potions classroom. Both were twelve and looking for a friend. That's how it started. With frogs in one's shoes and the other being the cause of it.

In the years that followed up until the twins left to start their joke shop, many winters came, but he never left. The summers were a bit more bearable, and the cold, weirdly warmer. He was the only constant in your life. The warmth throughout the seasons.

The only constant, until...he wasn't.

You raced through the torn-down hallways after receiving word from a very distraught Cho that something terrible had happened.

Looking around as you ran, you remembered that these were the very halls that once saw eager and busy students. Professors and nurses alike used to tread through like fire was hot on their tail to get where they needed to be.

Halls that used to echo with hope, laughter, arguments, plans, and confessions, now loomed dark, littered with debris, and smelled of death.

Sequences of no's and his name slipped past your lips like a mantra, as if saying them over and over again would somehow stop your worst fear from becoming a reality.

Were the halls always this long?

It felt like an eternity before you eventually reached the entrance of The Great Hall.

It was a dreadful sight. One that certainly wouldn't leave you for a lifetime.

The injured on stretchers, the disarranged and broken tables, and debris that made up for chairs or makeshift beds.

And the deceased. Lots of them.

While you made your way through the thick crowd of both students and teachers, even those who left a long time ago and thought it worthy enough to come back and fight, you couldn't help but hold your breath.

You recognized some of the bodies.

Amongst them were the girls and boys you used to pair up with in Advanced History of Magic, or shared a small laugh with in-between classes when the room felt a little still.

You wrapped an arm over your stomach in an attempt to compose yourself. If it hadn't been for your search for Fred, you'd be as good as a weeping mess right about now. But you kept on.

The very front of the hall neared, and on the stairs leading up to the main area where the school's staff would settle in during annual dinners and events, stood a group of people with ginger locks you recognized almost immediately huddled over something. Or someone.

None of them spoke at all. It was unnerving.

Your feet took you closer. The sounds of battle from the outside faded. The voices around you muffled. And your eyes couldn't seem to peel off their backs as they shook from crying. Your vision was tunnel-like.

Your gaze flickered over to George, who looked absolutely destroyed. Eyebrows scrunched so hard the creases dug deep wrinkles into his forehead, and his lips downturned in the most devastating frown.

An uneasy feeling began to twist in your chest.

Then you looked at Ginny, whose tears streamed down her cheeks quietly. Her shoulders slumped and shook gently with her fingers clasped over her mouth.

Your jaw trembled.

The closer you got, the more you got to see. Because now there was Molly, in front of whoever they were crying over, looking as if her own legs couldn't keep supporting her own weight anymore. She had Arthur beside her—an arm wrapped securely around her waist as she clung to his shoulder like it was the only thing anchoring her from collapsing to the ground.

And just like that, your entire body began to grow cold. Each step felt weighted, as though something was stopping you from going any further.

You were dangerously close when Ron had noticed you first.

He had been kneeling off to the side, wiping the tears from his eyes that didn't really do much of a job as more kept coming anyway. He was as red as a tomato from all the crying. He looked at you when he saw someone coming in from his peripheral.

“Y/n,” he whispered, stumbling to his feet before dragging himself over to you.

"Ron, what's—" Before you could ask any further, his hands were on your shoulders, steering you away.

He didn't say anything, just kept on trying to take you somewhere. Anywhere but there.

"What are you doing? Ron, please," you struggled, your hands wrapped firmly around his wrists and attempted to pry them off. But he kept on, using his build to his advantage and kept pushing you away, all while still weeping.

"You're scaring me," you squeaked, frowning. "What's going on? Why do you—why does everyone look like that?"

He then stopped. Hands still on your shoulders, breathing labored as his bloodshot eyes looked into yours. Eventually, he dropped his head, torso shaking from his sobs.

"Say something." You grabbed his arm almost pleadingly, craning your head down to try and meet his gaze.

"You can't," he choked.

"Why?"

"God," Ron mumbled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You clenched your jaw. "Where's Fred?" Ron's grip tightened on your shoulders.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A sick feeling of dread curled in your stomach.

Deciding this wasn’t going anywhere and desperate to know who everyone was gathered around, you shoved Ron’s hands off you and hastily made your way toward the Weasleys.

That was until a strong grip wrapped around your wrist, holding you back.

You glanced behind you, unsurprised to see Ron trying to stop you. Again.

"Ron, let me go."

His grip only tightened. He could only shake his head.

You looked back over to the crowd on top of the stairs. Nobody looked at you. Not a single person.

Your eyes searched, and they landed on George once more. Still crying, and the sight made something inside you snap.

And then you saw it.

Blood on the floor, and a flash of familiar red hair peeking through the group.

Motionless.

And that was all it took.

You tore yourself from his grasp and stumbled toward the stairs, pushing past George and Molly who couldn't do more than look at you, knowing this would destroy you too.

At first, all you saw was red hair.

Then a familiar jacket.

A hand lying limp on the floor.

Still. Far too still.

Everything around you silenced. Like your ears had been hexed to stop hearing anything and everything.

"No," you breathed.

He was just unconscious. He had to be.

He always had a habit of sleeping through things he knew he shouldn't.

Any second now he'd sit up. Laugh. Say something stupid.

The room fell impossibly quiet.

But he was never quiet. Never just in one place.

And suddenly the silence you used to beg for whenever he got too loud became unbearable.

You dropped beside him, gaze fixed on his face, still waiting for him to crack a smile and yell out how brilliantly his prank worked out. How absolutely hilarious you looked over him.

He thinks it's funny, but you don't. Not one bit. It's a horrible, horrible joke.

"Very funny. Playing dead won't have you win our bet so easily," you chuckled nervously, observing his expression. He looked like he was asleep. The corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

"Stop playing around now, Fred, your whole family's here. Unless you dragged them in on this whole mess." With a weak smile, you turned behind you to look at the Weasley family. "Please tell him to stop joking."

Nobody answered.

Molly let out a broken sob, using her trembling hand to cover her mouth.

Arthur looked away.

George's face crumpled instantly. He shook his head, unable to even look at you or his twin brother.

Your smile slowly faltered when nobody laughed.

Snapping your head back to Fred, you reached your hand out, trembling like a leaf.

"Fred," you called, your hand trembling as your palm touched his cheek—only to recoil at the unnatural coldness of his skin.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest. You cradled your hand against yourself, still able to feel the lingering cold of his skin.

But then it all came together.

The blood dried at his temple.

The soot in his hair.

His freckles looking dull.

"Fred, stop," you muttered, reaching for his hand. Another wave of that same sickeningly cold feeling pressed against your skin.

But he didn't hold it back like he used to. Even while he slept. You don't know how he did it, but he did, and now it's driving you mad how he isn't. It stayed limp.

"No, no, no," your voice trembled as you let go of his hand and rocked yourself back—your body started to shiver uncontrollably.

"You—" All the air left your lungs. "You were supposed to come back."

Snot clogged your nose as your eyes welled with tears. Your face heated up too quickly. Another sudden sob escaped your lips.

"I didn't tell him."

And almost as if on cue, your upper body lost whatever strength it had left, causing you to collapse against his torso with your fingers tangled in his clothes.

"It's not fair," you mumbled into Fred's chest, bottom lip quivering as you gripped onto his jacket tighter. His flesh felt stiffer than when you last held him.

“Y/n, maybe you should—“ George began to intervene, but before he could finish, you quickly smacked his hand away.

He attempted to comfort you. Anything to possibly try and take you away from the sight of your dead lover. Anything to keep you from crumbling away further, even though you were already halfway there.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” you screamed. Strands of hair clung to the tears and sweat coating your rubble-streaked skin.

But nobody said anything. What could they say?

The sight before them was enough to keep them silent.

Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Ron, Bill, Percy.

George…

They all knew what came after denial.

Your face shot up to the sky, tears falling quicker than Fred's blood had run cold.

"WHY HIM?" Your hands gripped Fred's jacket as you shook him desperately. "WHY?!"

He was supposed to be here.

"PLEASE, ANYTHING BUT HIM!" you continued to wail, your body physically unable to keep up with the overwhelming amount of sorrow coursing through you.

Lungs. Heart. Veins. Everything.

Everything Fred had touched was hurting. Burning.

"Come here, little bugger, up you go!" he beamed, lifting a little one with ginger hair just like his on his shoulders.

"I'VE LOST MY FAMILY AND MADE PEACE WITH IT. I'VE ASKED FOR PEACE AND NOW THAT I'VE FOUND IT, YOU TAKE HIM FROM ME TOO. WHY?!"

"Y/N!!!" Ginny exclaimed, running to you—tugging at your arms to try and snap you out of it. She was as scared as she was concerned.

Scared she was going to lose you too.

Another sudden image intruded into your mind. A tiny freckled hand curled around Fred's finger.

"They've got my charm, obviously," he laughed heartily.

"Y/n, please, listen to me," she pleaded, squeezing your arms to try and ground you. "It's hard for all of us...We've all lost something. Someone. But right now, you need to pull yourself together. Please."

But how could you when his voice echoed in your head? The rhythm of his laugh, the sound of it haunted you.

"I'm thinking Fred Junior the Third or Fabian II would be nice."

"Why Fabian II?"

"Because the first one worked so well."

You looked at Fred's cold, lifeless body, then back at Ginny again. All she saw was the empty shell of what used to be the woman who once radiated such warmth and light, enough to keep everyone afloat.

Now she barely had any of that left to keep herself from drowning.

Ginny was taken aback at how grief-stricken you looked. Everyone was, but yours was...unforgettable. The way dullness pooled in your eyes sent chills up her spine.

"I have...nothing, Ginny. Your brother—Fred—he—I..." You fell limp into her embrace, hanging onto her arms like a lifeline. If it weren't for her sleeves, you would've torn straight through her freckled skin.

Molly rushed to your side, gazing down at you like you were one of her own. She finished crying—didn't think she had any more tears left to give. And in all the ways, her heart crumbled for you too. Because she knew that could've been her Arthur as well. How she couldn't bear living if she'd lost him.

But Molly knew she had to be strong. She'd lost a son, yes, but her children lost their brother. George lost his twin. You'd lost a piece of your future.

"Oh, my poor girl..." Molly reached out. You didn't fail to notice the slight tremble in her tone. "It's alright...You're okay."

You hiccuped, looking up from Ginny's embrace as Molly had just begun caressing your head. Her eyes were never deceitful. They were as sad as you'd ever seen them.

"Mo—Moll—lly..." you called out, chest stuttering from your hiccups as you reached your hand out to which she immediately took.

"What is it, dear?" she asked, tone soft yet somehow struggled to keep steady.

"I loved your son," you started, and you saw the way Molly's eyes shifted at your sudden confession. "So much so that I don't know what to do with myself when I'm around him."

"Thank you..." you swallowed, "for bringing him up."

Molly smiled. One that hid her pain, but it was all too obvious.

She shook her head and took your cheek into the palm of her hand—using her thumb to swipe away a stray tear.

"Thank you for loving Fred for what he was. For what he could've been, and for what he was to you. I know he was very content with what he had. He couldn't have asked for anything more."

You nodded, before leaning yourself into Molly's chest. Her arms immediately wrapped around you like a blanket while you silently cried until you passed out from exhaustion.

After you'd gone still, both Ginny and Molly checked on you to see if you were alright. Breathing, so that was a good sign.

But what Molly had missed, and had Ginny's heart nearly drop out of her rear when it clocked in her mind, was the way you had one arm wrapped securely around your belly, almost as if protecting it.

Because internally, you did have something worth protecting. To look forward to.

A whole life.

Marriage probably.

Children.

Growing old.

And in your mind, all of it just got buried along with him.

"Come back to bed," Fred groaned, turning onto his back before sitting up on the bed. The dusty blue blanket covered no more than his waist.

"It's ten in the morning, you lazy bum. We've got a pretty big thing tomorrow, if you haven't forgotten," you responded, brushing your hair back behind your shoulders.

As you looked into your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but observe the way you looked. The way you changed after knowing.

The tips of your fingers delicately caressed the thin strap of the top you'd picked up from the floor before drifting them down your collarbones, and eventually settled on your stomach—absentmindedly caressing it.

