I Do What I Want

DUET MASTERLIST 

desc: all love stories have a first page. for y/n and george, that first page is marked with paper swans, paint and ribbons. 

a/n: hello! this is part of a collab between @ickle-ronniekins and myself! we’re both very excited, and hope that you adore this as much as we adore talking about it. please, go and send erica lots of love! all of this was inspired by her lovely writing, and i’m so blessed she went along with this crazy idea of mine. 

warnings: none

George wondered how he’d never seen you. Of course he’d looked at you before– it was impossible not to, given all the classes you’d had together the past couple of years. You were the quiet Hufflepuff, with the love of ribbons. If George was hard pressed to think he would suppose you two had exchanged a few hello’s before. 

But now he’d seen you. At thirteen, George hadn’t thought there was much of a difference. Today he’d finally realized that there was. 

George’s mess up in charms had flung a paper swan right into your hair, and when you’d made eye contact with him from across the class you’d let out the most beautiful laugh he’d ever heard. Delicately you’d sent the bird fluttering back to him, only to land softly into his hand. Wide eyed, he’d stared at you still. Fumbling over the right way to say sorry he’d finally heard your voice. 

Soft. Like a bell. 

“If you’re not more careful you’ll send it flying out of the classroom!” 

George felt as if he couldn’t breathe, nodding numbly. Fred seemed unable to pick up the difference in behavior, and grinned confidently at you from across the classroom. “How do you know that’s not the plan, huh?” He nudged George with his elbow, expecting him to chime in and was puzzled with his brother’s silence. 

You’d gone back to helping your friend, and George wondered desperately how to get your attention. 

____________

You were angry. It was an uncommon feeling for you to have. Normally nothing bothered you all that much. If Professor Snape was to believed, “Miss L/N, if your head would be farther in the clouds it would be detached from your body.” That one had hurt your feelings a little bit. But this time you were angry. You were angry and sad. Your grandmother had sent you a very pretty jumper for your birthday, since you got to go to Hogsmeade for the first time, and now it was covered in paint. You directed all of your frustration towards the ones responsible. The Weasley twins. One of them at least had the decency to look abashed about it. George stared at you, focusing on what looked like tears in your eyes. It was meant to be a harmless prank. Some floating balloons of paint floating above the Hufflepuff’s common room entrance. He’d set them to pop when he’d seen a mass of students exit for breakfast. They’d chosen the weekend deliberately, so no one would be late to class. 

Groans were to be expected, but it ripped his thirteen year old heart apart to see you, who’d been on his mind almost every second of every day looking so upset. 

An older student noticed your expression and worked to calm you down whilst shooting the boys a severe look. 

“It’s just paint!” Fred called out. Seeing someone so upset over a prank bothered Fred too, though he tended to hop on the defensive when that happened. “No need to cry about it!” 

“You’re mean!” your voice cracked with emotion, even as the older student worked to vanish away the paint. You wondered if your hair had gotten disturbed. It’d been a long process to look for your first trip to Hogsmeade. If you were going to be truthful to yourself, you’d wanted to impress the twin who’d flung the paper bird in charms, but now you wondered why you would want to look nice for someone so rude! “You’re inconsiderate! What if someone had gotten paint in their eyes, huh? You’re both mean!” 

George hated how your lip was wobbling. 

Fred’s shoulders slouched as he looked at the Hufflepuffs, the crowd growing larger with the commotion. Had someone gotten paint in their eyes? That would have been a mood killer. He didn’t want to actually hurt anyone that day. 

When no one seemed to be rubbing their eyes, Fred turned– refusing to apologize if no one got hurt, and tugged at George’s sleeve. “C’mon, let’s get going.” George couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and it wasn’t until Fred had tugged at his sleeve much harder before he’d began to retreat with his brother. 

Still dumbfounded, he retreated wordlessly. 

_______

A week later, George was still pouting. It was infuriating. Fred wondered if he could launch a bludger at his twin in the next game. “It’s just one girl who got mad! Stop acting like a sop.” 

“She was right though– it was a mean prank.” “We’ve done meaner.” “Doesn’t make it better.” Fred groaned, his head thrown back, loud enough to draw attention from Ron and his first year friends. “Bloody hell! If you keep talking like this I’ll start thinking you’re in love with her.” 

When George was silent, Fred snapped his gaze to him. “You can’t be serious, George. Are you kidding me?” 

“Sod off.” He sat up quickly and made his way out of the common room before anyone else could overhear. “And shut up, Fred.” 

“Have you even talked to her?” 

“I said shut up.” “What’s her name?” George paused, his cheeks red. “Y/N.” 

“And how do you know that?” He knew it, because he’d peaked at the title of your History of Magic essay. Fred didn’t need to know that. Instead, George was silent. 

Until Fred stood in front of him. 

“Do you not know what sod off means?” 

“Is this why you’re acting weird? Because she got mad?” “She looked like she was going to cry!”

Fred blanched at the idea that something he did might have made someone cry. At least someone who wasn’t a jerk. He disliked having to confront the idea that even nice people might dislike his pranks. “So? It’s a dumb thing to be upset about!” 

George continued to glare at his brother before Fred let out a dramatic groan. “Fine! Fine. We’ll find her, apologize, and then you can make out in a corner somewhere before you get married forever since you’re so deeply in love with the girl you’ve never talked to.” 

Fred dodged George’s wide swipe at him before taking off down the hall, with George nervously following. 

No, this could not end well. 

_____

George had been right. When they’d found you reading underneath a tree, you’d looked none too pleased to see them. It wasn’t until he’d seen your lips wobble a bit before you spoke that he realized he’d been staring at them. 

“What do you two want?” 

Fred looked at George to speak up, and rolled his eyes when his twin still seemed shocked and silent. He focused his gaze back on you. “We’re sorry.” There was some frustration behind Fred’s voice. “We didn’t mean to make you upset with the paint. Should have thought about it first before we tried that.” 

Your eyes darted between the two, caught off guard. You only knew them as pranksters, not much else. 

Though your friends had been teasing you a lot about your moping around ever since the prank. It’d been hard to explain how sad you felt over the pretty twin who’d launched the paper. Especially when you knew it’d make you sound silly. The one you’d become smitten over stayed silent like always. “Why’d it take you so long to apologize?” 

Fred grimaced, and George finally seemed to find his voice. “We just wanted to be funny… didn’t want to think about making someone sad.” 

For a moment your frown grew. “That’s silly.” 

The boys spoke in unison, “We know. We’re sorry.” 

“You ought to know pranks can make people sad.” 

“We should. We’re sorry.” 

With a few more sighs, you closed your book. George watched as your frown eased up. “I forgive you both.” In fact, your easy going smile returned. He felt his heartbeat race so quickly that it caught in his throat. “Now, who’s who?” You pointed your finger at George. “You’re the one from Charms.”

You watched his face turn a very pretty shade of pink, one that highlighted his red hair and freckles wonderfully. You wondered how it’d taken you so long to realize how absolutely sweet he looked. 

That supposedly made the other one also adorable, but the shy one had something special about him. You couldn’t put words on it. 

“How do you know it was me?” 

“You’re the shy one.” Your brow furrowed at the sound of the other laughing. You wondered why. “You’re the quiet one.” 

He seemed rather shocked while his twin continued to laugh loudly. When he stayed silent, you worried you’d touched a nerve. “It’s alright to be shy and embarrassed! Once a few weeks ago I realized one of my buns had fallen out when the ribbon came off. I felt very silly, I hadn’t figured out all day why people were giggling when I walked around.”

Somehow, you’d become even cuter. George wondered how that was even possible. But your soft voice and easy smile seemed to smooth out every single nerve he felt. 

“I’m George.” He reached out his hand to shake yours. 

“George!” It made his heart stop, to hear you so delighted while saying his name. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Y/N.” 

George resisted the urge to comment that he already knew your name. Instead he took your hand and shook it, delighted to find it so soft and warm. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

request from @mycupoffanfictionreplies : Hi! I'm loving your writing! Please may I request something where George takes a shine to the really short in height, shy, 'weird girl' in his class (sort of like Luna but more shy) and she's far too shy to admit that she likes him until they are assigned to work in a pair on a project and she accidentally blurts out to George that she likes him and George thinks it's the cutest thing ever. Is that too lengthy and specific? I'm sorry if it is! Thank you so much, I hope you're keeping well 💖

word count: 1.6k

A/N: ugh. okay. just imagine—george weasley falling in love in the middle of care of magical creatures with some whimsy, magical, beautiful, slightly different, shy girl who fawns dramatically over every creature they have the chance to study. i’m super emotional. i just love him a lot, okay????

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added, loves!

“Don’t you just find them absolutely mesmerizing?”

Mesmerizing isn’t the exact word that comes to mind when George thinks of blast-ended skrewts. In fact, he kind of really dislikes them, but he’s so enthralled by your wide eyes and bright smile, that he doesn’t seem to care about anything else.

He glances over toward Fred, who looks rather disgruntled to be paired with some annoyed looking Slytherin girl, and rolls his eyes in the direction of Umbridge, who is standing next to Hagrid at the front of the class. In an attempt to separate the twins—purely because Umbridge is supervising the class—George had ended up with you at Hagrid’s request. And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t dislike it one bit.

You—the shy one. The strange one. The one whose interests seem to differ from everyone else’s, the one who marches to the beat of her own drum. The one who others always seem to talk about, including those strange likes of yours. The one who, George realizes now, is quickly stealing his heart.

He grins lazily, watching you as you bend down to get closer to the strange looking creatures in front of you. You stick out your hand, as if to pet them, and George nervously grabs you by your shoulders. “Careful!”

You let out a soft giggle, and George can’t help but notice the sun glistening in your eyes and across your hair. He can feel a slight pull at his heart when you peer up at him, and hold out your hand to guide him closer to the skrewts. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” His head is saying absolutely not, get the bloody hell away from those things, but his heart wants nothing more than to feel your fingers interwoven in his.

“They’re just.. different, is all,” you say quietly, looking down at the skrewt as it lets out some strange noises. George notices every other student in the class backing away from these odd looking things; but there you are, going against the norm, slowly inching closer to them. He bites down to suppress a grin. “Reckon you just have to do a bit of research, right? Just to understand them a bit better?”

He can almost hear Hagrid in the back of his mind. Misunderstood creatures, is all.

He notices Fred standing up straighter with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the sight of you two hand in hand, but George ignores this. He’s too focused on the moment. His heart sinks a bit when he hears Umbridge let out a sickeningly sweet laugh, and Hagrid clears his throat gruffly, signaling the end of class.

“What’re your thoughts on fire crabs?”

You take George by surprise; he stops in his tracks as he walks next to you, side by side, up to the castle, completely ignoring Fred calling out to him from behind. Instead he clears his throat and replies, “Erm—I dunno, really—never studied them, have we?”

“They’re quite cute, actually,” you tell him, and George laughs sweetly, “their tortoise-like appearance makes them look less threatening, you know? And that jeweled shell they have—well, it’s rather beautiful, isn’t it? The bright, shining colors..”

Your voice trails off and floats in between you both and George can’t shake the feeling like there’s something lodged in his throat. He clears it once, twice, and replies back, “Yeah.. I reckon you’re right.” He sounds as nervous as he feels, and he prays you won’t notice. You don’t. It seems that your head is high in the clouds; or, perhaps, it is still back with the skrewts. George, thinking of his own favorite magical creature, asks you, “How about Nifflers?”

“Oh, the cutest!” you tell him excitedly, your eyes sparkling in the sun. Then, you bring a hand to your chin and pause to consider things, thinking a moment. “Although—I do have quite a lot of jewelry at home, so I reckon they wouldn’t be the best creature to have around.”

George laughs again; he cannot get over how absolutely adorably soft and sweet you are. “Probably not, but—would be perfect if you’re ever in search of a treasure of sorts?”

“I couldn’t agree more! Wish we could study those, too.”

“Imagine all the damage they’d cause in the castle?”

“Imagine all the damage they’d cause in Umbridge’s office?”

The two of you fall into a little fit of laughter as you trudge up the hill toward the castle for the next classes; when you reach the front, you can both still hear Fred calling out to his brother rather wildly. “Well—see you next class, George. The skrewts will be nearly three feet by then! Aren’t you excited?!”

A few girls nearby snicker at this, but you don’t seem to notice; your mind is elsewhere. George’s insides tighten; he suddenly feels very defensive of you. But then, he realizes, looking at you now, that he doesn’t need to be. It’s obvious to him that you don’t care what they think of you, and neither should he.

Not thinking much on the skrewts at all, he smiles at you and tightens his grip on his bag. “I can’t wait.”

It’s a bright and sunny day; George is nearly skipping down to Care of Magical Creatures (which nobody ever seems to do—nobody, except you), while next to him, Fred is looking positively woebegone. George slings an arm around his twin’s shoulder and says, “Brighten up, Freddie! Just a few more afternoon classes separate us from the weekend; we still planning on wreaking havoc in the fifth floor corridors tomorrow night?”

“I can’t even think about that right now, Georgie,” Fred replies, taking his brother by surprise, “not when I’ve got to spend the next hour and a half fawning over these stupid skrewts.”

“They’re not stupid,” George tells his brother. “They’re actually quite interesting. Y/N says—”

“Oh, Y/N,” Fred says teasingly, almost immediately reverting back to his normal self. George spots you already down near the forest, twirling on the spot, peering up into the trees and humming slightly to yourself. “Is that why we’re so strangely chipper for this class today?”

“No,” George lies, his voice suddenly very hoarse. He can’t take his eyes off of you. “I’m just—I’m enjoying this lesson, alright? Bugger off.”

With a click of his tongue through a smirk so painfully mocking, Fred laughs, “Mhmm—sure, mate, whatever you say,” and shoves George into a nearby tree before begrudgingly trodding over to the Slytherin, who rolls her eyes rather noticeably at his arrival.

“Hi, George!” you say excitedly, tugging on his arm to bring him closer to you. You point over to the area where Hagrid has the skrewts secured; George can see creatures much larger than the ones from the last class. He swallows over a lump in his throat, and suddenly feels butterflies flood his rib cage; but is it from the massive skrewts, or the fact that you’re still holding onto his arm?

