𝕭𝖊𝖆

The corridors of Hogwarts were never quiet when either George or Fred Weasley was around, especially not when you were trying to get somewhere on time.

“Fred, I’m going to be late for Charms,” you groaned, attempting to peel his long arms from around your waist for the third time. He had you pinned gently against the stone wall just outside the Great Hall, chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Skip it,” he mumbled against your skin, voice warm and lazy. “Tell Flitwick I died. Tragic accident… death by neglect.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already threading through his copper hair. “You said that last week. And the week before. Now I’m on my last warning before I have to see McGonogall.”

“Exactly. Why stop now?” He pressed a dramatic kiss to your jaw. “Besides, it’s my final year here: I should be making the most of you. Of this.”

Of course, you succumbed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Fred had claimed the best couch in the Gryffindor common room as “ours.” Anyone who tried to sit there when you came through the portrait hole was promptly threatened with a disgusting flavoured Bertie’s Bean.

Tonight, you were halfway through an essay when Fred flopped down dramatically, head landing in your lap without warning. His never ending legs dangled over the armrest as he looked up at you with those mischievous brown eyes.

“Hi, beautiful,” he grinned.

“Hi Freddie. I’m just trying to write—”

“Essay can wait. Boyfriend cannot.” He grabbed your free hand and placed it on his head, giving you an expectant look until you started scratching his scalp. A contented sigh left him almost immediately. “Merlin, I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me at dinner two hours ago!”

“Two hours is an eternity,” he declared, wrapping one arm around your thigh like it was a his personal teddy bear. “I’m wasting away without constant physical contact. It’s a medical condition. Weasley Withdrawal Syndrome. Very serious.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Between classes, Fred had perfected the art of “accidental” ambushes.

You’d be walking down the moving staircases when suddenly a familiar pair of hands would grab your waist from behind and walk with you. Fred would pull you flush against him, ignoring the annoyed grumbles of third-years trying to get past his broad frame.

“Missed you,” he’d murmur, stealing a quick kiss.

“Missed you too, Freddie,” you’d say.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

One rainy Saturday afternoon in the library, you were attempting to study for your NEWTs Potions exam when Fred appeared; sometimes you could swear he had an inbuilt compass to you.

You smiled up at him. Without a word, he slid into the chair beside you, scooped you up, and deposited you sideways across his lap, parchment and all.

“Fred!” you hissed, cheeks burning as Madam Pince shot a dirty look your way.

“What?” he whispered innocently, arms locked around your middle. “I’m helping you study. See? I’m your personal chair now. Much more comfortable than those awful wooden ones.”

You tried to look stern, but you were already melting as he rested his chin on your shoulder and started reading your notes aloud in a ridiculous low voice, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your temple whenever you got an answer right.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The worst (or best) of his clinginess was at night:

Every few nights he’d sneak up to the girls’ dormitory stairs (perfectly willing to get hexed by the enchantment if it meant seeing you), gripping a blanket around his shoulders to keep him warm in the stone castle.

One particularly cold evening, you woke up to the feeling of someone sliding under your covers.

“Fred Weasley, if McGonagall catches you—” you started sleepily.

“She won’t,” he whispered, already wrapping himself around you like an octopus, long limbs tangling with yours. “Besides, you were shivering. I could hear it from the boys’ tower. Had to come warm you up. Boyfriend duties!” He feigned a sigh.

You laughed and turned in his arms, burying your face in his chest. He smelled like he always did.