And from behind you, Fred noticed.

He tilted his head to the side when he observed how unnaturally still you were being. He saw the way your eyes were unfocused, yet intently locked on to your belly's reflection.

"You alright?" his voice echoed from behind you.

How could you tell him? When can you tell him? How would he react?

You didn't even realize he had asked you something. You simply continued caressing your belly as though you'd somehow be able to feel the tiny life growing inside there already, even if it was no more than a cluster of cells at the moment.

"Y/n!" Fred poked at your waist, suddenly popping up from behind you.

"Jesus!" You jumped, quickly turning sideways to shoot him a glare.

He chuckled. "I'm Fred." Then turned you around by the waist to face him.

"Is that right? I thought you were George. Could've fooled me."

Fred gasped dramatically.

"You take that back."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile before crossing your arms.

"That was awful."

"Awfully funny?"

"Fred—"

"You knew it was."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet you adore me."

Yeah. Maybe a little too much for your own good.

You knew he was trying to pull you out of your own head. To make you laugh. To ease whatever it was that plagued your mind.

But with the current circumstances, the thought of losing him felt unbearable.

Your laugh came out weaker than usual. The smile he so effortlessly put on your face faltered. And then you averted your gaze away from his.

Knowing Fred, he immediately noticed. Because at times like these, it's quite unfortunate how well he knew you.

His hands lifted instinctively and found your face with practiced ease like they belonged there. He brushed your hair away from your face, his eyes gazing at you tenderly.

"Hey." He tilted your face up, making you to look at him. "Where'd you disappear to just now?"

A beat of silence passed after his question, your eyes drifted somewhere across the room in contemplation.

Then you opened your mouth, your body tensed slightly as your gaze flicked back to his patient eyes.

A small smile tugged at your lips as a hesitant hand drifted toward your stomach.

"Fred..."

And for a split second, you really considered it.

Because what if tomorrow changes everything?

What if this is the wrong time?

What if—

"I promise I'll be careful tomorrow," Fred spoke, interrupting your thoughts.

"What?" you squeaked, blinking a few times.

"Gotcha," he laughed, flicking your nose. "You're distracted!"

“No, I’m not," you huffed.

"We're Weasleys," he said with a crooked grin. "Near-death experiences are basically family traditions."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss between your brows. "I'll be careful. And I’m coming back to you, obviously. I was thinking about expanding the shop after all this is done, and I need you to make sure we don't wreck the place before we even finish."

And in a sense, that gave you hope. Hope you couldn't afford to cling to so strongly, yet were terrified to lose all the same.

War was never a small feat. It was almost too dangerous to even feel things like that.

"So..." His thumbs traced your waist. "You gonna tell me what you were about to say earlier?"

"Oh...that." A sigh escaped your lips before you shook your head. "It's nothing. I just wanted to tell you I'll be careful tomorrow too. And I’ll say it to you once everything's over with."

You gulped, nervous he'd nudge you further for an answer, but he didn't.

"It's rigged if you of all people don't make it out." He dropped his hands, slowly pulling you back to bed before setting you beside him with your head rested on his shoulder. "Mouldy Voldy's minions should be the ones running off when they see someone with the likes of you coming."

That earned a smack on his chest from you. But Merlin, he loved it.

"What a thing to say to your own girlfriend," you scoffed, shifting to move your head over his chest. The sounds of his heartbeat banging pleasantly against your ear.

"I'll be waiting on that confession of yours after tomorrow. You better not leave me at a cliffhanger."

Your lips parted.

Tell him now.

But the words never came.

"Loser who gets to The Great Hall last would owe the winner a year's worth of treats from Honeyduke's."

"...You're on, Weasley."

"Mum?"

A small voice echoed down the dimly lit hallway causing your ears to perk up.

It was always such a familiar sound.

The way your son dragged out certain words exactly the way Fred used to when he was tired.

"Yeah?" you replied, but was only met with silence.

After wiping your hands with a rag you'd nicked from the oven, you made your way towards your son's bedroom.

And there he stood by the doorway, rubbing at one eye dramatically with his hair sticking out in every known direction imaginable. Wonder where you'd seen that before.

"Hi," you whispered, kneeling down to his level with a soft smile. "What's happened? Why're you out of bed?"

"I had a nightmare." And his pout looked awfully familiar. "There were monsters in it and it was loud and scary and I couldn't find you."

"Was it now?" You smiled again, rubbing his arms reassuringly. "You were very brave. Now come, let's get you back and tucked in."

Without fuss, he skipped off and climbed into bed with the same lack of personal space Fred once had. Noticing that pulled a chuckle out of you.

You sat at the empty space beside him, pulling the blanket over his body with one hand. "Ready for bedtime part two?"

"Yes, madam," he answered with a crooked smile. A sight that kept nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs.

A weak laugh escaped you as your eyes adjusted to the warm glow of the lamp light by his bed.

The same freckles dusted across his face, that slight copper red hair illuminated by the warm light, same eyes, same grin, even the same expression when concentrating.

For a moment, it felt cruel how much he resembled the man you loved and lost.

Sometimes loving your son felt dangerously close to missing Fred all over again.

There were nights where all the resemblances caught you off guard no matter how many years had passed, and you wondered if Fred would've noticed it too.

Their shared smile.

Their laugh.

The shared way he and his son would reach for you in their sleep.

The ache never left. At least not really. It only softened around the edges. Soft enough not to cut you as deep anymore.

It had been five years since then, and Fred still found ways to appear before you.

Just...differently this time. Smaller. Younger.

An extension of yours and his love.

"Goodnight, darling," you mumbled, leaning down and planted a kiss on his forehead.

But before you could fully turn away and leave your son to rest, his tiny hands had caught your sleeve.

You looked back to see him clutching it like letting go would make you really disappear.

Your eyebrows twitched up in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"...Can you stay until I fall asleep?"

Your expression softened. You turned your body to face him again, before leaning in real close to whisper.

"I'll do you one better. I'll be here even when you wake up tomorrow morning."

And there appeared that small, lopsided, yet shy smile once more. Your chest twisted unexplainably.

"Scoot over then," you chuckled lowly, and settled next to him under the covers that were far too small for your body.

He nestled himself snugly in your arms, his face half buried in your chest with his hands curled into his own. Your hands gently reached for his hair, combing through his locks the same way Molly had once soothed you.

"Ma?" his muffled voice sounded from your torso.

"Mm?"

"Are monsters real?"

You almost laughed at how small his fears still were.

"No." You shook your head, burying your nose in his hair. "Your daddy took care of them a long time ago."

"Is that why he hasn't come back yet?"

And that same ache surged through you again. Your breathing stuttered for a moment before you blinked back the surprise of your son's sudden question.

"Yeah. He's...still got quite a few to handle."

"We'll be here to welcome him back though, right? All that fighting must be really tiring."

"...Of course. We'll even have a cake ready for him, how's that sound?"

Silence. No answer ever came. You looked down and saw that he'd already drifted off to sleep. You felt his breathing had already evened out under your touch.

And in the silence, surrounded by warm lighting and magical toys lying about, your throat began to tighten. Your chest began to swell, and your eyes welled up with tears.

A sigh left your lips.

"God. I wish you could've seen him, Fred," a pained whisper escaped you, tilting your head back against the headboard. "He's exactly like you. You were right."

Your sniffles filled the room, mixing with the sound of the distant clock that ticked down the hall. You shifted your body down carefully so you were now lying next to your boy, head on his chest and ready for the steady rhythm of his breathing to lull you to sleep.

So there you were, head rested against his chest, listening carefully as his heartbeat drummed steadily beneath your ear.

The rhythm was different only in size. Smaller, lighter, but familiar enough to make your throat tighten again.

It sounded like home.

And for the first time in years, the sound didn't destroy you.

Somewhere between the steady beating beneath your ear and your son's sleepy breathing, grief loosened its grip.

Fred's heartbeat had once been your favorite song, and somehow, against all odds, you had found the melody again.

Fred hadn't left you empty-handed after all. He never did.

In the quiet of the night, with your son held safely in your arms, you realized Fred had never truly stopped coming back.

[weezyweasleys-fg]

overwhelmingly weasley | w.t

summary: A year after having your youngest, a new challenge arose when the annual Christmas dinner with your husbands' family rolls in. Surely can't be too bad.

c/w: throuple (you are married and have kids with the twins), everyone except the children are well over their twenties, wholesome family chaos, this dynamic won't be for everyone and that's okay! please feel free to scroll past c:

a/n: this was requested by @roxasbelongswithsora-blog! apologies for the time it took to make, but i hope you like it hihi. i'll try to post more, but my schedule is lowkey f*cked right now 😭

The Burrow was warm. 

Warmer than it's ever been with the seasons that came and went within the year.

Warmer than the summer after you'd go kicking those pesky gnomes out of Molly's garden, laughing as you and the Weasley children stumbled back inside hungry and smelling like the sun — knees stricken with dirt and elbows painted with a few gashes,

And warmer than the springtime when you and Ginny would make flower crowns for each other on the floor by the dying firelight, eventually being disrupted and end up yelling at the top of your lungs while you and she chased Fred and George around the living room to get them back.

But that was years ago.

Now, it was Christmastime, and the Weasleys' residence had never been cozier, and has never been fuller.

With Harry and Ginny’s children assisting and playing around, Bill and Percy, along with their kids, were very kind to take time out of their schedules to visit Molly and Arthur. Ron, Hermione, and their children were off to another country to celebrate the festivities. Of course, we can’t forget the additional five pairs of little feet leaving marks on The Burrow’s old wooden floors. 

Fred and George's children. 

Your children.

Carbon copies of the two makers of mischief, making sure everyone knows that tricks and funny business aren't ever going to leave the house even when they've got lives and families of their own.

With your youngest and only boy having been born only last year, it was also your first Christmas with the twins' family with all your five children present.

You and the twins certainly had a lively mix of mini you's and mostly mini them's. One reliable helper, two mischievous whirlwinds, a clingy toddler, and one beloved baby. Perfect for a chaotic but heartwarming holiday.

The Burrow felt alive in a way that almost defied the chill outside. You stood leaning by the kitchen doorway with a mug of hot cocoa nestled firmly in between your hands, overlooking everything as it all went down.

Yours and Fred's eldest, now eight and your little aide, was eagerly perched on a stool beside Molly, carefully dusting icing sugar over some ginger biscuits. It was perfectly endearing how she would look back occasionally and proudly show you how grown up she was being.

A warm smile would cross your face before giving her an encouraging thumbs up, throwing in a "Careful not to get the sugar in your eyes now, darling!" Before she returned the gesture, her two little thumbs sticking up in the air, earning a warm chuckle from Grandma.

Now perhaps being twins in the Weasley family just automatically meant having a knack for troublemaking. Because somewhere in the sitting room, you and Fred's twin girls, both of whom are five, were squealing with laughter as they chased enchanted ornaments around the room. The bright, sparkling baubles bobbed and weaved over the worn rugs like mischievous pixies, courtesy of Grandad Arthur, of course.

The girls' tiny feet pattered against the old wooden floors that had seen decades of Weasley chaos, but somehow held steady under the assault of the next generation.

You let out a chuckle as you drank from your mug, peering over the rim keeping watch. Then, your eyes moved over to you and George's eldest. Your daughter, only three and determined to prove that she could keep up with her older sisters, toddled after them, hands stretched toward a floating bauble.

At least until it zipped up toward the ceiling and she squealed in indignation. Fred’s laughter roared from somewhere above her head.

"Whoa! You nearly had that one!"

And George swooped in to scoop her up before tears could start.

"Oh, come now, darling, don't frown," he comforted her, gently bouncing her in his arms. One of her small hands wiped away the tears that were about to fall, as the other held on to George's shirt tightly.

"Well, you can pout about it for a tiny bit but soon you'll be catching Snitches like your Uncle Harry! Maybe even better! Faster!"

"Not while she's three, George," you noted, cocking a brow at him with a coy smile and shot Ginny a look at which she laughed.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Obviously. I knew that."