“I reckon this will probably be one of the last lessons on the skrewts,” you say, frowning slightly. “Once they’re about three feet or so, they become difficult to get close to due to their bad temper, and they probably won’t react very well to humans.” Your frown quickly turns into a cheeky grin and your eyes widen in wonder. “But this means we’ll move onto something new soon!”

George is grinning from ear to ear at your undeniable excitement for any new creatures that will make their way into the upcoming lessons. “Rumor has it,” George tells you, leaning in closer to you, “that kneazles are next.”

You gasp audibly. He peers into your bright eyes. “How d’you know?”

He smiles sweetly at you. “I have my ways.”

“How exciting!” you reply, clapping your hands together in amusement. “They’re quite intelligent creatures, aren’t they? And absolutely beautiful—I’d love to have one, you know, as a pet or something. I reckon that would be absolutely wicked.”

“You know,” George says, suddenly feeling very keen toward kneazles, “that would be! You wouldn’t have to worry about them growing ten feet in size; plus, they won’t steal all of that jewelry you have.”

A laugh escapes your lips with no effort; you grab onto George’s wrist as it happens and clap your other hand onto your knee. He’s looking at you with nothing but admiration. He swallows thickly as he listens intently to your laugh. When you catch your breath, you place a hand to your chest and say breathlessly, “I knew there was a reason I like you, George Weasley.”

George is quite sure that his heart is in his throat; he is suddenly extremely aware of the way his feet feel in the grass. He feels as though, when you look up at him with panicked eyes, that he’s being carried by large, easy waves—his stomach is fluttering and dropping every few seconds, making the nerves throughout his body accelerate, but then a calmness takes him over, if only for a moment, before the fluttery feeling comes rushing back. You begin to stammer, “I—erm—”

And before he can fully register what he’s doing, or what Hagrid is saying to the rest of the class, George grabs your hand and squeezes tightly. He notices your face flush, and says, “I like you, too.” You swallow over a lump in your throat and proceed to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. You tug nervously at the bottom of your sweater when George begins to pull you toward the skrewts. “Shall we go see how much our tiny creature has grown?”

You’re suddenly looking rather anxious and shy; George can sense this, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s really the three-foot long skrewts making you feel this way. Somehow, he can tell it’s probably not. He grins at you, pulls again on your hand to bring you closer to him and says, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

request from anon: Your writing is truly amazing!! I just read your fake dating with Georgie and I loved it!! I was wondering you would be up to writing a fake dating piece with Freddie?!☺️

word count: 6.9k sorry i keep getting carried away

A/N: ugh. my heart. i cannot deal. thank you all for being so kind, day after day, with each and every piece i write. and thank you, also, for being so patient. i know it’s taking me a while to sift through these requests. it means the world to me! love you all tons

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover | message me if you’d like to be added lovelies!

“Hey, Y/N! Would you mind, for the sake of the entire team, to not be so bloody brilliant during every single match? You’re making us look bad.”

You smile, clutching the quaffle to your chest as you zoom rapidly through the air, leaving dust in your wake as you fly past the Slytherin team members, leaving them baffled and confused before they can fully register just exactly what’s going on. You hoist the quaffle through the hoop and hear a loud roar from the Gryffindor section; you must be up by a hundred points by now. You see Malfoy near the goal posts on the opposite side, looking positively murderous.

You make your way around the interior of the pitch, only to reply to Fred Weasley as you pass by, “I can try, but—don’t you want to win?”

A hearty laugh escapes his lips, and he’s pummeling bludgers left and right with his twin by his side. He wonders now, watching you, if Gryffindor would be as good as they are without you on the team. You’re probably one of the most talented Chasers Gryffindor has seen in years, he reckons. He knew it the first time he saw you mount a broom in a flying lesson your first year at Hogwarts. Since then, inseparable you two had been.

There’s a light, airy feel to the match, which is, to Fred’s surprise, nothing at all what he had expected this morning, especially with Slytherin being the opponent. But you seem to be more in rhythm with the wavelengths of this match than ever before, to the point where Harry is actually taking his time to try and find the snitch—he’s making Malfoy sweat it out a bit.

But when a nasty bludger smacks the end of your broom and you’re knocked to the ground, landing painfully on your arm, Madam Hooch begins shouting out punishments at the Slytherin beaters, McGonagall is rushing to your side with Madam Pomfrey, and Fred, George, and Harry are nearly kicking Malfoy into the ground when his sickeningly irritating mock laughter floats in the air between them.

— -

“Merlin—is a side effect of drinking too much Skele-Gro that you end up a bottomless pit?” you ask nobody in particular as you continue to shovel eggs, toast, bacon and sausage into your mouth. Next to you, George laughs and pats you on the shoulder.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he tells you.

You peer over and smile—your bones in your arm are fully restored, but still in a sling; Madam Pomfrey had insisted. Across the table, Fred is looking rather sullen indeed.

“Brighten up, would you, Weasley?” you kick him playfully under the table and his stoic face breaks into a toothy smile. He’s feeling rather guilty, he is. Wasn’t able to stop the bludger in time. Neither was George. As if you’re reading his thoughts, you tell him, “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“Yeah,” he replies, stirring his spoon in his cup of tea. A bit too loudly, he continues, “Slimy Slytherin beaters—”

“Easy,” you say in a low voice, as the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch team glances over at your table, and Fred’s gripping his fork tightly in his other hand. “Don’t need any more of us taken out of the next match, do we?”

Another safety measure of Madam Pomfrey’s. No Quidditch for a few weeks, at least. This means, of course, missing the next match: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. You’d tried to fight it, but when her mouth had formed into a thin line and she’d crossed her arms indignantly, you knew there was no changing her mind.

Why is it, Fred thinks to himself now, that Slytherins tend to get away with everything? The punishment of the two beaters was absolutely nothing like he’d expected—one detention each with Snape, who had basically grinned at the sight of your broken arm and shoulder. He’s so bloody tired of it, he wants to give them a taste of their own medicine. Perhaps, if he picks George’s brain, he can think of something—

His thoughts are interrupted when you kick him again under the table. “Hello—earth to Freddie?”

“Sorry,” he replies, biting into his toast, “what did you say?”

“I was saying—” you begin, and Fred notices his twin is now down a few seats talking with Ron and Ginny, leaving you two alone, “would you mind helping me pack up my bag after breakfast? It’s proving rather difficult with one arm since I have this sling across my other shoulder—”

Before you can finish, you both hear a group of Hufflepuffs from the table over discussing something animatedly. Fred catches bits and pieces of the conversation—he swears he hears ‘bludgers’ and ‘poor girl’ quite a few times. Before he knows it, they’re standing up and waltzing over to the Gryffindor table—more specifically, toward you.

“Oh bloody hell,” you mumble under your breath and look at Fred with wide eyes. You don’t need to say anything else for him to understand. Leading the pack of distraught looking Hufflepuffs is—Fred’s least favorite person in the entire world, and that’s including Malfoy—your ex boyfriend.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says awkwardly as he approaches the table at once before you and Fred are able to escape. He looks down at your shoulder and says in a tone Fred can’t decipher as sarcastic or genuine, “real sorry about your arm. Terrible thing those beaters did. Are you okay?”

With a slight eye roll from you and a laugh he tries very hard to suppress, Fred finds himself lost in his thoughts again. He’s transported almost immediately to the common room, to a very late Monday night after a very long detention with Professor McGonagall.

When he sprang through the portrait hole that evening, ready to divulge to you just exactly how he’d landed himself in detention the night you were both supposed to continue your weekly Monday traditions of exploding snap over small glasses of Butterbeer, he was a bit taken aback when he saw you crying in the corner, peering out of a window at the starry night sky. Immediately, his insides turned.

“Y/N?’ he asked when he finally reached you, nervous of how you were going to react to his very late arrival.

You sniffled a bit and wiped your tears away with your shirtsleeve. He felt surprised when you said softly, with no twinge of anger, “W-where’ve you been?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sitting across from you on the window ledge. He let his bag fall to his feet with a dull thump. “McGonagall caught Georgie and me right after class—I was dragged to immediate detention without being able to come back to the common room to tell you—I could use a good butterbeer right now..” but his voice trailed off when he noticed that you weren’t really listening. Your eyes were letting tears escape with no effort, and he spotted your hands trembling against your knees. You weren’t upset about the game of exploding snap. His heart sank into his chest when he realized this was something deeper. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand over yours, “are you okay?”

“H-he,” you started, and Fred could tell that you were embarrassed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye. “It’s over. He broke up with me.”

“W..what?” Fred asked, his hands suddenly felt extremely cold. He squeezed your knee and waited.

“He said he.. sees me as a friend,” you told him, and Fred shook his head in utter shock, “he doesn’t.. feel anything a-anymore. I think..” you continued, your voice slightly higher than before, “I think there’s s-someone else.”

You threw your head into your hands and began wailing. Fred had never, ever, ever seen you cry before, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to do everything in his power to make it stop, make you smile, make you happy.

“What a complete git,” he told you before pulling you into his arms. You were nearly on his lap. You rested your head on his chest and let out painful sobs for a few minutes while he thought, in a panicked state, of words to say. You’d always been tough. Independent. Happy-go-lucky. So to see you in this emotional, co-dependent, messy state—he felt strange. Off balance. It made his heart hurt.

“Hey,” he said after a few minutes once your tears seemed to slow, “how about we make you some tea, get you into some comfortable pyjamas, and then we can talk through it—how does that sound?” When he noticed you were about to argue after pointing to the butterbeer and cards on the table even though he knew you didn’t really want to play, he continued, “Nah—not really in the mood to get my arse kicked by you tonight.”

You laughed through a hiccup and squeezed his hand tightly before pulling his arms around you again. “First, can you—can you just stay here with me?”

He felt you tense up beside him and he knew that you were trying your hardest to fight back more tears rising to the surface. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms tighter around you, enclosing you in the warmth from his own body.

“Okay then,” he replied and felt you relax beside him, “I can do that.”

“Maybe we can—we can talk it over.” Fred’s brought back to the present when he feels yet another light blow to his shin from you under the table. He blinks and looks into your eyes, which are wide, and he feels himself go weirdly alert.

“I don’t think so,” you say to your ex now, almost laughing a bit; he’s looking rather annoyed and stunned at being turned down. You swallow over a lump in your throat, “Besides, I’m—I’m seeing someone else, so, I think you’d better leave.”

“What?” he says breathlessly, almost looking heartbroken. Is he trying to mend his ways after watching you hit the ground with a loud splat! a few days ago? Fred’s insides turn. “Since when?”

“Since..a few weeks ago.” Fred can sense the panic in your voice as he watches your eyes shift from your ex to your breakfast plate and to him, a cherry red color flooding your cheeks and the tips of your ears. And without a second thought, you say, “Right, Fred?”

And Fred’s agreeing before he can fully digest your words, he’s nodding without breaking your gaze, he’s smirking at you without remembering there are other people around him. Finally, he looks up into the very baffled face of your ex boyfriend. “Yeah, we are—so—I’d bugger off if I were you, mate.”

“You two?” he asks, looking at Fred with what can only be described as pure anguish. “Together?”

“It’s time to go,” whispers another Hufflepuff, pulling the very distraught looking boy in front of you both back to their table before he can say anything else to you. Fred watches as he slumps in his seat and rubs his head, as if confused. Then, he turns back to you and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, Freddie, I’m sorry!” you shake your head rather quickly and bring a hand to your mouth in shock. “I panicked, I just—he kept trying to ask me to grab lunch with him, I didn’t know what to say to get him to leave me alone, ‘m so mortified. We can just—pretend it never happened, you don’t have to do anything, I can just deal with whatever it is he has planned, it’s fine—”

“Hey.. take a breath,” he laughs and teases you before reaching across the table and squeezing your hand. “It’s fine, I get it. Besides,” he takes a quick bite of an apple and smirks at you, “I’m honored you chose me to be your fake boyfriend.”

“Well, you’re the only one here, silly.”

He pauses to consider this, and then says, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and tell you again how honored I am.” You laugh at this, and he grins cheekily at you as he continues, “I mean, imagine if you’d done that to George, he would’ve stumbled over his words—you know how he gets under pressure sometimes—gets flabbergasted, he does. You’re lucky ‘m quick on my feet.”

“Well then,” you reply, sipping your tea as Fred watches your nerves subside, “glad to have you along for the ride, Weasley.”

— -

It’s difficult watching the team’s practice. Fred had told you to maybe stay in, not watch, he’d fill you in later on your replacement. You’d insisted on coming anyway. But he was right.

They’re not completely out of sync—the third year Chaser they snatched up is pretty good for never having really played before. But if Fred’s being completely honest, he misses you on the pitch more than anything else. It’s just not the same without you.

You enter the Great Hall for dinner, and you’re so annoyed at doing everything one-armed that you nearly rip the sling right off of your shoulder, even though Madam Pomfrey had insisted on wearing it for two more days. Okay, maybe you did it a little too fast. “Ow,” you say, rotating your shoulder back and forth to stretch the muscles, as if they’d been asleep for months and months. You furrow your brow in pain.

Fred snorts before sipping his pumpkin juice. “How’d that feel?”

“Not the greatest,” you admit, taking a seat next to him.

Just then, he slings an arm around your shoulder and places a light kiss to your forehead, taking you by surprise. You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. He places his cup gingerly on the table. “Git sighting, on your right.”

You stealthily look on the other end of the Great Hall, your ex trying his best to look distracted, but there’s no chance in hell he didn’t see this exchange between you and Fred. Solemnly, he follows his fellow Hufflepuffs from the hall.

You both hadn’t even noticed George, Ron, and Harry take their places beside you at the table, eyes wide and faces flushed.

“When the bloody hell did this happen?” Ron nods at the two of you, shoving pork into his mouth.

“I’d like to think if my two best friends got together, they would’ve at least mentioned it to me—how long have you two been sneaking around?” George teases you with a wink.

Both you and Fred let hearty laughs escape your lips, as if to say, Sneaking around? You’re out of your mind, but instead, you both say, “We’re just faking.”