Though clearly his face showed otherwise. He was a teensy bit curious to see how Quidditch would play out with a bunch of toddlers flying about the field with their mini beaters and brooms.

And then lastly, your baby boy, only son, and the youngest of the five, was evidently content in Arthur's lap, cooing and letting out little babbles at the flicker of the firelight while Ginny’s and some of Bill's and Percy's children surrounded him, offering toys and making faces to earn those gurgling giggles.

"Has he got teeth?" Albus inquired, furrowing his brows as he craned his neck low enough to try and see inside your son's mouth. Your little boy gurgled and squealed at his cousin's curious gesture.

"Reckon the little fellas don't feel like coming out yet," joked Arthur. He himself had seven children. The growing of teeth was no foreign concept to him.

Albus turned to the rest of his cousins and siblings and frowned. 

"Cheer up, Bus," Dominique, Bill's second eldest, reassured.

"Yours grew in a bit later than (your son's name), mum said," added James Sirius.

"A single tooth right in front," popped in Harry from a corner.

A blush crept up on Albus' cheeks before he crossed his arms defensively. And embarrassingly so, should he be too meek to say it.

"Nuh — no?!" Albus then protested, causing the living room, already simmering with the comfort of family, to grow warmer with the sounds of chorused laughter. That of the children's and Arthur's alike.

Your shoulders shook with suppressed giggles while you used your mug and pressed it against your lips to hide.

As much as your heart swelled with a joy indescribable, so did Molly's biscuits. Only not from joy, but in the oven. Nearly burning to a crisp.

While the rest were in the living room going on about Albus' first front tooth, the events happening in the kitchen, well... It was a mess.

Your daughter, who'd been helping Molly with icing the cookies, had now run off elsewhere, and your husbands were being less-than-helpful in the kitchen with their mother — sneaking behind her back as she frosted the cooled cookies while the others baked, pocketing and shoving the sweet treats into their jumpers and mouths.

"Fred! George! If I find out you’ve nicked one more Christmas biscuit before supper, I swear on Merlin’s beard there’ll be no pudding for either of you!" Molly’s voice rang through The Burrow, sharp enough to make even the ornaments pause mid-bob. Nothing was getting past her keen senses. Caught them mid-crime like little mice.

You winced, removing yourself from the living room and rushed over to the kitchen.

Placing your mug down gently on the sink with a soft clink, it wasn't long before you found yourself by Mrs. Weasley's side.

“I’ll give you a hand with the frosting, Molly. Shame your star assistants are too busy stuffing their faces.”

You spun around to glare at Fred and George, who were lounging against the counter side by side, smirking with crumb-dusted fingers as they munched on the sweets they had swiped.

And just when you thought the chaos had somewhat died down, a small coquettish clang of glass erupted from the living room.

The ornaments had gotten a bit too wild, so with all your strength and patience, you wrangled the little ones into a game of ‘spot the elf’ to corral their energy. 

And when Fred and George began their annual competition to see who could produce the most ridiculous magical toy for the kids, you were the referee, the voice of reason, and occasionally, the one who confiscated anything that started to smoke suspiciously.

"And what exactly is that, George?" Bill inquired, his face battling against concern and wanting to join in.

"Glad you asked, brother," proudly said George as he moved aside to show Bill the strange-looking animal contraption on the table. The children began to crowd around it as well. 

"This is what I call 'The Gaggling Goose'. Added a new feature this year, and I'm quite excited to show the kids. And to prove to Fred that his sucks, mostly."

Fred smirked and crossed his arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

"Right, mate," he said with mock seriousness. "Well, I hope your goose doesn't gurgle itself into a pile of feathers like last year. But go on then — show me what’s supposed to outshine my masterpiece. I could use a good laugh."

Arthur chuckled at his sons' exchange, and you could barely contain your own laughter from slipping. 

"Dad, hurry and show us!" cried your eldest girl.

"Yeah, quit being a slowpoke!" the twin girls then intercepted.

George clapped his hands together, rubbing them with boyish excitement as he crouched in front of the peculiar contraption. The so-called Gaggling Goose — an awkward collection of brass gears, flapping felt wings, and a beak that wobbled too loosely — sat proudly on the table in the centre of the living room.

“Right then,” George announced, eyes gleaming. “Gather round, my little audience! Prepare to witness the marvel of the century.”

The children scurried over first, practically vibrating with anticipation. Fred’s twins climbed onto the edge of the armchair, their older sister hovering behind them, while George’s three-year-old perched on Arthur’s knee to get the best view. Even your baby boy seemed transfixed in Arthur’s other arm, babbling softly as if he knew something exciting was about to happen.

Molly and Arthur exchanged a wary look but settled among the family anyway, Arthur’s lips twitching with amusement. Harry leaned against the wall, his arms folded but a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Ginny and Bill perched near the sofa, Percy standing stiffly with an eyebrow raised, clearly skeptical but unwilling to miss whatever chaos might unfold.

You, of course, stood closest to George with your arms also crossed, already envisioning potential smoke and sparks.

George flicked a switch on the back of the goose. Its head gave a jerky twitch. The wings flapped twice. The children gasped.

“Ooooh!” cried your eldest.

“Ha! It’s alive!” Fred declared with awe.

The goose honked — a long, low, almost mournful honk — before beginning to waddle across the table in a stuttering pattern, its wings flapping more vigorously. The children squealed with laughter as it bobbed and hopped like a drunken bird.

“See? She’s perfect!” George said proudly. “Now, watch this—”

He pressed a small gold button on the side. Instantly, a series of whistles and clanks filled the living room. The goose spun in a tight circle, honking madly while a puff of glitter shot from its tail.

The children shrieked with delight, clapping and cheering.

Then, a faint hiss escaped from somewhere under the bird’s brass belly.

“Er…” Harry straightened, frowning. “Is it supposed to sound like that?”

Ginny squinted. “Is that… smoke?”

Sure enough, a thin wisp of grey curled from the back of the goose. George froze mid-celebratory pose.

“Ah,” he said, tilting his head. “That’s… new.”

Molly shot up from the sofa, brandishing her wooden spoon like a weapon. “George Weasley! If that thing so much as scorches my rug—”

A louder hiss interrupted her, and the goose wobbled violently, its wings flapping so fast they blurred.

“Right, that’s enough fun!” you declared, swooping in to snatch the contraption off the table before it could sputter any further. "Children, move away."

The children groaned in disappointment as you flipped the switch off, smoke still curling lazily from its seams.

Fred laughed so hard he had to hold onto the counter, and Arthur wheezed into his hand, trying not to encourage them. George gave you a sheepish grin, hands raised in surrender.

“Well,” he said. “At least it didn’t explode this year.”

Molly closed her eyes and muttered something about boys never growing up.

The day was long, and everyone had their bellies stuffed to the brim with classic holiday home cookery.

And by the time the evening wound down, with five sleepy children nestled among blankets and family humming carols in the background, you found yourself sinking into the sofa between Fred and George. Exhausted, yes — but also warm in a way that had nothing to do with the crackling fire.

"Whew," you sighed, getting cozy in between them — linking your arms with theirs in the process. "I am... dead tired."

"Mm, you did very well on your mission today, Miss Responsible," Fred purred, lazily flicking your nose.

"Zero reported casualties," added George with a smile.

"Save for that Goose of yours," Fred retorted with a tone that gave away that smirk of his. 

"You're not any better, Fred," you laughed, nudging him. "We would've all starved if me and your mum hadn't stopped you from inhaling every dish she left out to cool."

Fred, very knowing of his own crimes, simply frowned and gave a shrug — his free hand raising in defeat.

"Guilty as charged."

The three of you erupted in laughter. Not loud.

Soft. Tired. Heavy and deep with sleep yet awake enough to remember the fact that you did share a moment like this with your husbands even with all the mayhem and children filing up your agenda. A moment of respite for the adults that also once laughed and played as children in that very house.

Your job, you realised, wasn’t to control the chaos. It was to belong to it, to weave yourself into the laughter, the running feet, and the shared love that made the Burrow feel more like home than anywhere else ever could.

[weezyweasleys-fg]

HIIIIII BAEE, JUST CHECKING INN SINCE YOU HAVENNT POSTED IN A WHILEE

POOKIE HIIII I'm alive!!

And yes, I'm really sorry for the long period of inactivity, A LOT has been going on. And I mean A LOT.

I don't want to bore you all with the deets, but one major one is losing my grandfather just last month so that took a huge toll on me and my family.

I'm still very much into the Weasley twins (God knows when i'll be getting over them), and I DO have three fics in my drafts right now, but I haven't been in the space to finish them at the moment. When I do try to write, the ideas disappear 😭

I'll be getting back to posting soon! All I ask is for your patience while I try to get my life and matters in order 🥹

Tysm for checking in on me, I hope you're well and happy bae!!!!! And that goes for all of you too!!

Also, for those of you that have submitted requests, I might not be able to get to doing all of them, please forgive me 😔 and for those that I have done, you'll be tagged when it's posted!

[weezyweasleys-fg]

GUYSS REQUESTS ARE CLOSED I HAVE SM DRAFTS AND LIKE TWO REQUESTS I HAVENT FINISHED IM HAVING MAJOR WRITER'S BLOCK AAA

[weezyweasleys-fg]

You: *walks in on Fred setting up some elaborate prank with a suspiciously alarming amount of fireworks.*

You: Fred! What are you doing, staging a demolition?!

Fred: *pauses before eyes glint in enlightenment* that's not a bad idea, actually—

You: NO.

[weezyweasleys-fg]

Taste | F.W

summary: his girlfriend's a snob and you want to make your presence known little by little...

c.w: aged up above twenty, hogwarts uni au, kissing, you're the other woman, third party, secret affair while fred's in a relationship (I DO NOT BY ANY MEANS CONDONE CHEATING AND JUST BC IM WRITING THIS DOESN'T MEAN I'M OKAY W IT IT'S JUST FOR THE STORY.), his girlfriend's only using him, mate

w.c: 1.3k-ish

a/n: inspired by sabrina carpenter's Taste.

“You’ll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you."

You had a reputation for many things.

A smarty-pants,

An ill-tempered woman,

A reliable hand when someone's in need,

And Fred Weasley's little fancy piece.

You know that the latter isn't really the best thing to be known for, but to you it was all for good reason. His girlfriend was a real work of... something.

Only ever wanted to be the center of attention when she had Fred by her waist. Never kissed him with any real care, and didn't hold his hand the way she should've been.

All his little jokes and pranks were either brushed off or resulted in a silent scolding telling him he's embarrassing her if he'd do it in front of other students. 

Everything that made Fred Weasley, Fred Weasley, was ultimately... snuffed out.

"Why don't you just end things with her already?" you breathed into his mouth, grabbing a bigger fistful of his hair as your lips melted against his like hot candle wax.

You were straddled comfortably on his lap. Legs on each side of his hips, while your hands explored and were never nearly as satisfied and moved as greedily as Ron's relationship with the dessert table.

He moaned, low and drawn out. "You know I can't do that." His fingers tightened around your jumper's fabric, fingertips digging into your waist as he did so, causing goosebumps to run beneath your flesh.

"She's ruining you." You bit his bottom lip.

"Someone's gotta keep me in check." He sneakily slipped his tongue into your mouth.

You dug your fingernails into the skin of his scalp lightly, slowly growing irritated. "Not in the way she's doing it."

Fred hissed, hips bucking up to push into yours — your building aggression turning him on. "She'll throw a fit if I break things off with her." 

"Doesn't matter," you spat, words piercing sharply into his mouth. More frustrated than aroused, if you'd ever felt it. "She doesn't deserve you, Fred."

He sighed defeatedly into the kiss, one hand sliding over the nape of your neck and swiftly pulling away. A string of saliva the only thing lingering between you two.

You looked at him as he did you. Eyes glossy. Hot. Sweaty. Lips glistening and red. His pants tight. The fireplace in Gryffindor's common room burned especially bright tonight. However, the couch that you and Fred used for many of your secret "get-togethers" seemed particularly stiffer than usual.

"I can't. Maybe not in a while at least. Things are too complicated," he explains before giving you one last lazy peck on the lips. A second longer than usual. You kept count. It was like he was memorizing the feeling before going back to acting like you'd never even breathed near each other before.

His thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek, eyes burning into yours. "I'll see you around, y/n."

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You sat at your house table pushing around a singular bean that had been lingering uneaten on your plate for Merlin knows how long with your fork. Your cheek had found refuge in your other hand as you rested against it. Eyes dazed and zero'd in at Fred who was chatting up a storm with the other Gryffindors he and George were dining with.

Breakfast in the Great Hall used to be enjoyable. Tolerable at best. Not anymore when you've got front-row seats to the joke you called Fred's relationship playing out right in front of you.

"Y/n, have you tried this?" Your friend piped in from beside you, motioning to a plate of Treacle Tarts with new flavors. You glanced over, but didn't feel in the mood for one. But before, you'd already have horked down at least three the moment you laid your eyes on them. "They're really good. Apparently, the elves have been given the freedom to experiment with the flavors. Poor Alice got a stomachache though. Think she ate the one they weren't supposed to send out."

"No. I'm fine." You smiled at them. "Thank you." Then went back to sighing like a lovesick fool, returning your hand to rest against your cheek and stared at the man just a table away like some longing maiden in a tower. But only you'd rather do the saving instead.

"Ah, there she is!" A male voice rang out, causing your ears to perk up.

"Freddie's girl making her grand entrance once again. Everyone give her a welcoming hand!" 

Your eyes followed the figure you'd grown to have a sour taste on your tongue for. Her movements were stiff. Calculated to try and get the most out of Fred's friends’ attention.

"Please, you're too kind." She laughed. It was bitter. But not one the people around her would hear.

She slid in beside Fred, whose face was already turned to greet her. But clearly, the rest of him found the crumbs from his Pumkin Pasty he'd also been pushing around to be far more interesting.

"Hey, you." Fred smiled, scooting a bit to make space for her.

She said nothing back. Not even something as simple as a "good morning", or a "hey, love, how'd you sleep?" 

Nothing.

Instead, you watched with narrowed eyes and a small snarl as she wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders, pulling him close, before using her hand to tug his face closer towards her.

You didn't miss the way her eyes flickered around to see if anyone was watching. It made your stomach churn. Not the fact that she was kissing him. Anyone could do that. But kissing him without soul. Like she was simply putting her lips on her own living good luck charm for her own gain.

She closed the distance. Slow and steady. Kissing him with what looked like an actually decent girlfriend who'd been waiting all day to do so. But it sure as hell sold short to you.

A scoff shot past your lips. Quick and filled with disbelief. "Un-bloody-believable."

Whistles and hollers from his friends didn't go unnoticed. Not even the smacks they'd send over Fred's back and shoulders as an act of encouragement.

Clueless pricks.

You quickly rolled your eyes and went back to finishing what was left on your plate. 

It was hard to down the remaining bits of potatoes. Because all of a sudden, they felt like rocks clawing at your throat as you swallowed.

Just the thought of him — his potential — wasting away in the hands of that witch (literally) was beyond you. You wanted better for him. And that better was you.

You pushed your finished plate away, sighing as your belly pushed against the band of your uniform's skirt.

Food is fuel, so you didn't care, and you needed the energy to get through today's audacity. Yours included.

Reaching into the pocket of your skirt, you fished out your nearly empty burgundy gloss, preparing to reapply just as your gaze unknowingly shifted over to find her lips still glued onto his. Only then did you notice her eyebrows begin to furrow, and the slightest crinkle in her nose start to form before she pulled away. Her thumb swiped at her bottom lip before examining it.

"What the..." she trailed off, looking at the dark yet sheer red liquid on the tip of her thumb. A faint smell of cherry coming through. She wore vanilla.

Her gaze flickered from her finger to Fred's eyes.

"I know damn well I don't wear cheap cherry-scented gloss," she pointed out, her tone sharp. Already growing suspicious.

"Huh..?" Sounded Fred, confused. Right as his own fingers went to gently touch the product still on his lips, your eyes met from where you sat.

A small smirk slowly painted your lips, holding up the gloss you wore the early morning you both decided you had missed each other and expressed it in the empty common room, and waved at him.

And by then, he already knew what you were trying to do. What you were hoping he'd get the implication of. And maybe he wasn't so opposed to it. A little extra push to put an end to what he knew was weighing him down.

Careful? You should have been as you always were when you'd have your little meet-ups. But now, it was all about returning something — or someone, rather — to its rightful place.

there won't be a part two to this, this is just a little snack for ya'll to nibble on while i work on my other stories 😭 (also why do i lowkey write better when the idea comes up spontaneously. literally thought of this on the toilet.)

[weezyweasleys-fg]

hii i was wondering if u could do a fic wherein reader is watching the quidditch world cup and george and them have a bet to see who wins 💗

Eyes on the Prize | G.W

summary: Love's all sweet with George Weasley until you put it on the line for a Quidditch game.

c/w: short fic, characters are aged up above twenty, taunting and teasing, romantic rivalry, mentions of sex and implied intercourse at the end

wc: 1.7k

It was deafening.

Was it the pounding of your heart? Your hard breathing?

Oh, it was all of those.

But we can't forget the cause of it all. The loud roars and charismatically patriotic cheers of both the witches and wizards that came to rally on their teams for the long-awaited, nail-biting, Quidditch World Cup.

The smell of smoke and the faint aroma of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey swirled in the air, confetti rained like the first snowfall, and millions of different colors and lights flashed and strobed as far as the eye could see. The energy was electrifying, fit to get anyone riled up for a good game.

It surely riled up your Quidditch fanatic of a boyfriend, George Weasley.

With the stuck-up bigwigs a bit farther down in a more privately occupied platform, their heads tilted up with "their noses nearly touching the heavens above," said George, the so-called 'normal' onlookers seemed to have twice as much fun at least. You know, the ones who actually came to watch the game and not just attend as a show of status.

"We're nearly there!" George exclaimed through the booming chaos, his grin so wide it nearly tore his cheeks in half, his hand tightly clasped around yours as you sifted and squeezed through the crowds of onlookers standing shoulder-to-shoulder and couldn't keep still from excitement.

"What about your family?!" You yelled back, glancing behind you to see Molly, Arthur, Fred, Ginny, and Ron with Hermione and Harry slowly begin to disappear.

"You're with me, aren't you?! They know it's a date!" Replied George, looking back at you, his hair brushing over his face from the wind that practically competed with the Seekers' speeds. "And besides, it's one less mouth! Less yelling, more for them to properly enjoy the game!"

"I think you forget that Fred's got twice the mouth on him than all your family combined!" You exclaimed, pulling on his hand to tug yourself closer until your body was nestled by George's side as you neared your spot for tonight's game.

"Well then, that's their trouble to deal with," he said, his tone a bit more shushed as you finally halted in your steps. "Because tonight, it’s gonna be you, me, and QUIDDITCH!" He opened his arms wide, the wind suspiciously on cue as it blew on his clothes. "Yeahhh!!!" He roared, shaking his fists enthusiastically in the air.

You snorted, gazing admiringly at your boyfriend before shifting your gaze for a proper look at the little date spot he had insisted both of you separate from the rest of his family and his own twin brother for. The view was no less than spectacular, with an even higher vantage point than the one you were in the first time you'd watched The Cup with his family.

"George… this is… Merlin, it’s beautiful! I thought the view with your family was good, but this — this is unreal."

Smug, he responded. "Told you I’d find the best seat in the house. Reserved just for us."

"You mean you dragged me halfway up the stadium so you could show off."

"Guilty. But admit it, the view’s worth every step." He smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close enough so you were now hip-to-hip. "And I bet seeing the Bulgarians lose from up here would be just as entertaining as well."

"Humble yourself, Weasley." You grinned pridefully, tugging George closer by his green and white striped scarf. "Bet you'll be eating your own words today once Bulgaria takes home The Cup."

He cocked up an eyebrow, his eyes glinting as an amused smirk painted his lips. "Oh? You sure starting a bet with me's a good idea?"

"But I'm not. I’m just getting you ready for your defeat, mate!"

George wrapped his hands around your wrists, using the contact to pull you closer. "As if!" He shot back. "C’mon, love, with Ireland’s Seeker flying like lightning and form so sharp it could cut through a Bludger, we’ve got this in the bag! Those Bulgarians will be chasing shadows like a Chaser trying to score with no Quaffle!"

You mock gasped. "Please, have you seen Krum play? He's a maniac on the field!" 

"Maniac, Schmaniac!" George mocked your words in a way that was familiar, gently dropping your hands back down.

He smirked. "More like reckless. Ireland'll crush him."

"Fearless," you countered. "He dives for the Snitch like no one else."

"Into a broken neck, maybe."

"Face it — Bulgaria’s better. Krum will win."

You watched George’s grin widen as he laughed. “We’ll see,” he said, that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

He leaned in with all the confidence in the world. “Let’s bet on it then!”

You crossed your arms, already wary of where this was heading. “Okay, we’re really going that route. Loser gets…?”

His answer was immediate, a wicked little smirk playing on his lips. “No sex for a week.”

You scoffed out loud before you could stop yourself. “Barbaric.” The word slipped out sharp and incredulous, and honestly, you meant it.

He gasped like you’d insulted his honour, but his eyes were still sparkling. George leaned closer, voice low and teasing. “Barbaric? Love, this is mercy compared to what Fred suggested.”

You heart flipped despite yourself. Merlin help you, you were already losing this bet in your head.

"... And what did he suggest?" You asked, genuinely curious. But knowing Fred, you'd already known it would've been something completely diabolical.

George, all casual with his eyes staring out into the vast arena, answered. "Streak across the pitch after the final match wearing nothing but a Bulgarian or Irish flag as a cape."

You blinked a few times, your prejudice proving you right once again. Shuddering, you shook your head. "Yeah, that's definitely a Fred thing to propose... And the winner?"

"A date with yours truly."

"We're already going out, George."

"Oh... right." He scratched the back of his neck, ears slowly going red. The overwhelming atmosphere had him forgetting something as simple as his own girlfriend. But you'll let it slide just for today.

You barked out a laugh, tossing your head back momentarily. At least George is thrilled to see you take it with a lightheartedness he loved about you. Just then, an idea came up. Simple, but not one everyone would like to lose a bet on.

Your hand quickly found George's forearm, catching his attention quickly when he snapped his head back to you. "Butterbeer."

The man furrowed his eyebrows at you, a confused smile on his lips. "Yeah...?" 

"Loser supplies Butterbeer for everyone during our entire stay here." 

"Now that's just mental!" He protested. “In case you've forgotten a thing or two about my brothers, they've got bottomless pits for stomachs! You're gonna run either of us out of money!"

You grinned, patting his cheek playfully. "Best get your Galleons on the ready, then, business boy."

"We're gonna be begging for Sickles outside the classrooms, hope you know," he grumbled.

And with square shoulders and an ecstatic smile, you were nothing short of confident with tonight's affairs. That endless supply of Butterbeer's already as good as yours.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

So, you lost. He won.

"Chin up, y/n." He beamed, wrapping the winning team's scarf around your neck as you continued to spew words of disbelief and disapproval. "It's a good time to join me on the obviously better team."

The stadium was still alive with electric cheers when you snapped.

You were sulking with a scarf of the wrong colour wrapped unwillingly around your neck, still smarting from both the loss and the embarrassing terms of your bet.

“I know damn well that McKenna cheated! Everyone saw that Wronski feint — there’s no way she made that catch fair!” You exclaimed, pointing at the field with your opened hand.

“Mhm, and here we have the rare y/n in her natural habitat,” he commentated, tugging at your sleeve to try and level your head. "Complaining and yelling like the players could hear a word she's saying because she can't admit her team is a load of bollocks."

“I demand a review, George! That was interference with the Bludger — did you see it?”  

George grinned. “No, but I saw you nearly leap out of your seat. Thought you were going to dive onto the pitch yourself.”  

“You’re not taking this seriously!”  

“Of course I am! I’m very concerned for the Ref’s safety. If looks could kill, you’d have him Petrified by now.”  

“George!”  