“Come again?” Ron and Harry chorus together.

“Faking—you know, Ronniekins, pretend.” Ron’s ears turn a bright scarlet color. “Just for fun. Y/N’s lovely ex bombarded her the other day after her injury, kept bugging her to grab a bite with him, so she very politely took me by surprise and told him, before consulting me, that we’re dating. Of course I obliged—being the lovely gent I am.”

“It did not happen like that—”

“You’re absolute rubbish at lying, you know.”

You throw your hands up in surrender, your face a nice light shade of rosy pink. “I panicked!”

“Precisely,” Fred and George say together. “And how long are you two planning on keeping this little scheme going for?” George asks.

You and Fred turn to each other. It is now revealed, Fred realizes as he watches as you peer into space, that you have no plan. He leans back in his seat, looking rather satisfied at the fact that you haven’t come up with any details at all. “I—I hadn’t thought of that. I just kind of.. went for it. I was acting on the very daring nerve that comes with being a Gryffindor!”

“Right you were,” says Fred through a mouthful of potatoes, “barely skipped a beat, she did. Reckon she couldn’t wait for it to happen—she nearly pounced on me right in front of him.”

The boys roar with raucous laughter. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to George, Ron, and Harry, who are now wiping away tears from their eyes. “You don’t really believe him, do you? This will not last long. Believe you me. It was purely a spur-of-the-moment adrenaline rush decision.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

You turn back to Fred and ask in a sweetly sarcastic tone, “Yes, Freddie?”

“I’m invoking a rule. No falling in love with one another.” He winks and bites into his chicken.

You scoff at him, while the others chuckle again. “Ah yes, darling—because that’s so very likely.”

— -

When Fred finds you sitting underneath a large oak tree in front of the castle, he laughs softly when he sees you in quite a frazzled looking state: your hair is in disarray from pulling at it, the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven’t slept in days, and he can almost feel the pain radiating from your tired muscles.

He sits down next to you in the grass and teases, “You’re quite a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh, shove off,” you reply, not even looking up from your books. But after a few seconds of silence, the two of you fall into fits of laughter.

Fred nods at the books you’re so very immersed in. “What’s so important?”

“D’you think,” you begin, flipping the pages rapidly, “if I can find a spell that can produce a change in thought process on another human being, and somehow manage to stealthily pull it off and use it on Madam Pomfrey, she’ll change her mind and let me play in the next match?”

Fred cocks his head to the side, peering admirably at you, and smiles sweetly. “It doesn’t look very likely.”

“Ugh, I thought you’d say that.”

“But hey—there’s always obliviate,”

“Honestly, it’s getting to the point where I’m actually considering it.”

“Sure,” he says teasingly again, “I’d pay quite a lot of galleons to see you use any type of magic on a staff member, let alone something as dangerous as a memory charm.”

You cross your arms defiantly. “Don’t think I’ll do it?”

“No,” he smirks, “I know you won’t do it.”

You narrow your eyes at him and give in. Fred can’t help but laugh. “Okay, well—it would be really dangerous! But c’mon—I’ve gotten involved in a fair share of mischief with you and your brother; need I remind you of the time you landed me in detention my second year? A mere twelve year old, in detention…”

“Reckon that’s when you put this whole fake boyfriend thing into action, did you? When you fell for me all those years ago?”

“Ha-ha, you’re wickedly hilarious, Freddie.. seriously, funniest bloke I’ve ever met..” Your voice trails off when you notice something a few feet away, but Fred’s still thinking about how you called him the funniest person you know, even if it was in a sarcastic tone. But deep down, he knows you’re completely serious. He can feel his heart begin to soar a bit. His meandering mind is interrupted yet again by someone walking along the water’s edge—an unwanted visitor. Quickly, you shift yourself closer to Fred and say in a hushed voice, “Hurry—put your arm around me!”

He can’t help but stifle a laugh at your extremely flustered state. “Anything for my girl.”

You fit in so comfortably in his body that he doesn’t even notice how much time passes by. You spend the afternoon immersed in books, while Fred is resting against the tree, falling in and out of sleep with breaks to fix some malfunctions on some very small inventions of his and George’s. Each and every time he looks up, he notices the very curious looking ex boyfriend of yours watching you both, as if he’s trying his very hardest to prove that the two of you are just pretending. And each and every time Fred turns his attention back toward his inventions, he finds himself pulling you tighter and tighter into his arms.

— -

You and Fred are walking rather reluctantly through the corridors to your next class. If only you both had a free period, you’d be able to catch up on some work. But alas, here you both are, walking very, very slowly to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“How’s the team holding up? I’m dying to get back out there with you.”

“Miss me that much, do you?”

You narrow your eyes and the unmistakable sound of mock laughter from Fred bounces off of the walls. “I miss Quidditch is what I mean. It’s killing me that I can’t join you lot—especially with the match just a week away.”

Fred smiles softly at you, feeling a twinge in his heart, knowing that you won’t be able to play, regardless of your completely healed shoulder. “I know. It’s killing us, too. But come the new year, you’ll—oi, bloody hell, does he just spend his time following us around, or something?”

Fred nods in the direction of the unwanted visitor yet again, and he grabs your hand quickly and continues to walk down the corridor, careful to avoid eye contact. That is, until he corners you both.

It’s not in a violent sort of way—but rather, curious. You’re both bracing yourselves for yet another attempt at getting you to rekindle things, when he takes Fred by surprise. “Why is it, Weasley, that whenever I see you two around, you very quickly grab her hand or sling your arm around her shoulder? What is this—just a ploy?”

“Come on,” you say to him softly, and Fred’s feeling very, very nervous that your facial expression will tell your ex everything he needs to know. “Leave us alone, would you? We’ve got class.”

“Prove it to me, then,” he says now, crossing his arms. “If you two’re really together, then kiss her.”

“What?” you both say aloud, flabbergasted. You look at Fred, who’s doing his very best to bite back a smile, and it’s becoming difficult to not laugh in your ex’s face.

He smirks at the both of you, his cronies surrounding him doing the same thing. Fred squares him up, and it’s easy to tower over him, Fred’s 6’3 frame swallowing him nearly whole. “I don’t think that’s such an odd request—kiss your girlfriend, Weasley, and I’ll leave you be.”

It’s obvious to the both of you, now, that he is basically waiting for you all to admit that yes, you’ve been faking, the entire time it hasn’t been real. You open your mouth to speak and Fred notices the panic in your eyes, the truth bubbling up inside you. So he does the only thing he can think of—he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulls you close to him, and presses his lips to yours.

You try very, very hard to hold back your surprise, because you’re extremely aware of the group of Hufflepuffs now watching you both share a kiss that is supposed to look like it happens all the time. You’re sure you’ve lost your voice now. His lips are soft, softer than they look, and Fred’s finding it difficult to remember why you two haven’t been doing this the entire time. He pulls away very, very slowly, hovering close to you with a cheeky grin on his face, before breaking completely and taking your hand in his again, squeezing tightly. Fred notices the scarlet color of your face now, turns back toward the stunned man in front of him, and replies, “Is that all? My girlfriend and I have class, if you don’t mind—”

You swiftly walk your way through the group and you and Fred nearly fly down the hallway, his face as red as his hair, his smile as bright as the sun, and you bring your hands to your lips and you swear you can feel the electricity surging through them, just as they had when Fred kissed you just a few seconds ago.

“You were going to tell him!” Fred’s laughing now, outside the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but he can feel his heart thundering in his chest due to the heat of the moment. There’s nothing quite like an adrenaline rush. You reply, “He—he knows we’re lying!”

“Well, now he doesn’t,” Fred replies with a cheeky wink. “C’mon—I made you a deal, didn’t I? Couldn’t let that git get the last word. Now he’s got no bloody idea what’s going on.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

Fred swallows over a lump in his throat, peering deeply into your very bright eyes. He knows what he wants to say, and he’s about too, but something stops him. Something holds him back. Instead, he grins, shakes his head, and slings an arm across your shoulder, making sure to hold onto you just a little bit longer this time.

— -

Fred, George, Ron, and Harry are sitting in the library looking positively ghastly. Ron and Harry are very reluctantly working on a Divination essay that Hermione had finished a week ago, while the twins are racking their brains to finish this petty assignment from Snape.

You wander inside and Fred notices, for the first time in a few days, that your sling is back on your shoulder. Concern floods through his body. “Hey,” he says, immediately pulling you into his arms, “are you okay? Is it bothering you?”

You’re positively beaming—that’s the only way Fred can describe is. Your smile is quite bright, looking happier than you have in months, even with your arm in a sling. “Yeah,” you tell him sweetly, taking a seat next to him, “hurts a little. Probably just slept on it funny, or something.”

“Be careful,” he tells you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, completely ignoring the assignment in front of him, “let me know if you need to go to the hospital wing, okay?”

You nod and begin to slowly pull spell books from your bag when you notice the others across the table, looking at you both with what can only be described as mischievous grins.

You and Fred look at each other, and then at them. Fred’s hand tightens around your waist. “What?” you ask together.

“You know he isn’t here, right?” Harry asks you both. George and Ron are focusing very hard on their parchments, and are not doing a very good job at stifling their laughter.

It’s almost immediate that Fred unwraps his arm from your waist, and your face is burning with color, and Fred’s insides are beginning to tighten due to embarrassment. But before he can speak and defend his actions, you speak up, “Oh, erm—could’ve sworn I saw him—must’ve been my eyes playing tricks on me, then. Anyway..”

The rest of the afternoon is spent in utter silence, recovering from that tiny slip up and moment of embarrassment. And one by one they leave—first Harry, then Ron, and then George—who, by the looks of it, is nowhere near done with his assignment—but he claims he has somewhere he needs to be, and vanishes through the doors of the library before either you or Fred can do anything.

About an hour later, you ask Fred, “Could Snape be any more vile? Why did he assign this stupid essay again?”

Fred laughs softly, “because some Ravenclaw started insulting his teaching methods in the middle of the lesson—remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you say, the memory coming back to you now. Brightly, you say, “Hey—want to get back at that Ravenclaw and plan some elaborate type of prank to make this whole assignment just a little bit more bearable?”

Fred turns toward you with a surprised expression on his face. He smirks and shakes his head in admiration, “I think I’m becoming a bad influence on you.”

You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “Maybe. Would that be such an awful thing?”

And then he pulls you nearly all the way into his lap, begins tickling you and poking you in the ribs, and you begin to flail in his arms and laugh hysterically, when Madam Pince angrily shushes you from the other end of the library. You flip your hair out of your eyes and regain your composure, and Fred is suddenly very aware that you’re still seated in his lap, your face only inches from his, the bright color of your eyes sparkling in the sun flooding in from the windows. Right. You’re not actually technically together. He swallows thickly and watches as you bite down on your lip. You’re both about to say something, hearts thundering loudly in your chest, when suddenly you break the silence and slide yourself off of him, back into your seat and say, “We’d better head to the feast, Freddie. Don’t want to be late.”

— -

“Anyone fancy a game of exploding snap before bed?”

Ron’s sitting in the middle of the huddle, finishing the last of his dessert from the feast, while everyone around him is slumped in their seats looking positively exhausted.

George says sleepily, “Can’t mate—we’ve got a late night practice tonight.”

“D’you think Angelina will give me a beating if I just sleep through it?” Fred asks nobody in particular, his eyes closed.

“Yes,” you, Harry, George, Ginny and Hermione say together.

“Oh fine, you lot are out,” Ron waves his hand in the direction of the Quidditch players and then glances excitedly at you, Ginny, and Hermione. “Ladies? Anyone? Feeling kind of lucky this evening.”

Ginny snorts at this. “You? Lucky? Luck would be me not absolutely obliterating you in a game—not you winning. That’d be a miracle.” Her older brothers chuckle quite animatedly at this comment; it’s certainly woken them up a bit.

You grin at Ginny and then say to her very angry and embarrassed looking brother, “What she means to say, Ron, is that we’re all kind of exhausted due to lack of sleep, because someone—” you shoot a glance toward another Gryffindor girl on the other end of the Great Hall, “—put an amplifying charm on some Muggle contraption of hers last night, music kept us up till nearly dawn.”

Ron turns back toward his brothers now, looking confused. “No way you could’ve heard that from the girls dormitory, or Harry and I would’ve been up all night, too! So why are you two so bloody exhausted?”

“Usual mischief,” Fred and George chorus together, winking at the youngest male Weasley.

Ginny picks up her bag and says to the group, “I’m heading to bed. You two coming?” she glances at you and Hermione.

You glance back and forth between Ginny and Fred and bite your lip. You’re absolutely knackered, but you wonder whether you should go to practice, just to be there, just to watch, just to show you’re still devoted. Fred picks up on this and shakes his head. “You’re tired—go to bed. Promise you’re not missing much. Reckon we’ll all be rubbish due to exhaustion, anyway.”

“Okay,” you finally reply, albeit begrudgingly. Fred places a quick kiss to your cheek, the group stifles laughter, and you, Hermione, and an extremely baffled Ginny make your way upstairs to the common room, leaving the boys to their jokes in the very crowded Great Hall.

When you enter through the portrait hole, Hermione wishes you both a good evening before heading up the stairs. This leaves you and Ginny alone in a completely desolate common room. You remove your shoes and stand across from the fire, letting the warmth of the flames radiate through your body, when Ginny clears her throat.

“Care to tell me what’s going on between you and my older brother?” she says cheekily, grinning at you. She so very much resembles all of her siblings.

You laugh softly, running a hand through your hair and stretching your arms behind your head. “I thought Ron would’ve told you.. It’s nothing, Ginny. Promise. We’re just pretending. My ex has been strangely remorseful about the breakup lately, trying to get me to talk to him and what not—Fred’s just helping me out a bit.”

“By pretending to date you?”

“Yeah..” you say a bit guiltily now. “Yeah, it sort of happened in a moment of panic. Don’t worry, though. None of it’s real. Just till it gets the other one out of my way—then we’ll go back to normal.” You turn back to face the fire and it suddenly feels much, much hotter than before.

“But this is the normal you actually want, isn’t it?”