“Yes, love?” He leaned closer, smirking. “Are you auditioning to be the next Quidditch commentator? Because the angry shouting is spot on. You'd be putting Lee out of duty.”  

“This is an outrage!”  

“Mm, adorable outrage. I might have to start fouling Bludgers myself just to see this again.”

“I'm not losing this bet! I’ll prove it!”

"Oh no, you won't!" George finally caught up, grabbing you around the waist and spinning you back toward the stands. His face was red—half with effort, half with genuine amusement. “Merlin’s beard, woman! You’re going to get us banned from The Cup!”

“I don’t care!” you growled, though your bottom lip wobbled, equal parts indignation and embarrassment bubbling in your chest. “You tricked me into this ridiculous bet and now everyone thinks your team is flawless!”

He pressed his forehead to yours, laughing under his breath despite himself. “So your plan is to start an international Quidditch controversy… just to prove me wrong?”

“… Yes.”

“Brilliant,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm and affection all at once. “Bloody brilliant. Next time, I’m betting you a single Chocolate Frog. Much safer for world peace and keeping my head on my shoulders.”

Even as the crowd cheered and whistled, George swept you off before other spectators could scold you for your outburst, muttering about your dangerous mix of pride, stubbornness… and love of Butterbeer debts you’d rather not pay.

Now you're left with no sex for a week, and a wallet that's about to be inhabited by little white butterflies by the end of the tournament.

But who's George kidding? Merlin knows that man worships your intimacy more than some Quidditch event. He may have won (quite prideful about it too, running around when the Irish nailed the final score, and nearly blowing his voice out yelling to Fred in hopes he'd hear), but lost the bet he set all the same.

On the same night you both wagered it. Behind the stadium where no one crossed, in a little booth George had enchanted to be soundproof. 

He allowed you to really vent out your frustrations, then.

[weezyweasleys-fg]

girl pls keep writing abt the twins x reader 😞 i love those

the readers have spoken and majority said i should just stick to reader x fred/george weasley fics. i'll be doing that, BUT i won't be totally stopping the reader x weasley twins ones. just gonna be posting them when an idea i really like comes to mind, or even better if its a request, because atleast i know someone actually would want to read it and not feel anything unpleasant.

i started writing the reader x twins stories for the greedy girlies such as myself who can't decide on which twin to love more ✋ like, they're both fine, and i want them all the same 🤨

(i look at myself like this every time though)

[weezyweasleys-fg]

Mistletoes and Mishaps | W.T

summary: After successfully convincing you, you finally agreed to take your boyfriends Fred and George Weasley for a little tour around your Muggle hometown. But with Christmas nearing and two undeniably curious men at your hands, it's the perfect recipe for chaos.

c/w: throuple, characters are aged up above twenty, muggle-born reader, chaotic, sex jokes, sex toys, fluff, suggestive ending, me trying to write something funny. yes, that's a warning.

wc: 5k

a/n: my advanced christmas present for all of you 🫶🏻

Christmas break. The long-awaited holiday every student at Hogwarts waited for with baited breath.

It’s the time to finally be able to breathe, unwind, hang out with friends, reunite with family, or…

Take your boyfriends with you to the Muggle world.

Can’t be too bad, right?

Yeah — if they weren’t Fred and George Weasley, maybe.

They’d been pestering you about it ever since you brought up visiting your folks back at your hometown for the holidays.

You lived in the countryside, so the closest thing to a shopping district would be at least a 20-minute drive, and with Christmas rolling around the corner, it’s bound to take longer and be a jam-packed mess.

Fred and George had visited the Muggle world before, but the longest they'd spent there was when they had to escort Harry safely from the Dursleys’ home to The Burrow. It was a short-lived experience. They never got to explore, and it was years ago. It was also where George became “holey,” as Fred described it.

So that trip didn’t count.

They insisted on a redo, but without anything out to kill them or… decapitate another one’s ear.

You had picked a rather odd day to set off. A random Wednesday, not too early in the morning, but not too dark to call it nighttime, either. Travelling with Floo Powder was never exactly a discreet kind of modus operandi.

Leaving in the morning meant risking potential witnesses to your magical entrance, and the nighttime meant an increase in the chances of misplacement. 

And Merlin knows how well-acquainted you and those dodgy alleyways had become after many unsuccessful attempts when you first started travelling by Floo Powder back in your younger years at Hogwarts.

Your house didn't have a proper fireplace — or any place, really, to make an appropriate arrival spot for you, so the nearby interior shops' fireplace, barely big enough to squeeze you in, had to suffice. It worked all these years up until now, and not one squabble from any of the customers or the boss. Not that they had any people visiting nowadays anyway. Too overpriced. 

And what's more convenient is that the shop was already in the midst of town. The shopping district. So you didn't have to worry about lugging your two mischievous hearts all the way there after arriving. Not that you minded the banter during your other previous travels.

"Alright, you both set?" You asked, zipping up your bag you had just finished finalizing before swinging it over your shoulder. "Hope you both don't forget anything like last time."

"Hey," said Fred, shoving something into his own rucksack. "As small as it was, my trusty beaded bag carried all my little tricks. Admit it, you would've died from boredom if I hadn't brought it with me."

"That's what you said the last time we went to visit Charlie in Romania, you slimy lump," George cut in, tying a firm knot into his bag. "Pulled us back an hour and a half, you did."

Fred, whose eyes and attention were still on his luggage, quickly retaliated by mindlessly hurling whatever object that was already in his hand square at George, causing it to hit his thigh with a small thud before tumbling onto the wooden floor.

The younger twin’s eyes followed the item of assault as it rolled away from him before quickly shooting his older brother a look. A look in which Fred simply replied with:

"That was meant for the wall behind you."

A small chuckle stifled from your mouth at their exchange, never finding it tiresome. Even if they'd be at each other's arses with the same antics every day, it never failed to make you nearly double over laughing. 

"You really didn't have to bring it with you, though, Fred." You flicked your hair away from your face, leaning your weight on one leg as you clutched onto the strap of your bag.

"Merlin forbid a bloke want to keep his woman entertained!" He cried, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder as well.

You held up your hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, my boyfriend is ever so considerate." And with a playful pout, you clasped your hands over your chest. "And I love him so."

"Course you do. Hard not to, really." He grinned, puffing out his chest in pride, and sauntered over beside you in front of his family's fireplace in the living room.

Molly had been ever so generous to allow you to use it to go back home, but not after she nagged your poor lovers' ears to death about not causing mass destruction in your home place.

You laughed. "Oh, is that so?"

"Absolutely. I'm a delight, and you know it." Fred then tucked a stray strand behind your ear. “I know you are."

Soon after, George occupied the other empty spot beside you, looking very rustic with his hair slightly messy from the rush of preparing for travel — but this time, to a place familiar yet still so utterly foreign.

"Ready," said George, flashing you a cheeky smile. You felt your cheeks grow warm at the sight of it, so you returned one back. And boy, how that fired him up.

Your shoulders bounded up and down one time as you drew in a breath and exhaled, adjusting the strap of your shoulder bag as your eyes stared at the dark, dusty, and gaping space before you. In just a few seconds, you'd be home again. But what's more now is that you have the two people you loved most to make new memories with.

"Okay, so—" before you could squeeze another word in, George abruptly flinched as if something suddenly came to mind. His hands pat at the pockets of his trousers to find whatever it was he was looking for, not there.

"Oops, forgot something. It's your lucky day, Freddo. Looks like I'm the one taking the piss today," joked George before turning around to retrieve his nearly forgotten item, his shoulder lightly brushing against yours as he did so.

"Finally broke my forgetfulness streak!" the older twin cheered loudly, bumping shoulders with you to 'celebrate‘. “And all of you insisted I was irresponsible. You can tell that to Mum!" His hooting and hollering for such a small feat caused you to let out a laugh, swinging your hips to tap his own once in return for the little shoulder bump he did earlier. 

He took note of your little gesture and took advantage of George's absence by quickly wrapping an arm around your waist, hauling you close enough to plant a firm kiss on your lips.

You squeaked in surprise, swiftly hitting him gently in the chest after he plops you back beside him like nothing had happened.

"Cheeky bastard," you said, your smile betraying the bite you tried to spit in your tone.

"Sorry, lovey. Couldn't help myself."

You scoffed. “Yes, you can."

And the moment those words slipped past your lips, the look on Fred's eyes shifted to something painfully familiar. One where he knew he was being challenged, and he was never one to back down from a chance to prove something or himself.

"Yeah? Wanna test that claim of yours, then?"

But before he could lunge at you with all the speed of a Firebolt on two legs, George swiftly cut in with a clear of his throat — undertones of jealousy clearly evident.

“Alright, that's enough from you two," said George, squeezing in beside you like before. "And don’t even start with that, Freddie. Last time you ‘tested a claim,’ we ended up banned from the broom shed. I swear, if I have to go and face Filch one more time to ask for an entry pass, I'm gonna lose it."

Fred grinned, eyes glinting. "Worth it."  

"He practically lives behind my eyelids now!" George cried.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide your laugh — and George pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head like he was staking silent claim.

"Or... or, you're just a little green in the face there, Georgie?" Teased Fred. "Envy doesn't quite suit you."

"Fat chance," George replied quickly, crossing his arms as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before glancing at you. "... Maybe a little."

Fred snorted. "Brilliant — so all it takes is dangling our girlfriend in front of you to get you to loosen up, eh?"

"Used by my own boyfriend." You feigned hurt, pressing a hand to your chest.

"Merlin, never!" Fred cried out dramatically, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you close — planting a kiss on your temple with an exaggerated "mwah!"

A fleeting laugh escaped your lips before the realization that you didn't have much time before it would be too risky to travel.

"Right," you cut in, your voice now slightly serious as you stepped in front of them both. After wrestling Fred's arms off of you, that is.

"I think you're both well aware that we aren't here to escort Harry or partake in anything that involves life or death anymore." Your eyes flickered from Fred to George, whose eyes were just as admiring as the lopsided grins they had on their faces. "So that, by any circumstances, means no magic, no Skiving Snackboxes, and no Weasleys' Wheezes products."

Your hand went up to grip the strap of your bag. "Got it?"

“Now, where's the fun in that—"

"Fred," you warned firmly, shooting your eyebrows up at him.

“Yes, miss!" They eventually replied in unison, saluting to you in their own unique ways.

Pleased, you nodded once before taking a small step back between them.

"All set?" You asked for the final time, glancing at Fred and George. 

"Yes, Mum," replied George with a teasing grin. You quickly snapped your head over to look at him, giving him a small glare.

He snorted before reaching out to fix your scarf. "Just messing with you, clever girl. We're ready."

So after all the bickering, forgotten items, and countless questions asking if any and all were finally ready to go, the three of you set off — stepping inside the fireplace with handfuls of Floo Powder, eager to take on this new adventure.

Shortly after arriving in the quaint interior shops' fireplace, it wasn't without incident. When was it ever without when you had Fred and George as partners?

Because what you'd forgotten, was to remind them of how small and lower the fireplace was compared to the one they had back at The Burrow. With their towering heights, the first thing you heard rather than the faint jingle of Christmas music playing from the speakers outside was the sound of two loud thuds followed by a chorus of groans and pained cursing.

Hit their heads harder than the Bludgers Slytherins' players caught with their faces.

"Christ," Fred hissed, clutching his head, being the last to walk — or stumble rather — from the fireplace. "Damn thing should be lucky I'm not allowed to use magic. Would've turned it back into what it used to be. A pile of bloody bricks."

George snorted, brushing soot from his jumper as he leaned casually against the display table behind him. 

"Come off it, Fred. You know you love the dramatic entrance. Besides, the fireplace looks better than you do right now. Bricks or not, at least it’s holding together."

He smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. "If Mum sees you staggering about like that, she’ll think you’ve been sampling our latest product. And honestly, I might not even correct her."

"Fancy you saying that when you're barely keeping the tears from slipping out of your eyes. I know you hit your head harder than mine," Fred shot back, pointing a trembling finger at George, who was indeed attempting to ignore the throbbing pain on top of his ginger head.

But you? You were simply stood aside, biting back your laughter as you watched their bickering go down.

Fred's eyes then shifted towards your frame that trembled with suppressed laughter, his demeanor immediately changing.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, dragging himself over to you. "Hold me, dearest heart, for I've been harassed by that beastly thing," he said before putting on the ruse of a damsel feeling faint, gently taking your arms and wrapping them around him.

George shakes his head, walking over to the both of you before pulling Fred away by the hood of his coat. “Easy there, Casanova. Save some of her for me too. She's our girlfriend, not your personal life-raft."

Fred laughs, running a hand through his hair as George saunters towards you, plopping an arm around your shoulders. “From now on, hugs are on a strict schedule: you get Monday, Wednesday, and every other Friday, and I get the rest, including public holidays.”

Fred snorted, flicking George’s arm off your shoulders with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Oi, you can’t just claim public holidays! Those are clearly premium hugging days. I demand a trial.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looped your arm through Fred’s. “Boys, I don’t think I can keep track of your ridiculous schedule. Maybe I need a hug calendar.”

“Or a referee,” you teased with a grin. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Fred grinned wolfishly at you. “Excellent! As long as you're biased in my favour.”

George gave an exaggerated sigh, hands on his hips. “Unbelievable. Betrayed in my own family.”

With a playful shove to each other’s shoulders, the twins and you finally pushed open the door of the cosy interior shop. A wave of cold air and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts greeted you as you stepped onto the slightly bustling street. Fairy lights twinkled from lampposts, garlands wrapped every awning, and a giant Christmas tree shimmered in the middle of the little plaza. 

Fred stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. “Blimey… look at this! It’s like Diagon Alley got itself all dolled up for a snowball fight.”

George’s grin stretched ear to ear as he nudged his twin. “Muggles really know how to go all out. Fred, we need to nick some ideas for the shop windows next year.”

"Can't say no to that," Fred laughs before bumping his hips with yours. "You lot really do know how to pretty up your streets for Crimbo. Makes for good inspiration!"

You grin and bump him back. “Oh, so now you’re impressed by Muggle streets?”  

Fred smirks. “I didn’t say impressed. Just… mildly inspired.”  

“Mildly inspired?” You raise an eyebrow. “You’re practically gawking at the fairy lights like a kid in a sweet shop.”  

“Am not!” he protests, though he’s clearly mesmerised by the twinkling garlands.  

“Face it, Weasley,” you tease, “Muggles are winning at Christmas.”  

Fred bursts out laughing. “Alright, alright — I'll admit defeat this one time.”

Your eyes then found themselves on George, whose gaze had wandered toward the mouth of a narrow alleyway, his expression as serious as if he’d just spotted a dragon. 

"George! You alright, love?!" You called, half-expecting him to chase after some mysterious object.

He turns back to look at you, eyes gleaming with newfound curiosity. 

"Nothing! Just — admiring!" He said, jogging back to where you and Fred stood. He leaned closer, lowering his voice with dramatic flair. “Your town’s got a real knack for pretty sights.” His eyes lingered on you just long enough to earn a proud nod from Fred.

When you realized, a wave of heat surged up your cheeks, just as quickly as the twins being sent to detention on a normal Thursday.

Fred smirked from beside you, feeling proud of their Weasley charm.

Fred elbowed George. “Smooth. Very subtle. I’m sure the lamppost over there is flattered.”

You cleared your throat. "W—well, since we're already in town, we might as well do a bit of exploring before visiting my parents' place. My, erm... home." 

“Exploring?” George clapped his hands together. “Excellent. We’re highly trained professionals in that field.”

The three of you strutted through the festive streets, dodging shoppers and the twins pausing to make terrible puns about every sign you passed. Fred dramatically bowed to a friendly dog, and George tried on an oversized Father Christmas hat in a window reflection, insisting he looked “distinguished.”

You soon reached a charming little shop, twinkling lights and pine-scented candles beckoning from the windows. “I want to get my parents a Christmas homecoming gift,” you said brightly, pulling the twins inside.

Fred sniffed the air. “Hm. Smells like pine, pastries, and… capitalism.”

George picked up a snow globe and shook it violently. “Look, Fred, blizzard warning. Take cover!”

As you browsed, you finally found a pair of hand-painted mugs. Perfect. You reached into your pocket — and froze. “Crap, my wallet's gone! I must've dropped it back at the interior shop!"

Fred gasped theatrically. “Tragedy strikes our hero! Will she ever reclaim her lost treasure?”

“I’ll be quick!” You said, already halfway to the door. “You two, stay here!”

George saluted with exaggerated flair. “We solemnly swear to guard these mugs with our lives.”  

“Really?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.  

“Absolutely,” George said. “Unless someone scary shows up— then we heroically run.”  

“And leave the mugs?” You teased.  

“Of course not,” George replied. “We’ll throw the mugs at them on the way out. Very heroic.”

Fred cupped his hands around his mouth as you finally dashed into the street. “Run like the wind! May the festive spirit protect you, my love!”

The twins watched your boots clatter over the cobblestones until you disappeared into the holiday bustle. George leaned against the shelves with a grin. “Think she’ll make it back before we eat all the free samples?”

Fred smirked. “Doubtful. But if she doesn’t, dibs on the snowman cookies.”

Ten minutes, twenty sneakily nipped sample cookies, and two pairs of eager, jittery legs later, George, whose face was littered with the crumbs of the cookies he devoured, approached Fred silently. 

"Oi," he whispered, leaning into his brother almost as if to avoid suspicion.

"Bloody hell, George, these cookies are brilliant!" Fred interjected. "Second to Mum’s, of course."

"The little old lady did say they were home-baked — but that's not the point here." George placed a hand on Fred's shoulder and whispered. "I think y/n's been lying to us."

Fred furrowed his brows, turning his body to face his twin in confusion. "What are you on about, 'lying to us'?"

"She said magic didn't entirely exist in the Muggle world now, did she?" asked George.

"Yeah."

"Well, I reckon I’ve got just the thing to prove her spectacularly wrong — courtesy of our ever-resourceful mate, Lee, of course."

After the twins swiftly left the shop (with barely any dessert samples left), they had been wandering the dodgy alleyway George had spotted earlier on their arrival, on the hunt for a wand shop rumoured by Lee Jordan to be hidden amongst the Muggle storefronts. A flashing neon sign nudged in the very nook of the alley caught their eyes: “Magic Wands – Guaranteed to Please!”

“See?” Fred grinned, nudging George in the ribs. “Told you Muggles were catching on to the wand craze.”

They pushed open the door, a bell jingling merrily. The shop was dimly lit, with shelves lined with… peculiar wands. Some glowed. Some buzzed. One was shaped like a dragon but vibrated in a way that definitely wasn’t for spellcasting.

“Merlin’s beard,” George breathed, picking up a pink, glittering wand. “Why does this one have… three handles?”

“Maybe it’s for advanced charms,” Fred said with a straight face, before pressing a button. The wand buzzed violently in his hand, making him drop it. It skittered across the floor like a rogue pygmy puff.

A Muggle shop attendant hurried over, barely containing a smirk. “First time shopping?”

“Yes! We’re looking for wands,” George said earnestly. “You know, for… magic.”

“Oh… they’re magical all right,” the attendant said, biting back laughter.

Fred had wandered into an aisle labelled ‘Beginner’s Toys’, holding up a pair of enchanted-looking cuffs. “Oi, George! Do you think these are for advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

Before the twins could test their theory, a Muggle couple entered and gave them a look that made their ears turn as red as their hair.

“I think,” George whispered, “we’ve made a bit of a… miscalculation.”

Fred nodded solemnly.

Just then, the door to the shop swung open, bells jingling violently before revealing a heaving and sweaty you. Already red in the face from the panic of the twins possibly getting lost in a world completely unbeknownst to them, and even more so now that you've found them in a shop that was... questionable, to say the least.

Fred and George whipped their heads around to the source of the sound before their eyes landed on you. Wide grins spread across their faces, completely oblivious to the hassle you'd been through looking for them.

"There you are!" Fred exclaimed, walking over to you. George followed suit behind him. "And you said magic didn’t exist in the Muggle world. Look at all the different wands they have!"

"What's wrong?" inquired George, confused by your less-than-pleased expression.

"Ten minutes," you said. "I leave you alone for ten minutes, and of all places, you end up here?!"

Fred blinked at you, then glanced around the shop again, the shelves of… decidedly un-magical and very adult items finally clicking in his mind.

"Ah," he said slowly, his grin faltering for a moment. "Well… in our defence, we were fairly certain these were experimental wands. Very experimental."

George, ever the quicker to recover, stepped forward with his most innocent smile. "Darling, you can’t honestly be upset. We were merely conducting… research!"

You raised an unimpressed brow.

Fred scratched the back of his neck, cheeks pinking. "Alright, alright — we might’ve been a bit curious. Muggle shops are full of surprises! But, uh… we didn’t buy anything! Yet."

George nudged him. "Which, judging by that look, we won’t be doing today. Come on, love, don’t be cross. We’ll stick to the sweet shops next time. Mostly."

George practically tiptoed over to you before wrapping an arm around your waist. You weren't going to lie when you said the feeling didn't make you all giddy inside despite the conundrum they'd caused you. Fred skidded by, planting a quick kiss to your cheek before all three of you fled the shop, bells jingling, leaving behind a trail of giggles from the staff.

Taking them to the local mall was even just as worse. A large building filled with endless shops and little corners with sweets? You were asking for hell. A good hell.

Nearly every second, Fred would stop, taking your hand to pull you somewhere he found fascinating, and George's eyes lit up like a child every time something new would come into view. 

"Oh, that's, uhm... a thing used to tell how well done an egg is when you boil it," you explained to George, who had called you over to ask about the ‘strange-looking' contraption.

"Now that's magic, even for Muggles." 

You chuckled, linking your arm with his before catching up to Fred, whose back was facing you and stood gazing at something you couldn't quite put your finger on. With his head tilted ever so slightly and eyebrows furrowed as if deciphering whatever it was that caught his attention, you too grew curious.

"What in the bloody hell is that?" Inquired Fred once you and George found your place beside him.

"What's what?" You asked back, then followed Fred's eyes to what was in front of you.

A load of metal stairs carrying mall-goers up and down from floor to floor. An escalator.

"That's an escalator, Fred," you answered, glancing over at him. His expression more confused than impressed, which was surprising. Hell, even George couldn't decide what to think of the man-made machine in front of him. "It's what we use to get from floor to floor without using the stairs."

"An escalator?" George echoed, studying it like some puzzle he was hell-bent on deciphering.

"Mhm." You nodded, a small smirk painting your lips at the amusement from your two endearingly clueless wizard boyfriends.

"A metal staircase contraption..." trailed George again.

"Honestly," Fred said, leaning his body a bit closer to you and enough for his brother to hear. "I'd prefer the Moving Staircase over that metal execution device. Muggles really are something!" 

"Hear, hear!" hollered George, raising up a pretend chalice.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, stifling a laugh as the twins regarded the escalator like it was a cursed artifact straight out of Borgin and Burkes.

“Metal execution device?” you repeated, your voice wobbling with amusement. “It’s literally just a moving staircase. Nobody’s dying on it, Freddie.”

George leaned closer to squint at the steps. “You say that now, but I can hear it plotting. Listen to that ominous hum.”

You raised a brow. “That’s just the motor. People ride these every day without being swallowed into the void, you know. Well, save for a few times somewhere in the world — but it rarely happens.”

Fred crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Bet that’s what they said about the Chamber of Secrets.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed each twin by the wrist. “Alright, you two. Time for a crash course in Muggle technology. Feet on the step, hold the rail, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t scream.”

Fred hesitated, peering at the escalator like it might snap at him. “What if it eats my shoes?”

“Then we buy you new shoes,” you said dryly. “Now get on.”

George went first, wobbling dramatically as the step carried him upward. “Blimey! It is moving! Look at me, love! I’m flying without a broom!”

Fred followed, muttering under his breath, until he realized he was moving, too. He immediately threw his arms out like he was on a ride at the fair. “I take it back. This is brilliant! Muggles are mental, but brilliant!”