This takes you by surprise. You turn back slowly, now facing Ginny, and she’s wearing a genuine grin. “I—I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve watched Fred and George for years,” Ginny tells you, “admiring their recklessness and rebellion—but in turn, this also means I see who they get on with.”

“Meaning?”

She smiles softly, looking a little sulky actually, which is so very unlike Ginny. And she confides in you, and she’s acting very vulnerable which makes your heart soar, “I’d give anything for Harry to look at me the way you look at Fred.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, and Ginny can easily sense your nervousness. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. In a very hoarse, soft voice, as if your vocal chords have been strained, you plead, “Please, please don’t tell him.”

She doesn’t respond to this exactly, but you know she’ll keep her lips sealed. She asks, “How long?”

“I—I dunno,” you tell her truthfully. You bite your lip to keep your heart jumping out of your throat, “over time, I suppose.” You continue to tell her of how everything unfolded, how Fred had jokingly told you to not develop feelings for him, how he’d kissed you that one day in the corridor.

There’s a few moments of silence between you both, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. In fact, it’s the most comfortable you’ve ever been with one another—secretly longing for the boys who don’t seem to look at you both the way you so deeply yearn. Finally, Ginny breaks the tension and says, “Your secret is safe with me. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Is this her way of telling you that Fred doesn’t feel the same way as you? That these feelings you have for him are a hundred percent one sided and are not at all reciprocated? It’s as if she’s reading your thoughts, because she tells you, “I’ve no idea how he feels—he doesn’t tell me anything at all, real git that he is,” you both laugh at this exchange, and Ginny echoes herself, “Just be careful.”

“I will,” you reply, now realizing that she’s has given you quite a lot to think about, “Thanks, Gin.”

— -

Fred’s feeling positively blue, if you will. He’s standing smack in the middle of the corridor in his Quidditch robes after a truly rubbish weekend practice, staring at the spot you were just standing. It’s like you’re still there, he can still smell your perfume, but he reckons you’ve probably already made it back to the common room by now.

Just then, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps in surprise, and turns around only to be face to face with George and Ginny, who laugh at his skittishness.

“You alright, mate? Coming to the Great Hall?”

“Yeah.” Fred’s voice sounds vastly different in his own ears; it’s hoarse and broken, and he doesn’t understand why. He coughs a bit, and then echoes himself, “Yeah,” except he doesn’t believe it, and neither do his siblings.

George stops bouncing his broomstick between his hands at once. He looks once at Ginny and then back at Fred as the corridor begins to fill with students, “What’s going on?”

“Sh-she ended it,” he replies, and the words feel foreign in his mouth.

“Who, Y/N? The.. fake thing?” George asks, lowering his voice. “Maybe the git is finally leaving her be.”

“No, that’s not it. She wouldn’t tell me. She was.. weirdly quiet. She told me that she was worried things are going to get messy and she’s afraid rules are being broken on her end.. has she said anything to either of you? What is she even talking about?”

George responds quickly with a, “No, nothing,” whereas Ginny hesitates a bit, and then responds, “No, Freddie. She hasn’t.” But Fred can sense that his little sister isn’t giving him all of the info. Had she talked to you? Does she know what’s going on? Then George nudges his brother and asks a bit cheekily, “Does this make you upset?”

“No, no, of course not!” Fred says a bit aggressively, but both of his siblings just cock their heads to the side, as if to say, Really, Freddie, we can see right through you. “I—I mean—I just.. thought we were having a bit of fun.”

“Yeah,” George begins, while Ginny remains quiet by his side, “okay, you were having fun, but.. what I’m asking you, Fred, is—do you maybe want to be with her for real? And that’s why you’re upset?”

When Fred doesn’t answer, Ginny finds her voice. “We know, Fred.”

“Know what?”

George and Ginny say together, “That you fancy her.”

Fred runs a hand through his hair. He’s feeling aggravated now—he doesn’t like when his mind and thoughts get picked apart by people closest to him, especially when he’s trying on his own to piece together exactly how he feels. But he comes to realize, as his heart begins to beat faster when he thinks of you, that his siblings are right. He’s felt this way for a very, very long time.

Without showing just how much he really feels for you, Fred tells them, “Yeah, erm, okay, I—maybe I have some.. feelings,” he says through gritted teeth and George can’t help but stifle a laugh at his twin’s nervousness. Fred punches him in the arm. “But she kept saying that she’s breaking rules—but what rules? I haven’t the foggiest what she’s on about! I don’t even know if she feels the same way!”

“Fred,” Ginny says quietly, “you jokingly made one rule with her when you two began this whole ridiculous stunt.” When Fred just looks at his sister quizzically, wondering what the bloody hell she’s on about, she opts to continue, “you told her you’re not allowed to fall for one another.”

Realization hits Fred like a ton of bricks, George throws his hands up in confusion, and Ginny pushes on Fred’s chest and grins cheekily at her older brother, leaving poor George baffled beyond belief at this secret language his other two siblings seem to have. Ginny nods in the direction of the common room, “Just go get her already, would you?”

And Fred’s flying through the corridors and up the stairs, he’s pushing past students and professors alike, he’s running hands through his messy, windswept hair and he’s climbing through the portrait hole, only to find you sitting on the ledge near the window looking out at the stars, just as you had all those long months ago when he found you crying.

“Hey, Freddie,” you say when you turn to face him. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer—he pushes past the desks and chairs blocking him from you and does the one and only thing he wants to do, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do for as long as he can remember now—he scoops you up into his arms, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you. For real, this time.

Your surprise is overridden by the slight, exasperated moan that escapes your lips before you wrap your hands around the back of his neck. His fingers are dancing across your hip bones and then make their way up your back and into your hair. He kisses you once, twice, three more times before fully breaking, and hovers close to you again before pulling away completely to see the sparkle in your eyes, the bright smile plastered across your face.

As you push down any nervousness rising to the surface with a quick swallow, you say, “So.. where’ve you been?”

Fred laughs haughtily now, remembering that time all those few months ago when you’d say the exact same thing in a completely different context. He’s finding it beyond difficult to not kiss you into oblivion right now, especially as you bite on your bottom lip to try and suppress a very large grin.

“Sorry, love, I got tied up with my thoughts—but I can stay here with you now.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace before his lips find yours again. You can both hear voices outside the portrait whole. It’s obvious to you now that you have mere seconds before your alone time will be so very rudely interrupted by fellow Gryffindors.

“I broke the rules,” you tell him with slight tears in your eyes, playing with the baby fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Me too,” he admits breathlessly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I broke them a long time ago.” His heart begins to thunder inside of his chest at the feeling of your lips forming a smile against his, and he’s almost positive you can hear it—but he doesn’t care. He wants you to know you get his heart racing—more than pranking, more than firewhisky, more than Quidditch—more than anything or anyone in the entire world. He continues after another small kiss, “I reckon some rules are meant to be broken, though, aren’t they?”

A/N: This idea has been stuck in my head for so long as I was studying german and I couldn’t hold it inside anymore. I hope it’s close as you imagined it @slytherinlovesgryffindor​ and I’m sorry for making you wait for so long. Man, I love Fred imagines. 

REQUESTED BY @slytherinlovesgryffindor : Heyyy i see you are taking Fred weasley requests. So do you mind doing a post war , Fred lives , angsty , bff imagine with some bit of george too . thanks:)

XX

It was just another day at the Diagonalley. You just left Flourish and Blotts, buying a children book for your nephew, who is celebrating his 4th birthday. 

You know he doesn’t read much but your sister always, and always was a big bookworm and she will make sure he will love any book she reads to him. She had always had an amazing story-telling talent and you are forever grateful for her forcing you to read until you started loving books as well. 

You put the book, wrapped in harsh, brown paper into your bag. You smiled as you looked forward, seeing the lights of your favorite shop turned off. 

It was late and you had always been the kind to do everything last minutes. You smiled as you passed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, nuzzling your nose into the warm, red scarf one of the boys bought you for your birthday. 

It still had his scent. Mostly because you had barely worn this scarf but when you did, you always made sure it was this exact, red scarf. 

Soulmate au where whatever you write on yourself, it shows up on your soulmate too.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw reader

Sorry for the wait on this part! I just didn’t feel like writing yesterday.

Warnings: none!

All parts here!

Fred and George got sent to the hospital wing. McGonagal managed to stop them fighting and Madam Pomfery reversed the effects so they were back to normal. The twin’s weren’t really mad at each other, more annoyed that their plan didn’t work.

Giggles from some Gryffindors were heard as the two came back to the common room.

‘Yeah yeah.’ George said jokingly at the staring students as he passed.

- Fred Weasley x reader, Harry Potter x platonic!reader, Sirius Black x daughter!reader

Italics are memories 

a/n - Sooooo this is my first fanfic!! Sorry if its messy i’ve never written an x reader before but i like only read x readers so i had to make one lol. Hope you enjoy! Also, in this the Potters were killed when harry was 2 and reader was 4.

 _______________________________________________________________

You can remember your first day at Hogwarts easily. The memory slipping into your head as if you’d never forgotten it.  

   The platform was roaring with life, the yelling families and faint cries of mothers watching their children leave before them. It made you nauseous. The nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach like a bad shrimp cocktail made you want to turn around and run, which you would have, had it not been for the firm hand planted on your back. Hearing a deep sigh from above you you followed the hand, to its arm, and finally to the person it was attached too. Remus Lupin, your guardian. You watched as he looked down at you, running a hand through his hair and over his face, “You’re going to be fine” he said bending to reach your eye level.

 “i remember my first day of Hogwarts, i was terrified, considered jumping out the train window if i remember correctly” a light chuckle fell past his lips at the last part 

“How can you remember something if it was hundreds of years ago?” you retorted 

he sent you a deadpanned look, “watch yourself short stack” you laughed lightly as he started to guide you towards the train. 

Your nerves rose increasingly and he seemed to sense this “it will all work out” he sighed as he pulled you into a tight hug

 “how do you know?” he pulled back just enough to look down at you 

“because i won’t have it any other way”. 

        You let out a soft chuckle and sighed as you pulled away from him, giving one last hug you boarded the train, waving as you saw his figure disappear. Slowly you found yourself an empty compartment, curling up into the corner by the window and pulling out a book. You must have fallen asleep because the next thing you knew two, rather tall, identical redheads were practically falling through the door and onto the seats. They must not have noticed you because one of them let out a small yelp when he noticed you move

 “Blimey i didn’t see you there” he gasped out holding his hand over his chest while the other threw his head back in laughter

 “shut up George” he muttered under his breath and the other boy, who you now presumed to be George, attempted to stifle his giggles behind his hand. 

You sat up slowly, still leaning on the window behind you

 “sorry, terrible manners we must have” he said while motioning towards the boy sitting across from you both “I’m Fred and this is my twin George Weasley” he held out his hand which you took in a firm shake

 “Nice to meet you Weasleys” you said now lightly giggling “I’m y/n y/l/n”. 

       The rest of that ride is mostly a blur filled with laughter and smiles, but the sorting ceremony is engraved into your head… 

     Following the rest of the first years into the great hall, one you’d only ever heard stories about from Rem, Fred pointed out his three brother to you and told you they were in Gryfindoor. In the short amount of time you’d known the twins, you and Fred Weasley were already inseparable, and both of you silently prayed to be in the same house. Fred obviously hoping to be in Gryfindoor with the rest of his family and twin brother, and you, you didn’t know what you wanted. You knew about your father, his unfortunate past, and you sadly had the chance to meet that side of your lineage before moving in with Remus. He had told you countless times that he did not care which house you were placed into, and even though he secretly hoped you would be a Gryfindoor, like him and your father, he knew he would love you just the same no matter what. Standing in the middle of the great hall and watching the other first years as they were placed, Fred and George already being sent to the Gryfindoor table, you could feel a pair of eyes boring into your head. Looking up you met the eyes of one Headmaster Dumbledore, and under his gaze you felt he knew all your secretes, which you didn’t doubt he did. Getting lost in his gaze you didn’t see or hear the ceremony booming around until you were snapped out of your gaze. 

       “y/n y/l/n” Professor McGonagal’s voice boomed through the hall cutting the cheers of students short. Feeling your heart stop inside your chest and palms grow sweaty you slowly made your way to the stool and sat. 

You felt the hat placed on your head and though you watched many of your peers endure the same treatment the low voice that was emitted still made you jump in your seat.

 “Ahhh another Bl- no?” it said as you felt your heart leap into your throat at the idea of your secret spilling less than an hour into your Hogwarts career

 “Well this is tricky” it hummed “Slytherin may fit well, its held your past accordingly” 

at this you felt your blood boil and you sneered, “they are not my family” you muttered lowly through gritted teeth. 

“I do think they would benefit you, snake mates, nevertheless” it continued “you have the brains for Ravenclaw, determination and wit all there, as well as the heart of a Hufflepuff, filled with love yet ready to accept more, but fear clouds you.” you thanked Merlin as it whispered the last part so only you could hear

 “You have seen horrors many in this room could not imagine, yet you still open your heart for others, no matter the fear it causes” 

the hat paused for what felt like hours but was actually only seconds

 “Better be, GRYFINDOOR” the hat roared as a table to your right erupted in cheers and applause. As you sat down in between the twins and were introduced to their brothers you failed to notice the eyes watching you. 

   Professor McGonagal could not tear her eyes from you the entire dinner. You looked exactly like your father and it hurt her heart to not only think of what happened to him but the trouble you must have endured in your early youth. 

     That day was pure magic, no pun intended. The following year of school was amazing and every night you couldn’t wait to write Remus and tell him of the days happenings. You basked in your youth and enjoyed the twins pranks and mischief, occasionally joining the fun. That is, until Harry Potter came to Hogwarts and you swore to protect him like your father couldn’t. You bonded with Harry quickly and easily, assuming the role of an older sister to the boy, and you loved every second of it. You fawned over him when he became seeker and constantly worried over his health and safety. You hated the Dursleys with a burning passion and simply wanted to take the boy in your arms and tell him everything would be alright. Even if it was a lie. 

    It was now your 5th year and chaos broke lose. It started with Sirius Blacks escape from Askaban, a feat thought impossible. Then the dementors on the train, and oh, did i forget to mention that Remus was now your teacher? Yup, he is. You knew why he was doing this, to keep an eye on you. And while you knew the intent to be good, it didn’t reassure you at all. Everywhere you turned there was someone spewing lies and awful words about your father, who you knew was innocent. He may have been taken away when you were 4 but the man you knew could never kill. No one, spare Lupin, knew of your lineage or morbid past, and you planned to keep it that way. 

    Sitting in the great hall, surrounded by excitement and amazing food, you couldn’t help but feel less than, and the twins, one in particular, seemed to notice your glum mood. Both twins sat across from you, with Lee Jordan on their right and Ron on their left, while you sat with harry on your right, Hermione next to him.

 “Can you believe what they’re saying?” Ron spewed through a mouthful of sausage while he proceeded to shove toast into the mess 

“Hogwarts isn’t safe”

 Hermione grimaced at the disgusting boy trying to look anywhere but him. “Ron” she said firmly “finish eating before you talk or else my breakfast will be on the table” 

Ron shuttered lightly at the though while you and Harry shared glances and laughed

 “yeah Ronnikins” George practically purred in a humiliating manner

 “that’s not how you get the ladies” Fred finished sending him a wink and a quick glance at you.

 You felt a blush rise on your cheeks and quickly looked down, only looking back up when you felt someone nudge your shoulder and you were met with a knowing glance on Harry’s face. 

     You and Harry were as close as two people could, you didn’t really even consider yourselves friends anymore. He was your brother and you were his sister. And as far as you two were concerned it had never been any different. You told each other everything and there was not a single secrete kept between the two of you, or so he thought. You felt horrible keeping something so big from him but what were you supposed to do?! Walk up to him in the corridor and calmly say ‘hey Harry i forgot to mention that my father is Sirius Black, you know the guy who wants to kill you, and i grew up with him and the rest of the marauders until Lily and James were brutally murdered, leaving you an orphan, and me in the sinister care of the black family’ Nope. Definitely not. 

    Harry never understood why he felt so close you, like you knew him and understand his struggles. Constantly in the lime light that he hated, his life with the Dursleys, and constantly running from something darker than he could imagine. He didn’t know why but he felt like he was home when he was with you, like he was finally safe from everything and could just be. Little did he know you were all too familiar with those struggles.

   You made a face at Harry which made him chuckle and returned to the conversation. 

“HE’S BEEN SIGHTED HE’S BEEN SIGHTED” Seamus yelled while running towards your table and throwing the Daily Profit on top of a plate of toast.

 “Yorktown!” Hermione exclaimed, “That’s not too far from here”

You felt your breakfast churn in your stomach and you just knew that your face had become 3 shades paler. You quickly stood and ran out of the great hall ignoring the concerned yells of your friends and questioning eyes of others. 

———————————————————

    A loud smack reverberated through the room as a small pile of parchment was thrown in front of you

 “i know you knew” Lupin said darkly. His face was more sunken in and deep set than usual, you knew that teaching was going to take a toll on him but seeing him like this hurt your heart. 

“What do you mean?” you threw your hands in the air trying to display your confusion “it’s a bit of blank parchment” you said while picking up the pile and throwing back down on the desk. 

“stop playing dumb” he practically growled at you and felt a shiver go up your spine.

 He was right. You knew why he called you into his office, Harry having told you about the weird encounter he had with Lupin regarding the map. You looked down at your lap, your fingers becoming very interesting. Rem sighed loudly and placed his hands on the desk bending his arms slightly to reach your eye level, you sank further into your seat as he stared. Silence passed between you both until you finally succumbed

 “Fine okay!” you yelled lightly “I knew he had it but he was just trying to get to Hogsmead” you said with a light sigh “it’s not that big of a deal” you murmured lightly crossing your arms and slumping down further.

 “NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL” Remus practically roared and you jumped in your seat

 “THIS COULD LEAD HIM STRAIGHT TO HARRY” he continued “A ONE WAY TICKET IF YOU ASK ME”

 “well i didn’t” you whispered to yourself

 “what did you just say?” curse his heightened senses. 

You slowly looked up to see him boring holes into your eyes, his eyes alight with anger. He closed his eyes, sighing lightly, and you could see some of the anger and tension leave his body 

“this could get a lot of people hurt, you know that y/n”

 you stood quickly, knocking back the desk in front of you

 “HE DIDN’T DO IT” you screamed, face red with anger and heart beating madly.

 Remus sighed an sat down on one of the chairs, lazily rubbing his face. You both had had this argument many times, he knew he struck a chord.

 “y/n” he sighed “there’s evidence, proof” you scoffed shaking your head in exasperation

 “Look” he said firmly “i don’t want to believe it anymore than you do but we have to except the truth”

 you turned and went to walk out of the room, not wanting to have this discussion now

 “he betrayed them”

 you stopped, slowly turning around to face him “No he fucking didn’t” you spat venomously at him knocking a few things off his desk before throwing the door open and leaving. 

    You and Remus hadn’t talked since, you avoided his gaze in the great hall and sat silently in the back of his classroom. He attempted to talk to you multiple times but every time you simply huffed and walked away. 

   Fred noticed. He knew that you lived with Lupin, as did the golden trio after you showed up at the burrow with him for a Christmas party. They didn’t know the story however, you told them that your parents had died when you were young and Remus was your uncle. You had tried to hide it from the school, not wanting others to think you got special attention (even though you did), but a lunch date you shared was interrupted by Malfoy and the rest is history. 

    Malfoy and you had an odd relationship. He knew you were a Black, as you practically lived with him for a short period of time, yet he didn’t tell anyone. You knew why his family didn’t expose you, too ashamed of their dirtied bloodline, but him, he could practically ruin your life with a few simple words yet he didn’t.  

    Fred had tried to ask you about Lupin on multiple occasions but every time you simply brushed it off and ignored him. It wasn’t until he caught you crying in the common in front of the fire one night that you finally told him about the fight. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and holding you as tight as he could, while you cried into his shoulder and told him everything. You hadn’t meant to of course, but in that moment you felt safe, comfortable, and you split everything. About Sirius and your childhood, living with Lupin, constantly having to hide this part of you, and how much it broke you to hear people talk so horribly of your father and name. 

    You hadn’t realized how much you told him until he went silent. His soft coos and words of comfort sizzling out on his tongue. You sat up so quickly, face pale, and in utter disbelief of what you just did. You were sure you had just driven away your closest friend, the boy you loved, he would never want to be seen with you let alone be your friend after this, you ruined everything, hadn’t you? Tears streamed down your face as you stared into his eyes, confusion and sadness evident on his features, while yours screamed fear. You tried to speak, say something, anything, but everything came out in strangled stutters as you stared into the deep brown orbs and got lost in their beauty. 

   Fred only stared back. Slowly moving his hand to cup your jaw before pulling you into a kiss. You froze for a moment, utter confusion passing over your features before you felt your body go limp and you melted into him. It was the kind of kiss that took your breathe away, the kind that made you forget everything and just exist. You pulled away, confusion still evident on your features

 “why?” you asked quietly 

“am i not allowed to kiss my girlfriend” Fred replied, a cocky grin overtaking his lips. To say you were shocked was a bit of an understatement

 “I- I- wha- wait, why? Girlfriend?” 

you managed to stutter out through your confusion. Fred simply rolled his eyes and pulled you into him once more, this kiss was different, more passionate, like he tried to put all his feelings and words into this kiss, and he did. You pulled back, both breathless

 “Girlfriend” you confirmed softly with a bright smile adorning your lips 

 “why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, leaning back a bit and pulling you onto his lap

 “I-” 

you started but looked down at your lap in embarrassment. You felt a hand land on your chin, pulling you to meet his gaze.

 Sighing softly you said “I was afraid” you looked into his eyes which begged you to continue “Everyone thinks hes a murderer, i’m the daughter of a murderer” 

you finished looking back down at your intertwined legs

 “what do you believe?”

 your eyes snapped quickly up to his which were full of love and encouragement. 

You sighed deeply “Honestly” you started “I don’t know anymore” 

   The rest of the night was spent cuddling together, Fred telling you stories of his and Georges adventures, before you fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and Fred carried you to his room where you spent the night together. 

 ————————————————————

      You went with the golden trio to Hagrid’s, attempting to provide even the smallest ounce of comfort for him, and hid in Harry’s arm when you saw the axe fall and birds cloud the skies. 

   After Ron chased Scabbers, well, the night kind of blended together. You saw him on hill, you knew it was him, and you just froze. You’re unsure if he simply didn’t see you or didn’t recognize you, you really hoped the latter. As soon as he dragged Ron through the tree you were hot on their heels and dove right in after them, chasing them through the passageways and into the shrieking shack where you quickly fell beside Ron trying to help him as much as you could. You have no idea how long the two of you where their before you joined by the other two, but seeing your father step out from behind the door knocked all of the breathe from your lungs. He froze for a second, staring into your glossy eyes, before his face was set with determination once again. You screamed as Harry tackled him and ran to pull him off, helping your father to his feet. Harry ran back to the others, all faces displaying shock and hurt, but in that moment you didn’t care. You simply stared into your fathers eyes, tears adorning both of you, staring at the features you once knew before Remus burst into the room. You walked towards the others, hoping to explain, needing to explain, but they all stepped back.

 “NO!” Hermione yelled, grabbing the attention of the two men stood behind you

 “I trusted you, i trusted you and all this time you’ve been helping him” she exclaimed, her voice laced with hurt, “He’s a werewolf” she told the others turning to look back at them “That’s why he’s been missing classes” your face dropped, you knew what the secrete spilling meant

 “How long have you known?” Rem inquires 

“Since Snape assigned the essay”

 “Well, you really are the brightest witch of your age aren’t you?” Remus stated with a bit of question in his voice 

“ENOUGH TALK, REMUS!” Sirius boomed “COME ON, LETS KILL HIM!” 

 You had never heard your father like this, and it scared you. You immediately ran to stand in front of the younger three attempting to shield them with your body 

“Wait!” Remus yelled, seeing the fear in your eyes 

“I DID MY WAITING” Sirius’s voice echoed through the house “12 YEARS OF IT, IN AZKABAN!” 

“Whats going on” you asked, your voice wavering slightly 

“Very well, kill him” Remus stated calmly 

fear, shock, and betrayal ran through your body as you desperately tried to shield the younger kids behind you. Doing everything you could to protect them as Sirius advanced on you

“But wait one more minute” he said and Sirius stopped in his tracks, looking back at Remus “They have the right to know why” 

“I know why” Harry said firmly stepping from behind you “You betrayed my parents! You’re the reason their dead!” He bellowed

You shook your head as tears fell down your face, not wanting to believe this. That the man you called your father could be the reason that the two people who helped raise you were dead 

“no, no , no” you muttered softly as you began to pace lightly 

“It wasn’t him” Remus stated and your head snapped up quickly, meeting his apologetic, yet firm, gaze “Somebody did betray your parents… somebody who, until quite recently, i believed to be dead” 

“who was it then?” you said as you stepped up next to Harry, grabbing his hand and sending his a firm look, you felt him squeeze your hand tightly 

“PETER PETTIGREW” Sirius laughed “And hes in this room! Right now!” 

“WHAT” you yelled as your eyes went wide, frantically scanning the room 

“Come out, come out Peter” he mocked while stepping towards Ron “Come out, come out and play” he extended the last syllable until his wand was flown from his hand and a sudden figure at the door drew everyone’s attention 

Snape 

“Vengeance is so sweet” he spit venomously “How i hoped i’d be the one to catch you” 

“Severus…” Sirius started 

“I told Dumbledore you were helping an old friend into the castle, here’s the proof” he chuckled airily 

“Brilliant Snape” Sirius mocked and rolled his eyes “You’ve put your keen mind to the task and come to the wrong conclusion” he forced a laugh “If you’ll excuse us, Remus and i have business..” he trailed off looking towards Ron “To attend too” 

“Give me a reason, i beg you” Snape spit harshly pushing his wand into Sirius’s face 

“Don’t be a fool” Remus sighed 

“He can’t help it” Sirius laughed “It’s habit” 

“Be quite” Remus groaned 

“Be quite yourself!” Sirius spit back 

“You too” Snape mocked “Quarreling like an old married couple” 

“Run along and play with your chemistry set!” Sirius told him 

Snape only pushed his wand further into Sirius’s face, his expression growing grim “I could do it you know?” Snape inquired “But why deny the dementors? They’re so longing to see you” 

All the light drained from Sirius’s eyes, his face going pale

Your eyes grew wide and your stomach churned, you had only gotten your father back and you weren’t prepared to loose him, not without some explanation and maybe a nice cup of tea 

“Do i detect a flicker of fear?” Snape mocked then looked back towards you “Your precious daughter definitely seems shaken”

Your eyes grew even wider, if that was possible, and all eyes flashed on you. You didn’t want to imagine the looks on your friends faces 

“Oh” Snape cooed “Your little friends here and” an amused shock spread through his face “even precious Potter didn’t know your little secrete” he smiled 

If looks could kill, the shrieking shack would become even more haunted 

“A dementors kiss” Snape sneered while looking back towards Sirius “One can only imagine what that must be like” 

You clung even tighter to Harry as you heard your father let out a small whimper of fear 

“It’s said to be nearly unbearable to witness, but i’ll do my best” he smiled 

“Severus, please” Remus almost begged stepping towards the two but Snape only pointed his wand towards him before returning it to Sirius 

“After you” He gestured towards the door keeping a firm grip on Sirius’s shirt 

They started walking towards the door and before you could think you screamed “STUPIFY” and sent Snape flying backwards where he landed on an old bed producing a cloud of dust. 

“y/n! What did you just do!” Ron yelled 

“You attacked a teacher” Hermione said in disbelief 

Harry just stood beside you, keeping a firm hold on him the whole time 

“TELL ME THE TRUTH” You screeched, wand still held up 

Remus sighed “You met him y/n, we thought he was our friend!” he said locking eyes with you

“No!” Harry said looking between you two “Pettigrews dead. You killed him!” 