You just shook your head, stepping onto the escalator behind them. “I swear, if you two start racing up the down escalator, I’m leaving you here for mall security to deal with.”

George shot you a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Noted. But if we survive this perilous journey, we deserve a reward. Like more of those snowman cookies.”

Fred nodded enthusiastically. “Agreed. We’ve faced the metal beast and lived to tell the tale. Heroic snacks are in order!”

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, loud and bright, as the three of you ascended together into the next floor of chaos.

The day concluded with the three of you walking back to your home. The muddy, puddle-ridden dirt road lined by cobblestone houses and brick fences was lit by nothing more than a couple of streetlamps that stretched the whole way home.

Tired, spent, with bellies full of decorative snowman cookies from the shop you three had visited before the... adult-rated fiasco, all was well.

"We should visit your place more often, love," George murmured, too tired to even raise his tone of voice. Hands in pockets like it was all casual.

"Can't promise we won't be stumbling into any more questionable shops, though," said Fred, his smile as boyish and as handsome as ever despite being tuckered out.

"We're lucky mall security didn't see us fit enough to chase all the way here," you chuckled. "But I definitely wouldn't mind taking both of you back to see the other seasons. It's quite charming here in the spring."

"Would the cows be happy to see us again, though?" George joked, motioning over to the small herd behind a white fence with his head.

"Not as happy as you make Santy Claus over there," Fred piped in, referring to the very obnoxious Father Christmas decoration that hung by the door on some random house's front porch.

George frowned, nodding his head. "I'll take it."

A small laugh slipped past your lips, burying your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. Everything was perfect, and everyone was happy. New memories were made, and the holidays were about to be just as special with George and Fred by your side. Let's just hope your house doesn't accidentally burn down overnight from one of their experiments you'd promised them they could test out.

"God, I'm knackered," you sighed, tilting your head up as your breath visualized in front of you in the form of ethereal smoke.

"I can imagine." George grinned, planting his warm palm over your head and ruffling your hair endearingly. "Our beloved tour guide girlfriend worked so hard today, showing her two daft guests around."

"Hey!" You protested, swatting his hand away and fixing your hair.

"Fancy doing a bit of Muggle magic with us tonight?" Fred walked up from behind you, warm breath tickling the shell of your ear.

Your eyebrows furrowed, tilting your head sideways to meet his gaze. "Muggle magic?" 

Before you could fully understand what he meant, seeing as there was no real wizardry in your world, Fred pressed something against your back — and it began to vibrate violently.

You yelped and spun around, nearly smacking into his chest. “Fred! What in Merlin’s—?!”

George blinked, eyes widening. “Blimey, Freddie… is that—?”

Fred grinned, holding up the small, sleek object with a triumphant flourish. It buzzed merrily in his hand. “Muggle magic!” he declared. “Behold — a wand that doesn’t need spells to make you jump!”

You snatched it from his hand, face burning as realization set in. “This is a—”

“—Vibrating wand!” Fred cut in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I might’ve bought it in secret. Thought it would be… educational.”

George doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach. “Oh, you absolute menace. Mum would hex you if she knew what you were smuggling in your bag!”

Fred only wiggled his brows, clearly proud of himself. “Told you Muggles have magic of their own. No spells, no incantations, just pure, buzzing brilliance.”

You shook your head, half-exasperated and half-laughing, as you tucked the toy back into his bag before anyone else could see. “You’re going to be the death of me, Fred Weasley. Both of you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Fred and George wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “And yet you love us for it.”

The three of you walked the final stretch home under the twinkle of Christmas lights, your laughter spilling into the quiet night. Whatever the holidays held next, you knew mischief was inevitable — and with Fred’s so-called ‘Muggle magic,’ you weren’t about to forget this one anytime soon.

[weezyweasleys-fg]

About to read/write the most stomach-twisting, toe-curling, feet-kicking, giggle-inducing weasley twins fanfiction with my cute little phone case and phone setup 🎀

[weezyweasleys-fg]

I'm being driven to insanity by this man istg that wink gave me flashbacks 😭

[weezyweasleys-fg]

As beautiful as Leaving Hogwarts is, i lowkey regret setting it as my alarm sound because lately, I've been waking up feeling like I've been run over by the express itself.

LIKE WDYM THATS NOT MY BG MUSIC AND IM NOT WAKING UP GETTING READY TO GO TO HOGWARTS AS A LITTLE RAVENCLAW WHOS DATING/BEST FRIENDS WITH THE WEASLEY TWINS 😭

[weezyweasleys-fg]

Are you taking requests?🌚

No, babes, I’m not at the moment, so I could work on the ones I’m currently doing. BUT you can still send it in, and I’ll put it into my drafts! I'd just like to put in a little disclaimer, however, that it'll take time, and I can't give a definitive deadline on when it'll be posted, so please understand 🥹

Life's been pretty hectic and my body's going THROUGH it rn 😭

[weezyweasleys-fg]

Slaving away for you all rn istg 🫩 two original fics (one's a fred nsfw oh me oh my) and one request so it might take a while before i get to post them. they're already in my drafts, however!

[weezyweasleys-fg]

hello! I was just wondering if you could make a fred x y/n fic and like the plot would be that there's a performance task in hogwarts and that it was dance task and professor McGonagall(or any professor) chooses which partner y/n gets to be and that would be fred. and y/n doesn't like it because she hates him. sort of enemies to lovers type, hehe. take your time though! no pressure.

(ps, I tried finding other fred fics, but none of them is like yours huhu.)

Baby Steps | F.W

summary: Dance lessons for the Yule Ball are as dreadful enough as it is, even more so when the devil himself—pardon, Fred Weasley is chosen to be your partner after his little ploy to try and embarrass you in front of the whole class.

c/w: enemies to lovers, aged up above twenty, hogwarts university au, harsh banter between you and freddie, a little softer than my other etl works, shorter in length, cute ending

Loud chatter from students in advanced years one to four filled the Practice Hall as Professor McGonagall finalized the preparations for the dance lessons on the far side of the room with the help of Filch.

While girls around you whispered to each other about their excitement about dancing with a boy at the ball, what dresses they’d be wearing, or the things they’d do after the whole event—there you sat next to Angelina Johnson, a good friend of yours from Gryffindor who didn’t look all too ecstatic either.

Her reason was yet to be discovered, but you? 

Oh, you just hoped you wouldn’t be paired up with Fred Weasley.

The very man on the opposite side of the hall chatting up a storm with his younger twin brother and Lee Jordan about God-knows-what.

Your eyes skimmed over to the men’s section—a small snarl threatening to peek through your face as you observed the way they sat. Like bums, manspreading wider than The Black Lake, snickering and tossing glances at female students who were sat across from them. Disgusting.

“What do you reckon they’re talking about?” You whispered, leaning your body closer to Angelina’s before beckoning to the other side with a cock of your head.

“Nothing pleasant I’m assuming,” she replied, face already beating you to a grimace.

“And there’s no way McGonagall would pair me with Fred, right? I mean—there’s tons of guys here,” apprehensively, you expressed your worry as your eyes occasionally flickered over to that cackling mess. Even your stomach twisted at the thought of touching so much as a thread on his uniform.

Angelina scoffed, shifting her body away to look at you. 

“Are you still on about what he did, y/n? It’s been weeks!”

“I know he did it purely to spite me,” grumbling, you crossed your arms—shooting him a glare from across the room.

But Fred’s eyes moved quicker than his mouth—catching your sharp gaze and holding it.

If there’s one thing about Molly’s older twin son, it’s that he holds eye contact like no other person in the whole school. Whether it be a professor or a student, on purpose or not, he’ll lock onto you until one of you breaks, and trust it won’t be him.

The scowl that painted your face just seconds before softened the slightest bit when you realized he saw the look you sent his way. And like always, you averted your gaze away first—feeling your face flush warm. From embarrassment or anger, who knows.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat awkwardly. “We—well, why don’t you try having pages from your diary plastered all over the school grounds, Lina.”

“That’s a pass. I’d be sent to Azkaban if anyone knew of what I wrote.”

Hearing her response, slowly, a small devious smirk twitched on your lips. “Thanks for reminding me to take a sneak peak later.”

The Gryffindor’s jaw dropped a little, side-eyeing you before flinging the back of her hand square on your forearm. “Don’t you dare—”

“Simmer down, simmer down!” McGonagall’s voice cut through the choirs of conversation, effectively silencing the excited (and inevitably grumbling and uninterested) students.

“As you all know, the Yule Ball is fast approaching in accordance with the Triwizard Tournament’s festivities.” She adjusts her glasses sternly, tugging on her long black robes whilst scanning the entire room.

"Now listen carefully, all of you. This is not the Quidditch pitch, nor is it a dueling arena. However..." a small smile crossed her lips. "The same principles apply. Proper posture, attention to your partner's movements, and for Merlin's sake—anticipate each other's next steps!"

Slowly, she took a turn around the room—her polished heel clicking against the stone floor like a ticking time-bomb.

"I expect you all to conduct yourselves with dignity befitting Hogwarts students. No longer are you in years one to seven, and being students in higher education, means no stepping on toes, and no inappropriate proximity charms..." McGonagall then proceeded to give a pointed look over her spectacles. "...and Mr. Weasley? Attempting the 'flying broomstick lift' again will cost your house fifty points."

Laughs from both boys and girls alike hummed throughout the space, making it all too easy to know which Weasley she was talking about exactly. Only one would ever dare pull something as daft as that during something serious.

"First and foremost, for those of you in year one who are attending the ball for the first time, we shall begin with the basics. Something simple, and something I believe the second years and beyond can manage to execute properly. The traditional waltz..."

Her disposition lightened from stern to a woman with a pep-in-her-step, extending her arms elegantly and flitting over to the girl’s corner of the hall. 

Your eyes widened the slightest bit, feeling your blood run cold at the possibility of her dragging you to be the first in line for the dance’s demonstration. Even more of a dread is knowing that Fred’ll be watching, acting like an arsewipe while he’s at it too. You remembered how the last time you flipped him off went. Ended up with Umbridge the whole night writing rubbish on a piece of parchment.

“Now, can any young lady come forth and offer me the assistance of showing everybody how the dance is performed?” McGonagall’s words felt more like a threat than an inquiry. You could just feel the other girls sinking into their seats or nearly merging themselves with the wall behind them.

And certainly you didn’t want to miss out on Hogwarts tradition. You ducked your head low, attempting to hide your face behind your hand as you sunk further into your seat to try and appear small. Or invisible.

But what made it all bad, was that you were literally in the front row. Fingers crossed professor doesn’t catch you.

“Please not me, please not me, there’s hundreds of other girls here, McGonagall, make the right choice, you’re a wise woman,” you chanted in your head, closing your eyes as if that would make you completely disappear from her line of sight.

But then all of a sudden, you felt the slightest tingle in your hand—not giving you any time to react before your arm jolted up abruptly, making you look like you volunteered. Willingly.

The wind felt caught in your chest as you stared up at your hand suspended in the air with wide eyes. Your gaze then moved over to Angelina, whose look was no more than that of petrified.

“What are you doing???” She said nothing, but her eyes said everything. You shrugged your shoulders in panic, shaking your head in defiance and undoubtedly, confusion.

“Ah, miss l/n, wonderful example of initiative," McGonagall praised with a voice no less than pleased as she finally thought a student had willingly wanted to demonstrate. “Now stand up, and walk to the center of the room.”

The center of the room. The center. of. the. room. Where everyone’s attention, including one of the man you particularly loathed, would be on you. How much better can this day get?

“Out of all the bloody students—” you cursed in your head.

The force that held your hand up suddenly went away, which caused your hand to plop back down onto your lap.

You stared at McGonagall with an expression nothing short of fear until your eyes shifted over her shoulder to look behind her.

And you should’ve known. There stood the quintet beside the pillar on the stone wall—George, Lee Jordan—hell even Ron were laughing at the little stunt Fred had pulled. And Fred was having the time of his life, mocking the way you looked when the professor approached you before sneakily tucking the wand he used back into his trouser’s pocket. 

That freckled git!

You didn’t care about the repercussions, all you thought about was that you needed to get back at him—now.