“I though so too, until you-”

“The map” you muttered in slight disbelief, Remus nodding his head 

“The- The map was lying then!” Harry cried 

“The map never lies” You and Sirius stated at the same time before looking at one another 

“Pettigrew’s alive!” Sirius yelled, never breaking eye contact with you “And he’s right there!” he said breaking eye contact and pointing towards Ron 

“Me?! He’s mental” Ron screamed frantically trying to scoot away 

“Not you!” Sirius deadpanned “Your rat!” 

“Scabbers?” Ron asked in disbelief “He’s been in my family for…” 

“Twelve years?” Sirius cut him off “Curiously long life for a common garden rat! And he’s missing a toe, isn’t he?” 

“so what?” Ron exclaimed hugging his rat closer to him 

“Wormtail” You muttered, everything falling into place 

Remus nodded towards you 

“Dirty coward cut it off so everyone would think he was dead, then he transformed into a rat!” Sirius laughed humorlessly 

“Give it to me Ron” You stated firmly as you advanced on Ron and grabbed the rat from him 

“What are you going to do to him!?” he cried “Scabbers! Leave him alone! Get off him!” 

you ignored his cries as you handed the rat over to your father. He proceeded to place him on the piano, firing off spells as the rat ran and tried to hide before he was transfigured back into Peter Pettigrew.

“Remus, Sirius!” he exclaimed “My old friends!” he yelled as he attempted to run but they blocked his path 

“Harry! Look at you” he chimed in fake disbelief walking towards the boy “You look so much like your father! Like James! We were the best of friends-” 

You pushed in between the two cutting off Pettigrews cry for mercy and pushing him away from you both 

“Get away from him” you sneered 

“y/n” he cooed “Look at you” he said stepping towards you “Your such a lady, so grown up! I remember when you were so small” He began but Sirius quickly grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him away from you and onto the floor 

“How dare you speak to them!” He bellowed louder than you’ve ever him before “When your the reason James and Lily were killed” he spat as he walked towards to cowering man on the floor “ YOUR THE REASON I MISSED MY CHILDS LIFE!” he screamed in the mans face 

“I didn’t mean to!” he cried “The Dark Lord. You have no idea the weapons he possesses. Ask yourself Sirius!” he exclaimed “What would you have done” he now begged on his knees 

“I WOULD HAVE DIED!” Sirius stated “I WOULD HAVE DIED, RATHER THAN BETRAY MY FRIENDS” Pettigrew whimpered under his words and crawled on his knees towards you and Harry 

“Harry!” he begged pulling on his trousers “James wouldn’t have wanted me killed!” he pleaded with Harry before turning to you “Don’t you remember” he begged “It’s still me, Uncle Peter!!” you felt tears sting your eyes as you remembered the man you once knew “We, we used to play games. We had fun together!” You kicked him off you and pulled Harry back and away from the pathetic excuse of a man in front of you 

“That man died a long time ago and was replaced with you” you spat “A pathetic excuse of a man” you said slowly as he cried 

Remus and Sirius raised their wands before Harry jumped before Pettigrew screaming “NO” 

You looked towards Harry, sharing a quick look before nodding and stepping up beside him 

“This man…” Remus stated 

“I know what he is” Harry stated 

“But we’ll take him to the castle” you finished looking between Remus and Sirius

“Bless you! Both of you oh bless you” Pettigrew cried clinging to you both 

“Get off me” you kicked him off you “we said we’d take you to the castle” 

“After that, the dementors can have you” Harry finished as Pettigrews face dropped and he began to cry 

Remus kept Pettigrew at wand point and walked him out of the shack while Harry and Hermione helped Ron out 

“Reckon that bite hurts quite a bit” Sirius said as Ron sent him a glare “I’m really sorry, but in my defense i was going after the rat” He said and you chuckled a bit drawing his attention. You walked out of the tree in silence, not really knowing what to say. As soon as you came out of the tree you were engulfed in a hug 

“I prayed and prayed that i would get to see you” he spoke into your hair “you know” he started as he pulled away from you just enough to see your face but still able to hold you “you are the one thing that got me through that hell hold” you chuckled watery as tears streamed down your face. He wiped your face with his hands 

“when this is all over” he said “you, me, and harry. We’ll all get a house together, somewhere nice, on the water. What do you say” you smiled brightly 

“I’d like that” you said happily, looking forward to the future 

You both shared another teary hug before all hell broke loose 

You rushed towards Remus as he started his transformation “Remus come one, please, please, please” you begged as you threw yourself towards him “You know who i am, you know me, its y/n, its y/n, your Remus Lupin, you raised me” you kept trying, desperately trying to get him to recognize you, but it was too late. Before you knew it you were thrown back and everything went black. 

—————————————————————————

You woke in the hospital wing 2 days later. As soon as you opened your eyes you felt a body fling itself onto you and hug you like they’d never hug you again. Fred Weasley, you’d know that bright red hair and the smell of mahogany and gunpowder anywhere. 

“I thought i lost you, oh Merlin, they brought you in and there was blood and you were unconscious and i was so scared” he said so quickly you almost didn’t catch it, and before you could reply he pulled you in for a long kiss 

“Oh Merlin!” George exclaimed “Not in front of me, not in front of me!” he cried covering his eyes

You and Fred both laughed before you pushed him off you and George pulled you in for a hug. You both laughed as Fred sat down grumpily pouting like a 3 year old. 

“come here” you muttered pulling back the blankets and scooting over enough for Fred to climb in next to you. He sat behind you and pulled you into his chest, his arms encircling your waist, and you melted into chest. George sat on the chair next to your bed. 

“So what happened?” George asked after several minutes of comfortable silence 

You laughed lightly before snuggling into Fred’s chest and divulging into the story. You told George about your father and past, told them both about Scabbers, or Peter Pettigrew, about the shrieking shack and Sirius, you even told them about Snape. When you finished you took a deep breath trying to get some air back in your lungs, and when you looked up you noted the shock on the twins faces. 

There were a few paces of silence before you broke out laughing. 

“Blimey y/n” George said 

“All that happened?” Fred said 

“You hexed a teacher?!” George practically yelled 

“Merlin George say is louder will you” you laughed as you tried to shush him “Sooooo, what did you guys do?” you asked 

“Nothing as cool as that i can assure you” Fred muttered leaning down to press a kiss to your hair. You chuckled softly 

“doesn’t matter” you said lazily as you closed your eyes and snuggled deeper into Fred’s chest “I wanna hear about it” 

The twins fell into story about their mischief and pranks as you laughed lightly. You fell asleep quickly, the twins story falling on deaf ears as you fell into the land of dreams. 

Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw reader - Soulmate AU

Whatever you write on your body, it appears on your soulmate too.

Part 1

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Part 2 

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Part 3 

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Part 4 

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Part 5 

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Part 6 

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Part 7 

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Part 8 

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Part 9

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Part 10

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Fred Weasley x reader

synopsis: Fred asks you for an odd favor at the beginning of Summer holiday. Against your better judgement, you agree. 

word count: 3.7k

warnings: nothing, maybe some swearing? I actually don’t remember. 

Fred Weasley was walking purposefully across the grounds toward you and you did not like the look on his face.

request from anon: Asgfaafhjlkfsdgj I loved your George x reader where they’re shy and flustered it’s so cute!!!! Could you write one with a similar shy reader but with Fred? Accept Fred’s just extra loud and funny when around her to impress her?

pairing: fred x gryffindor fem!reader

word count: 4.9k yikes

A/N: I LOVE FRED AND GEORGE WITH FLUSTERED READERS, GAAAAD, i’m sort of emotional, if you can’t already tell—also, i’m allowed to make fun of choir geeks because i, too, am a choir geek and know precisely just how dorky it is

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove | message me if you’d like to be added my loves

Fred Weasley normally doesn’t even try this hard to impress someone—or anyone, for that matter.

But as of late, he’s been racking his brain and planning some over-the-top prank only to catch your attention—the shy, sweet Gryffindor girl who seems to have caught his eye when he found you, late one evening, sneaking out of the portrait hole in the common room.

“Where’re you off too late?” he asked cheekily. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You thought about this, not sure if you should respond, but then decided it’d be best to just tell him the truth—guys like him would do their best to find out, anyway. His heart soared when he realized that you already knew a bit about him, “You’re not the only one who sneaks to the kitchens to grab a late night snack.”

He’d always found you pretty; perhaps, maybe you were the prettiest girl Gryffindor had even seen. And now, knowing that the pretty girl in Gryffindor tower also tends to break the rules from time to time, he finds himself head over heels.

Since that moment, he’s been focused on one thing and one thing only—get you to notice him. Or, at least, get you two talking.

But why is it, he asks himself, that the one time he wants to impress you with some type of outrageous ordeal, it’s the one he gets caught doing? Although, he admits to his twin later that evening, replacing some classroom entrances with biting doorknobs in the hopes that Malfoy or one of his cronies gets their fingers sliced off was probably going a little bit too far—especially when Filch is on the receiving end of it. Even George can agree on that.

McGonagall grabs a fistful of Fred’s robes and pushes him toward the stairs with George on her other side. “You’ve given me no choice, Mr. Weasley. My office, Saturday morning—detention.”

“C’mon, Professor—” Fred says, craning his neck over the crowd to try and find you, “We were just having a laugh—we would’ve stopped someone anyway before it got too far, promise!”

The Headmistress cocks her head to the side and folds her arms across her chest. “Saturday, the both of you.”

The crowd begins to roar with raucous laughter as Fred and George bask in all their glory on the staircase, fellow Gryffindors and students from other houses cheering for them despite their upcoming weekend in detention. And then he sees you—pressed against the wall near the entrance of the Great Hall, standing beside some statue, trying not to be noticed, but watching the both of them with—is it admiration, or confusion, perhaps? He just hopes it isn’t disgust. Fred can’t read your expression over the crowd, and it’s killing him. The students begin to disperse, and when he finally makes his way through the sea of people to where you’re standing, you’re already gone.

He finds himself worried now, which is, to say the least, very unlike him. Fred Weasley? Worried? The word isn’t even in his day to day vernacular. But has this very funny—albeit, sort of stupid—prank gone over the top? Was it a bit too much? Has he scared away the shy girl he was trying so desperately to pursue, and he didn’t stop to think about his actions?

He follows his twin begrudgingly back to class.

“You two really could’ve caused severe damage,” Hermione tells them later at the feast, “people have gone to St. Mungo’s for treatment after being on the receiving end of a biting doorknob! You’re lucky McGonagall only gave you—”

“Oi, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron says and she turns a bright shade of pink, “they were only having a laugh, weren’t they?”

Fred slumps back in his seat, picking at the food on his plate. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?” Ginny pipes up.

George, Ron, and Harry all turn to look at Fred, who grins at them cheekily and says, “Yeah, yeah—not one of my brighter ideas,”

Ginny smacks Fred playfully with her book. “What on earth—”

“He’s got a crush to impress.”

Fred shoots a look at his twin, who’s cackling in between bites of a cauldron cake, when Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione all peer at Fred quizzically. George nods in the direction of you, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table with a few fellow friends, laughing slightly over something in someone’s notebook.

“No way,” Ron laughs haughtily, coughing a bit on a piece of half-chewed tart, “Y/N? She’s the exact complete opposite of you.”

Fred digests this. “Meaning?”

“Well, for starters, she’s not a complete git—”

When the boys fall into a fit, Fred flicks some food at the three of them, casually placing his hands behind his head, as if this is going to help relax him. It doesn’t. “Well opposites attract, don’t they, Ronniekins?”

Skittishly, Ron steals a glance at Hermione, who has seemingly chosen to ignore the conversation, as she is now immersed in her spellbook in front of her. Ron falls very silent and turns a bright shade of red, resembling that of a tomato, as he sinks into his seat.

“Besides,” Fred tells the group, taking a long sip of his pumpkin juice, “we’ve got more in common than you think.”

Harry laughs when George says, “Do tell us.”

“Y/N likes to cause a stir now and again. Bend the rules a bit.”

“And how,” Ginny begins inquiringly, trying her best to hide her interest, “d’you know this?”

Fred pauses and considers this for a moment. He reckons that you probably won’t be the most happy to know that there are other Gryffindors besides him that have learned of your late night sneak outs to the kitchens. He decides to keep it to himself. “I have my ways.”

“Well, good luck, mate,” Ron says, color flooding his face, “because the likeliness of you two snogging in a corner somewhere is about as likely as you and George becoming Prefects.”

The table roars with laughter, and Fred notices you turn your head, along with other students, to see, again, what all the ruckus is about. As his friends continue to cackle maniacally, Fred’s eyes meet yours, and he freezes. It’s a very fleeting moment before your eyes are darting toward the food in front of you, trying to avoid any and all eye contact. But when you look up again, Fred’s still peering at you. You furrow your brow slightly, and then send him a soft smile from across the way.

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he sends a smile back, as well.

Okay, so he hasn’t completely lost his chances—not yet, anyway. You’re not completely repulsed by the boy who lands himself in detention more often than not, even if his latest prank was one of the most reckless he’s ever pulled. Fred snaps back to reality when George is teasingly pinching his cheeks, and Harry’s shaking his shoulders. “Oh shove off, you lot,” he replies as the hysteria finally dies down. He swears he sees you glance over at him again.

The steps up to the Owlery are slippery because of the light snow dusting Hogwarts awoke too, but it doesn’t stop Fred from flying up there to send a letter to his brother in Romania.

To his surprise, though, he catches you at the top, hastily writing a name on a bit of parchment, and it’s probably the thickest letter he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” he says, taken aback by your presence, “sorry—didn’t realize anyone else was up here,”

“No worry,” you reply with a shy smile, handing the letter to your owl and patting him softly before he takes off, blending in with the snow covered grounds.

With the realization that his friends are far away in the castle and would have no chance to tease him about his flushed face when he sees you, Fred seizes this opportunity of alone time together. “Quite a long letter you’ve written.”

You turn to look at him as you swing your bag over your shoulder, kind of shocked that he’d noticed the length of a letter not meant for him. “Oh—erm—yes, I do tend to ramble on quite a bit when writing to loved ones,”

Fred feels his insides tighten, and why his mind immediately goes to boyfriend, he doesn’t know—but he hates it. You continue before he can ask anything, “I’m Muggleborn, you see.”

Fred did not know this. His eyes pop open in admiration, and he’s excited that he’s finally learning more about you.

“I’m sure your family has lots of questions.”

“My mum, yes,” you reply, nodding your head in agreement, “she just likes weekly updates, you know, to make sure classes are going well, I’m staying safe—that I haven’t been.. eaten by a dragon, or anything.”

Fred laughs at this, taking you by surprise. He runs a hand through his hair and tells you, “Something all Muggle parents should worry about, of course.”

“Of course,” you bite your lip, pausing to consider the conversation. After a moment, you continue, “However—if you’re going to go, getting eaten by a dragon is probably the most wicked, d’you reckon?”

When he wandered up to the Owlery that afternoon and spotted you, discussing being eaten alive by dragons was not exactly how he expected the conversation to go. But he took it. He was talking to you, anyway. He replies, “I mean—can’t be any less exciting than being pummeled by the Whomping Willow,”

A laugh escapes your lips, and it’s sweet as sugar, as far as Fred is concerned. He can feel his entire body go numb at the sound of it.

You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and say to him, “Hope McGonagall isn’t giving you and your brother that hard of a time in detention.”

Fred feels his face flush red, but—it’s not like the entire bloody school hadn’t seen them get scolded, right? But hearing you say it, recognize it—it makes his entire body tense up.

“Oh, you—you saw that, did you?”

“Think the entire school did, I’m afraid.” You both pause, taking this in, and Fred laughs nervously. “But, hey—it’s not like anyone got hurt, right?”

“Right,” he replies, finally remembering the letter he needs to send. He places it into the beak of a barn owl, who hoots appreciatively and flies off into the sky. “I suppose we’re used to it, and I reckon McGonagall is, too.”

You peer down at your shoes, doing your best to try and suppress quite a large grin, and Fred notices this. You both make your way down from the Owlery, not speaking, but the silence is comfortable, and Fred graciously offers you his hand when you nearly slip on the way down. Gratefully, you take it, and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment. When you both enter the castle, he has to stop himself from melting in front of you when you remove your hat and gloves, noticing the pinky-gold color of the tips of your ears and nose. He’s brought back to reality when he hears a cackle from the Great Hall.

“Well,” you tell him, removing your coat and slinging it over your shoulder, “was nice chatting with you,”

Fred is sad your time together for the day is coming to an end, but he reckons it’s enough to get him through until you undoubtedly bump into one another later in the common room, “Yeah, it was—maybe next time you can tell me some other things Muggle parents worry about when it comes to the Wizarding world.”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Like getting fingers bitten off by a biting doorknob,”

He furrows his brow and laughs slightly, unable to read your expression until you, too, giggle sweetly. He swallows thickly before you say, “Well—have a g’night, Fred.”

“You, too.”

He doesn’t even care if you catch him watching you—he can’t help but keep his eyes on you as you walk swiftly up the steps, until you disappear from his sight completely.

His heart is still hammering in his chest when he thinks of your hand wrapped inside of his, and he can hardly focus on all of the questions coming his way from his siblings. Physically, he’s seated in the Great Hall, his chin resting on his hand, a slight glaze over his eyes—but his heart and mind have followed you all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Fred is absolutely loving all of the free periods he’s getting this term as he watches all of the younger students speed off hurriedly to their next glasses. He and George stand together, nothing but free time in front of them, when Ron comes trudging down the corridor with a glazed look on his face, Harry and Hermione on either side of him. No doubt coming straight from Divination.

Hermione waves quickly before heading off in a different direction, when Ron and Harry bump into the twins and lean against the wall. “Bloody hell, that woman drains me,”

“Your choice to take Divination, mate,” George says and pats his younger brother on the shoulder, “could’ve told you you’re out of your bloody mind.”

“Where’re you two off to, then?” Harry asks.

“Free period,” the twins chorus together, and both Ron and Harry grunt miserably. Fred continues, “Have some plans up our sleeves—reckon a bit of mischief this afternoon would do us some good, eh, Georgie?”

But before George can answer, Harry elbows Fred a little bit harder than expected, and before Fred can yell out in pain, Ron nods toward the other end of the corridor. Fred turns around, and the pain in his ribcage is flooded by nerves—he’s not sure which he’d rather have, to be honest—but he spots you, chatting up a Ravenclaw, a pile of books in your hands. All pain seems to subside at the sight of your toothy smile.

“On second thought..” Fred says to nobody in particular, leaving the boys behind as he hastily makes his way through the crowd, running on not much other than coffee and adrenaline. “Hey, Y/N!”

You turn toward him, surprised to see him clambering his way through fellow students in order to get to you. “Hi, Fred,” you say brightly, reaching out to fix his askew tie, and he’s pretty sure that the entire world can hear his heart pounding. You realize what you’re doing, and quickly retreat, looking around the corridors as if the sheer fact of you brushing your hands against Fred Weasley’s clothes will kill you with embarrassment. He can’t help but grin goofily at your nervous state.

“How are you? No dragons today?”

You bite down a smile, and Fred knows he’s said the right thing. “No—not today. Though I daresay I narrowly escaped one in the girls lavatory before.”

“So that’s where they’re hidden,” he replies, elated beyond belief to hear that laugh of yours again. The unmistakable sound of mock laughter from his friends bounces off the walls as they walk past you both—albeit, rather lethargically.

Fred rolls his eyes before sticking a hand out, as if he’s displaying them, “My lovely brothers,”

George, Ron, and Harry all introduce themselves to you before George begins, much to Fred’s dismay, “Might I just say, Y/N, that the effect you have on him is wonderfully entertaining, if not comical—”

He’s cut off by a sharp blow to his shin, but he laughs through gritted teeth. You grin inquiringly, “And.. what kind of effect is this exactly?” you ask Fred, who opens his mouth to speak, but sputters.

“Oh—erm—nothing? I mean—they’re just having a bit of a.. a laugh,” he tells you, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and this annoys him beyond belief. Maybe it’s because he’s worried his twin will spill his guts, or maybe it’s due to the fact that Ron and Harry are now admiring your beauty too, or maybe it’s because he’s afraid the mere expression on his face will tell you everything you need to know.

“Now you’ve got him tongue tied!” Ron calls to you from the end of the corridor, where the boys are now disappearing. “Fred Weasley.. tongue tied.. the bloke who can never shut the hell up, who’d’ve thought it?” Their voices float for a moment between you both, until the bustling sounds of other students drowns it out.

Fred kicks at the ground, nerves engulfing him, as you wait with baited breath for whatever he’s about to say. “Sorry about them,” he tells you as he slams his hands into his pockets, “they’re a bunch of gits..” Looking to change the subject as quickly as possible, he asks you, “So—you free for a stroll?”

Thankfully, it seems to Fred as though you’ve forgotten all about his brothers’ snide comments. To his dismay, however, you reply begrudgingly with a twinge of guilt to your voice, “Oh, I’m sorry, Fred, unfortunately—have got double Transfiguration—but I’m now second guessing my choices of why I signed up for this in the first place..” Your voice drifts off and Fred feels as though he’s forcing himself to hear more, he wants to hear your voice more, “See you soon? Stay out of trouble.”

You raise a hand to him and continue down the emptying corridor, and he watches you enter McGonagall’s classroom. The Deputy Head is standing on the opposite side of the hall, chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick before heading inside to begin her lesson. Suddenly, a weird feeling floods through Fred’s body—is he actually thinking—? No, he couldn’t be, he has a free period now, and why would he give that up?

Yet, he finds his legs carrying him across the hall and his mouth is sputtering out words to McGonagall before he can barely even register what he’s doing.

“You look like death.”

Fred slumps into an armchair in the common room, barely able to keep his eyes open, and chucks a throw pillow at Ron. “Thanks, mate,”

George sits down beside his twin. “Where’ve you been? You ran off and we haven’t seen you since!”

“Double Transfiguration,” Fred says sleepily, resting his head on the side of the chair, and not opening his eyes.

“Double Transfiguration?” Harry and Ron say together. “Since when d’you take Double Transfiguration?”

When Fred opens his eyes, he can already tell they probably look incredibly bloodshot. Next to him, George is grinning at him cheekily.

“Look at you,” George begins mockingly, his eyes narrow slits due to his suppressed laughter, “taking up extra classes just to spend time with this girl.”

The unmistakable sound of Harry snorting bounces off of the walls. “Blimey, there’s not enough gold in the world—you’re off your rocker, Fred.”

“Have you two even kissed yet?”

“No, Ronald,” Fred replies a bit angrily, “we haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business, but—‘m taking my time. Don’t want to push her into anything. I’m still trying to feel it out. This isn’t something you can rush into, lads. Reckon I’ll get her in the end.”

“In your dreams,” Ron says quietly through gritted teeth, and he’s stunned when he receives a thick whack! to his head from his older brother.

But Fred doesn’t care what they think. Even in his delirious state, all he can remember is the twinkle in your eye when he slid in the seat next to yours after McGonagall gave him the go ahead to enroll in her afternoon classes. All he can think about is the confused, flustered smile you gave him when he said, ‘Hi there, darling,’ as he opened his textbook and McGonagall began her lesson. And all that’s flooding through his head, now, as you climb through the portrait hole looking incredibly elated, is the amount of times he caught you, not paying attention to the lesson in front of you, but instead peering at him with dazed eyes and a lazy grin.

It’s strange to see the Great Hall so empty, with the exception of just a few students. He’s going to be so easily caught if he’s found. Fred is already sort of regretting this plan.

Until he spots you, that is.

When you walk into the Great Hall, he’s thrown off by seeing you in jeans and a blouse instead of your school robes—something he’s never noticed before, since you normally spend your weekends in quiet sanctuaries, and he’s off creating some sort of chaotic mischief.

“Hey,” he says brightly, bumping gently into you.

You shoot glances in every direction. “Fred,” you whisper, confused, eyes shifty, “what are you doing here?”

“Just joining you for the afternoon.”

He’s feeling confident today. The norm. You fold your arms across your chest and ask him, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And what part do you sing?”

Fred hadn’t really thought this through. When he found out you were a member of the choir, his first thought was that choir is pretty much the dorkiest thing anyone could be a part of, and then he thought—if your singing voice is as beautiful as your laugh, he was in for quite an adventure.

“Erm—you know,” he trips over his words, slamming his hands into his pockets, “the—alto.. tenor—been singing since I was little.”

You nod sarcastically and bite your lip and make your way toward the front, where the rest of the choir is now congregating. The other members eye him conspicuously.

“Um, Y/N,” a Slytherin girl calls over to you, looking rather peeved off, “what’s he doing here?”

You fidget uncomfortably in your seat. “He’s—just—joking, it’s alright, Lena, lay off,”

Fred snorts embarrassingly and peers over your shoulder at your sheet music.

When Professor Flitwick walks in, Fred scrunches next to you, trying not to let his very tall frame and bright red hair stand out. So far, so good. He bites down a grin when he notices the nervous twitch of your eyes. It’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Then you turn toward him and whisper through gritted teeth, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Just want to spend some more time with you,”

“And Double Transfiguration isn’t enough of a fill for you?”

“Can’t help myself.”

“You’re ridiculous, you are.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love my company.”

“Well—you certainly don’t make it very bloody difficult, do you?”

You look back down at your sheet music, fighting a smile, and Fred notices your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

Professor Flitwick taps his baton on his music stand and fixes his glasses before raising his hands to conduct. His squeaky voice echoes throughout the nearly empty Great Hall, “Let’s start with some warmups, shall we?”

And Fred’s right—your soft soprano range nearly has him melting into a puddle right next to you. He opens his mouth to belt out some obnoxious, offkey note, but is taken fully by surprise—you’ve actually left him silent. He can’t seem to find the words.

You turn toward him, furrowing your brow and stopping your vocal runs at once. Tentatively, you ask him, “What?”

Fred can feel his insides tighten at your gaze; Flitwick is saying something, but he doesn’t listen—he’s drowning in your eyes, your soft silky voice washing over him like a cool tide. He blinks. “N-nothing,” he begins sheepishly, clearing his throat, “—you’re going to leave me speechless, you are.”

“Weasley!”

Both of you jump at the sound of his name; Fred’s hand immediately grabs at your knee, and before he can even process what’s happening, he’s standing up amidst the students, still silent and sort of, well, flustered.

“What’re you doing here? You’re not in the choir.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Fred says as he removes himself from the congregated group, bouncing toward Flitwick. He places a hand on the back of his neck and says awkwardly, “Just had to come and see the most beautiful girl.”

The choir coos, and Fred is delighted to see that you’re still grinning like mad despite all of the eyes on you. You shake your head slowly, peering up at him over the top of your sheet music. Professor Flitwick squeaks, “Ah—yes, yes, we all adore a good love story, Mr. Weasley, but if you don’t mind, we’ve got a rehearsal to get to!”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replies, saluting his professor before making his way toward the exit of the Great Hall. And then, in a loud, sing-songy proclamation, a “Yes, siiir!” escapes his lips in an off key, pitchy, albeit—weirdly adorable—note.

And once more before he leaves completely, he spins around, instantly spotting you in the mess of the choir, not at all able to focus on the vocal runs Professor Flitwick has asked you to practice as a warmup. You’re still trying your best not to meet his gaze, but the tension is rising and eventually you lift your head, your eyes meeting with his, and he winks before vanishing in the corridor.

Fred is very, very nervous. Not only is the team playing Slytherin today, but you’re also in the stands. Watching. Spectating. Expecting something great, he presumes.

He knows this because of your prior conversation the two of you held in Transfiguration the day before.

“We’ve got it in the bag.”

“Slytherin’s got a good lineup this year.”

“Yeah, but Gryffindor’s better.”

That smile. Your damn smile. “Okay—impress me, then.”

He’s feeling particularly less confident than he ever has before, and he’s busy bouncing his feet up and down on the carpet as he tosses his broomstick between his hands. He didn’t eat breakfast. He’s running purely on caffeine and nerves alone.