Just as you were about to whip out your own wand and cast something as humiliating as what Fred had, you found yourself being pulled up by your forearm and hauled to the center of the room by Professor McGonagall.

You couldn’t do much but stand there awkwardly and fiddle with your fingers to try and appear less stiff (although it was really doing the opposite). 

Heat rushed to your face, and you prayed with all your faith that nobody would see. 

Quickly, you glanced over to Angelina once again, mouthing a quick “help me.”, to which she responded with an apologetic look, making gestures with her hands to tell you to calm down and breathe. And seeing as you didn’t have much riding on your dignity at this point, you nodded and followed her advice.

But as you were desperately pleading s.o.s to your friend with your eyes, McGonagall had already made her way over to the men’s side, eyeing them sternly compared to the girls.

You followed the older woman with a turn of your head—gaze immediately settling onto Fred. Still laughing like the obnoxious nightmare that he is, not paying any mind to the Deputy Headmistress poised right in front of him. He really doesn’t know when to shut up, does he?

But George, who seemed to be the only one with a functioning brain of the two, became meek at the sight of Gryffindor’s Head staring them down for obvious reasons. But Fred? Still chuckling even with Lee Jordan’s hand clapped over his mouth.

“Quit laughing, you knob,” whispered Lee to his taller friend.

Fred took a hold of Lee’s wrist, pulling it down from his mouth to speak. “See the way she looked when her arm went up though, mate? Bloody brilliant, her face,” he snickered.

McGonagall raised a conspicuous brow before crossing her arms. “Mr. Weasley, since you appear to possess twice the enthusiasm—and unfortunately, twice the volume of your peers in this discussion—perhaps you'd care to demonstrate your...evident mastery of these dance steps by partnering with Miss l/n? I do hope your footwork proves to be as confident as your commentary."  

She paused meaningfully, straightening her robes. "Five points from Gryffindor if you step on her toes." 

Fred stood with his mouth partially agape, glancing at George whose lips were pursed to keep himself from laughing at his older brother’s predicament. Now everyone’s attention was on him, and it certainly wasn’t something he cowered away from.

“Go on then, disco-man,” chuckled George.

“Show them your moves,” Lee teased, giving Fred a shove by the shoulder.

Fred shot them both a glare, but there was no real heat behind it—just the usual banter that revolved between them all. He pushed himself off the wall from his slouched position—rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for battle rather than a dance lesson.

"Alright, Professor. I'll show you lot how it's done,” grinning, Fred boasted.

He sauntered forward with that insufferable confidence of his—hands in pockets until the last possible second before pulling them out with a flourish and gave an exaggerated bow in your direction, extending a hand with mock gallantry.

He stopped close enough that you caught the scent of broom polish and something distinctly him beneath it. His grin was all teeth, mischief burning in those damn brown eyes. 

You stiffened, hands clenched so tight your nails dug crescent moons into your palms. 

“M’lady,” he drawled mockingly.

Your jaw clamped together to the point where you could hear your own teeth grinding. The sheer audacity of this man to act like he was doing you a favor after he got you into this mess in the first place.

You wanted to stomp on his foot right then and there—maybe scream something vicious about how much of an arrogant prat he was—but McGonagall’s sharp eyes were watching, and losing your house more points because of him wasn't worth it.  

So instead, you forced yourself to step forward with all the grace of someone walking toward their own execution and held your hand out stiffly like touching him would give you some incurable disease. 

A sharp breath escaped through your nose as you weighed the options:  

1.) Slap him senseless and risk expulsion (tempting)  

2.) Fake a violent stomach curse (possible but cowardly) 

3.) Worst choice: Actually take his stupid hand (you’ve gone mental)

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” you muttered under your breath as Fred took hold of your hand like it belonged there—his grip warm despite how cold yours must have felt against him from sheer irritation alone.

And then—

His thumb brushed lightly over yours before intertwining your fingers together properly. 

McGonagall clapped her hands sharply together.

"Positions!"

Fred immediately tugged you closer by default entirely without thinking about personal boundaries.

The rest of the students who were sitting or had nearly become one with the wall, now sprung up on their feet—clumsily yet with great haste taking action and began pairing up with the person of their choosing.

Then Fred pulled you forward sharply into the first stance before his whisper grazed the shell of your ear.

“Try keeping up.”

And with a wave of Professor McGonagall’s wand towards the ceiling-high enchanted violins waiting expectantly above,

“Begin!” 

And music began to swell around the hall, heartbeats pounding, ears drowning, and threats unfinished.

And Fred meant every word about keeping up.

While the other men were gentlemanly enough, some albeit awkwardly, to lead their female partners across the dance floor, Fred had you slinging around to match his long strides and clumsy turns like some unsentient puppet.

You tripped over your own feet, face contorting into a mix of anger and embarrassment at his lack of morals. Your fingernails dug lightly into the back of his hand and shoulder where your other palm rested—causing Fred to take in a sharp hiss.

“Ouch… Maybe a little too touchy-feely there, bambi? Have mercy on a bloke’s complexion before the ball,” he teased, pointing out your stumbling legs and used that to reference the animated fawn character from a Muggle film he had heard about from one of his friends.

“I should be having mercy on you?” You scoffed, yanking his hand in the correct position after it had drooped down. “If you hadn’t been dragging me around like an old ragdoll—”

“Perhaps a ragdoll would’ve been a better partner.”

“I was forced to dance first against my own bloody will. Ring any bells, Fred?” You spat, voice low and dangerous—but he kept his gaze lighthearted—unserious.

“Don’t think so,” he replied cluelessly, giving a small shrug. He really was trying to get under your skin on purpose. 

You could’ve sworn a vein popped from your neck at the act he was currently playing at. You never liked his witty comebacks. Pissed you off more than entertained you.

“I saw what you did—!”

“Woah, there!” Fred suddenly exclaimed, swerving both your bodies away just in time before you nearly collided with another guy that also aimlessly tried surviving McGonagall’s lessons alongside his pair.

“Hey, I’m your partner aren’t I? Don’t go stumbling into another girl’s man in hopes he’d save you,” he chuckled and you shot him a glare.

“How was I supposed to know he was there if I’m too focused on not having my ankles dislocate from your abnormal leading skills,” annoyed, you shot back.

“I’m great at leading,” he reasoned, sliding his hand down from the level of your bra clasp to your waist, pulling you closer so your stomachs were now pressed firmly against each other.

“Oh, please don’t—I could just throw up right here.” You removed your hands from where they once (and correctly) rested to try and create some distance between you by attempting to push him away by his chest. Your proximity was dizzying at most, flustering the tiniest bit since this was probably the closest and most intimate you’d ever been with a man, and obviously, Fred didn’t let down.

He found that opportunity to hold you even tighter, which caused a struggle to begin between the two of you—and with that, caught McGonagall’s sharp eyes.

“Mr. Weasley, Miss l/n, I expect you both to compose yourselves and execute the dance as humans, not animals!” Her voice pierced through the music, sending hot flashes up your spine. “I will not hesitate to remove more points from your houses if both of you don’t straighten up like the rest—Mr. Jordan, her waist, not her elbow!”

After McGonagall had oh-so-graciously given you and Fred a piece of her mind (and partially embarrassed you in front of the class), your gaze returned to the twit in front of you. The frown on your face remained constant despite the inevitable charm of Fred’s looks.

“Happy now that you’ve humiliated me even more?” You pulled through gritted teeth.

“Very,” he responded, smiling.

The dance began to pick up pace a bit more—the formation now shifted into a circle in which you all danced a different routine, with many more spins and turns.

“You dance like a newborn giraffe, bambi,” Fred pointed out, using that God-awful nickname again.

"Well there's only your skills to thank for that," you grunted, looking him square in the eye as he hauled you into another direction with the class of a Bludger on two legs—his smirk widening at your comment as he holds eye contact. “And besides, you dance like you’ve got all your teammates’ brooms shoved up your arse, so what’s your point?" Reeling at his audacity, you snapped back.

George, having overheard the conversation and was conveniently positioned beside you with his partner, leaned in to whisper before the next spin.

“Don’t take it too hard, y/n,” he mumbled to you, glancing at Fred who was already eyeing him. “He’s only doing that to get into your knickers. Quite pathetic at flirting, isn’t he?” George managed to say before spinning both him and his partner, and Fred with you the same.

Your brows furrowed from his words, looking momentarily at Fred with your stomach churning.

“Reckon I’m still better than him with the ladies,”  George chaffed one last time before turning his attention back to his pair, and you, to Fred.

"Best hope you don't keep eating your own words, lad!" Yelled Fred after his brother. "Thinks I didn't see him get his confession absolutely mullered by Ange last month..."

You cocked an eyebrow, a slight snarl painting your lips as you remembered George's little get-in-your-knickers line. “Are you usually this appalling?”

Fred scoffed, taking your hand to twirl you around for the choreography before settling his palm firmly on your waist, pulling you closer to him than ever.

“You’re seriously gonna believe someone that looks like me?” He had a point. But who were you to also believe Fred himself wasn’t lying to you?

"Better someone else than you," you shot back, breathless from the spin and something else you refused to name. "This would’ve been easier if we were dancing at least ten miles apart. Being this close to you makes me reel."

Fred barked a laugh—loud enough that half the circle turned to look—and tightened his grip on your waist like he enjoyed seeing you miserable.

“Y’know,” he mused, dragging you into a sharp turn that left no space between you, “most girls who wanna get this close usually pretend to like me first.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Most girls haven’t seen what’s under your cauldron during Potions.”

He snorted, flipping his bangs off of his face before leaning in again, voice dipping low beneath the swell of the music.

“But we both know you’re not most girls, aren’t you? You’re the one who remembers my middle name is Gideon.” A smirk curled at his lips. “And still haven’t told anyone.”

Your breath hitched.

Because he was right.

You had found it once in a library book—an old family tree George accidentally left open while researching for History of Magic. "Frederick Gideon Weasley."

They both never really used their middle names anywhere, and rumor said it was purely because it cushioned their first names too much, making it sound too…posh?

And instead of blackmailing him with it? You tucked it away…like some secret treasure wrapped in hate-silk and denial.

And Fred? He’d known all along that you knew.

The realization slammed into you mid-step—threw off your rhythm completely—and suddenly?

He wasn’t dragging you anymore.

You matched him move for move—not perfectly—but close enough that McGonagall gave a single approving nod before moving past another pair who were somehow dancing backwards up a wall (courtesy of Peeves' earlier sabotage).

Fred spoke in a quieter voice. "...you kept my secret."

His tone wasn't teasing anymore—it was stripped bare beneath violins and footfalls—a question hidden in simple words:  

“Why didn’t you use it against me?”

But before you could answer—or even process what kind of madness made silence feel heavier than words—

George cut between both of you during an overhead arm-cross formation—the brothers smacking hands briefly as they passed each other and Lee snickered from behind.

“Oi! Pass her back when she’s not broken!”

“You broke her?” George called over his shoulder towards Fred with mock concern. “Mum’ll send Howlers every day until Easter!”

“She broke herself!” Fred yelled after him indignantly—even though he looked suspiciously guilty about holding someone too tightly.

Then music slowed again—a new section beginning where partners stood still facing one another with arms still entangled in first stance for the ending segment aided by proper form and posture cues written midair by McGonagall’s spellwork.

“𝒫𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓉! 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹!"

So there you were,

Still touching.

Still breathing fast.

Still caught somewhere between war and something terrifyingly softer...

McGonagall’s enchanted script flickered above both your hands clasped together.

"𝒯𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹."

You stared at those three bloody words hovering over Fred’s fingers gripping yours—and then up into those brown eyes reflecting both torchlight and you.

A challenge burned there—not mischievous or cruel—but raw and real.

“You’ve caught my attention,” said everything he wouldn’t say aloud.

Without breaking eye contact—you exhaled sharply through flared nostrils, tightening your grip on his hand ever so slightly and adjusted your stance under glowing letters floating above palm-held promises neither dared define yet couldn't stop making anyway.

Step by step...

Breath by breath...

Spell after cursed spell—

This war had become less about hatred

And more about learning how not to fall

While already halfway down.