The rest of the team meets up in the common room before heading down to the pitch. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all there, as well.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ginny asks him.

George slings an arm around his twin and answers for him, “Nerves.”

“Nerves?” Ron and Hermione chorus together. “Can you even properly feel nervous—you? Is that even.. possible?”

Fred shrugs his brother off of him as they begin to chuckle lightly. Then Ginny prods, “Cat got your tongue, Fred?”

He shrugs and kicks at the carpet.

It’s the first time in, well, forever, that Fred Weasley cannot seem to find the words to say.

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron says suddenly, a lightbulb going off in his head, “she’s left you.. speechless.”

“Has Freddie finally found a girl that actually makes him anxious?”

Their teasing and jokes don’t do anything to help him, and he’s finding it hard to sit still. Finally, Angelina leads the way to the pitch, and the cheers erupting from the stands send chills down Fred’s spine—you’re there, you have to be, right? Angelina elbows him curiously, “Dunno what’s going on with you and this girl—” she raises her eyebrows mockingly, “—but please, for Merlin’s sake, don’t let it affect your playing today, yeah?”

Great, thanks, no pressure at all, he thinks as he runs a hand nervously through his hair. To his left, he sees George, who rolls his eyes as if to say, Ignore her, and this helps Fred regain a little bit of his confidence.

During warmups, though, as the team flies aimlessly around the pitch and tosses the quaffle back and forth, Fred looks absolutely wrecked, and cannot seem to focus on anything except you—seated in between his sister and other fellow Gryffindors, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, your hands absentmindedly tapping against your knees, waiting for the match to begin.

All the players are hovering in the air, Fred can feel his teeth chittering, Malfoy is making some stupid joke about Harry, and Madam Hooch is walking out toward the middle of the pitch, just moments before the match is to finally begin.

But Fred, thoughts elsewhere, just needs to do it already, he reckons. He flies toward the Gryffindor section, his sister and teammates eyeing him suspiciously, and lands in the middle of the crowd—desperately searching the sea of eyes before him, but not finding the familiar pair he’s looking for.

And then he finds you.

And he’s fighting his way through spectators left and right, while the rest of his team calls to him from the pitch to hurry up, the match is about to begin, when he finally gets to you and places his hands on your shoulders.

It seems as though you’re saying this to him for the millionth time, but he doesn’t care. Your eyes flutter back and forth between him and the pitch, “Fred,” you begin softly, “what’re you doing?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” he replies breathlessly.

And he cups your chin in his hands and pulls you closer toward him, pressing his lips gently to yours. And there it is. Fireworks.

He can feel your shock against him, and he’s finding it hard to not smile completely against your lips. It’s slow and easy and warm, the way the tide feels after having swam all day—muscles de-tensing, body limp. He can feel your eyelashes brush against his cheekbones, your fingertips brush his hips. And slowly, very slowly, he pulls away, hovering for a moment before breaking completely.

This time, you’re the one who’s left speechless.

You know, the funny thing, Fred wants to tell everyone, is that when a kiss comes at the right time from the right girl, it can lighten the entire mood of the atmosphere, change your outlook on life—things of the like. It sounds dramatic in his mind, but he doesn’t care.

Interrupting the stillness between you both is a quick whack! to his head from the Quidditch referee, obviously annoyed at the delay in the beginning of the match. Fred rubs his head in the spot where it’s stinging and glances at you before erupting into laughter—there’s that nervousness again, the skittishness, your shy self shining through with rosy cheeks.

“Wait for me,” his lips brush against your ear.

You swallow thickly over a lump in your throat, listening intently. “What d’you mean?”

request from anon: hiiiiiiiiii! c: i love your stories, and the way you write a fluffy george gets me every time. can i request a super shy, easily flustered, head in the clouds, gryffindor fem!reader with a hilariously soft and smitten george? 👉🏼👈🏼 i just really need my fill on fluff and fluff and fluff ;-; if that’s okay? thank you

pairing: george x gryffindor fem!reader

word count: 4.4k oops

A/N: i love flustered reader and i love flustered smitten george even MORE; hope she’s flustered enough? hope he’s flustered enough??? this literally took me 12 hours to write lol

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @bobduncanlover @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove | message me if you’d like to be added loves!

George Weasley doesn’t normally find himself so very easily nervous around girls. If anything, his charm normally puts forth a bit of confidence. But with you, it’s different. He finds his heart hammering in his chest, sometimes he’s at a loss for words, or your actions take him by surprise in the most wonderful of ways.

When you both go for the last sugar quill at Honeydukes, the clerk behind the desk shrugs his shoulders as if to say, That’s the final one—work it out amongst yourselves.

When he turns to look at you, his face flushes red and he feels as though his feet are cemented into the ground. He’s frozen. He blinks a few times—it’s almost as if you aren’t real, you’re so beautiful— “For the lady, then,” George says and smirks at you. As a nervous smile tugs at the edges of your lips, he spots the Gryffindor colors when you pull your scarf out from your coat pockets. Your sparkly eyes are intriguing.

“Thank you,” you reply nervously, paying the clerk and turning back toward George. “That’s really nice of you.”

And before he can say anything else or get to know you better, even your name, you float out of the store and out of sight. George stands there, still frozen, before coming out of his daydream-like state, and rushes out of the store.

“Wait!”

He runs out of Honeydukes, leaving his very confused brothers and friends behind, and catches you before you get back to the castle. Blimey, you’re a quick walker. You freeze, whirling around to face him.

“I’d at least like to know the name of the girl I gave up my favorite sweet for,” he says, panting a bit, and smiles softly at you. When you grin back, he feels a tug at his heartstrings.

Your face goes rosy, and you shake your head in utter embarrassment. “Oh my, I’m so sorry—I can’t believe—should’ve introduced myself.. I’m Y/N—”

He can’t help but laugh a little at your flustered form. “Y/N,” George repeats, your name swimming through his mind. “I’m George.. Weasley, by the way. Thought I recognized you.” He points at your Gryffindor scarf. “We’re in Potions together, yeah?”

You nod in reply, biting your lip, giving the same smile that you had given him in Honeydukes. He comes to realize this is a huge hint to your nervousness, finding amusement in the fact that your eyes shift down toward your shoes, as well, avoiding any and all eye contact. Then you glance up at him, “Really brilliant match last week, by the way.”

George is caught off guard by this. “Oh—thanks,” he says brightly, excited to know that you’ve been watching Quidditch matches. He points to the Ballycastle Bats team pin you have on your bag, “Northern Ireland fan, are you?”

“Think I’d be shunned by my family if I wasn’t.”

“Won’t be able to convert you to a Cannons fan, I reckon?”

Your lips twitch. “Afraid not.”

He laughs as he watches you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear nervously, “Ever play before?”

“Oh, god,” you reply, nearly dropping your sweets onto the muddy ground beneath you, “No—I’m complete, complete rubbish.” George can see your cheeks go rosy again, but is it from the cold, or the nerves? “No, I mean, I’d love to play, really would, but I reckon I’d send Gryffindor’s rep plummeting.”

George slams his hands into his pockets, as if this is going to help him fight his own nerves, “I’m sure you’re not that bad.. maybe you just need a few lessons,”

Was this an offer? He doesn’t break the gaze you two are holding. You say softly, “Yeah—maybe. But not Seeker—my eyesight is awful.”

Again, George laughs. “Well what would you play?”

You tilt your head in thought. “Always wanted to be a Chaser. Or Beater, maybe.”

This impresses him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply very shyly, “but I wouldn’t be nearly as good as you and your brother.”

His insides turn gooey and warm at this compliment and he thanks you. It’s now aware that George’s brothers have found him as they call out to him from behind, and he’s wishing that they hadn’t. He wants more time. “Well—it’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Careful with that quill, now, don’t want to go and give yourself a sugar rush.”

Your shy laugh catches him by surprise. He didn’t think his comment was particularly funny. He sucks in a breath as you adjust your scarf, giving him a tiny grin once again and raising your hand before turning back around and heading toward the castle. He runs a hand anxiously through his hair, thinking to himself, What the bloody hell was that? but then pauses, because he remembers that whatever the hell he’d said—it had made you laugh—and he’d say it over and over if it meant he could continue to listen to that sound escape your lips again.

Behind him, he can still hear his friends calling out his name in confusion, but it’s easy to ignore them as he watches your scarf move slightly in the wind before you’re back into the castle and out of sight yet again.

“Mate,” he hears Fred say, as the other Weasley brothers and friends finally catch up with him, “you are rubbish at this flirting thing.” They all fall into a fit of raucous laughter—guess they’d heard more than George originally thought.

But he just ignores them and turns back, staring at the spot you just were, merely a few feet away from him, the echo of your laugh still playing back in his mind on repeat. With a small smirk, he tries to suppress the butterflies in his stomach and he says to nobody in particular, “Reckon I’m better than you think I am.”

The Great Hall is absolutely buzzing during dinner—finally, the weekend. George is completely ignoring the game of exploding snap in front of him, when Ron smacks him across the face.

“Oi!” George yells, bringing a hand to his stinging cheek, “what the bloody hell was that for?”

“Quit ignoring the game!” Ron says a bit angrily.

“Do I need to play Weasley mediator?” Harry asks sarcastically.

Ron softens a bit, grunts something that slightly resembles a sorry, and waits for George to take his turn. He does this quickly, and turns back toward the end of the table, where you’re sitting, reading intently some book clutched tightly in your hands. Fred stifles a laugh and a female voice beside him says, “What’s up with him?”

George is caught off guard and whips his head around, only to see Ginny and Hermione take their places next to Harry and Ron. He’s ready to tell his sister that there’s nothing up, nothing at all, because George hates it when his siblings get involved in his personal life, but regrettably, Fred beats him to the punch.

“Oh, not much,” Fred replies, stretching his arms back behind his head, shoving a treacle tart into his mouth, “Georgie boy here is just in love with Y/N and can’t handle his own feelings. ‘Tis adorable. Never seen the bloke so flustered before.”

George shoots his twin an angry look and the feeling of dread creeps up inside his chest. Ginny’s eyes widen. “Oooh,” she prods a bit teasingly, “since when?”

“I’m not in love with her,” George snaps, making everyone go silent for a moment as they all try and hold back their laughter. “I—just—don’t know her very well—”

“But he’d like too.”

George flicks a treacle tart at Ron, who catches it at the last moment and glances toward Hermione, who he’s sad to see doesn’t look quite as amused at his teasing as he hopes she would. He focuses once again on George, whose ears are bright red. A little bit more quietly, he says, “Caught them together in Honeydukes the other day—” another tart hits Ron right across the face.

“She’s really sweet, she is,” says Ginny brightly, the mocking tone to her voice now gone, “you know, if you’re looking for that sort of thing.” Almost immediately as it had gone, the sarcasm came back. Fred playfully nudges his little sister in the ribs.

George tries his best to hide his curiosity about how his sister knows you by pretending to be distracted by a game of exploding snap and picking at the food on his plate. When you stand up from your seat, clearly making your way toward the Gryffindor common room for the night, George’s eyes lock with yours and he raises a hand and grins before he realizes that everyone is watching him.

You smile back and hug your book tighter before heading out of the Great Hall, and even as the cackling and teasing around him continues, George can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

When he’s trudging through the hallways with his twin, watching as passerbys head into their next classes, he doesn’t expect to see you.

You should be in class already, no?

Fred catches this. “Oh boy,” he teases, nudging his twin in the ribs, “going to get more than a smile out of her today?”

George shoves him into a nearby wall when Fred begins to snicker as George yells your name down the corridor. “Hey, Y/N!”

He catches up with you in the now empty corridor and you grin shyly at him. “Hello, George.”

“Coming to the match this weekend?”

He tries not to get his hopes up, but is pleasantly surprised to hear you say yes. “Wouldn’t miss it,” you tell him, now walking toward him. “Versus Ravenclaw, yeah?”

George nods in agreement.

You look around the corridor, making sure nobody else is around, and when you are finally satisfied to see that the coast is clear, you tell him, “Their team is rubbish this year. You guys have it in the bag.”

He beams at you. “Thanks,” he replies, “well—hopefully, you never know with Quidditch. Maybe afterwards we could have those lessons I promised?”

You peer at him in surprise, a little taken aback. “Was—was that a promise?”

“Well, I’d certainly like to—if you still do.”

His heart flutters when you agree. Switching the books in your one arm to the other, albeit clumsily, you stand across from him, careful not to drop your belongings to the ground. “Yeah—that, um, sounds nice.” A small, nervous chuckle escapes your lips.

There’s a bit of comfortable silence between the two of you as he processes this, excited beyond belief. His insides are swirling nervously and he fixes his bag across his shoulder.

“Free period?”

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, clutching your bag tighter around your shoulder. “Just heading to the library to finish that Potions essay,” you roll your eyes. George grins sheepishly at you, remembering the assignment but figuring he’ll worry about that later. “Did you have a good lunch?”

“Yeah—good, really good,” he replies, tugging at the edges of his robe sleeves, “and you?”

You smile sweetly. “Very good, thanks.” There’s another bit of silence between you when George realizes he has absolutely no idea what to say next, but thankfully, you come to the rescue—for more than one reason. “You have a free period, as well?”

George’s eyes widen in horror when the realization hits him like a ton of bricks—only mere seconds have passed, but he should be in his Transfiguration class by now. It’s as if the thought of her brings her out of her classroom, because Professor McGonagall pokes her head out of her classroom and says, “Mr. Weasley, please make your way in for your lesson. Now is not the time to flirt with pretty girls, I’m afraid—I’d rather you leave your teenage mischief for the common room.”

When McGonagall ducks back into the classroom, George peers back at you, his cheeks a bit rosy and his mind swirling with anxious thoughts.

“You should go,” you tell him sheepishly, nudging him gently toward the classroom, “wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of McGonagall’s outbursts.” You laugh a bit and turn to head toward the library.

“She’s right, you know,” George says, not ready to leave just yet.

“About what?”

“The flirting thing,” he tells you with a cheesy grin, “even if I am rubbish at it.”

Your face flushes red and you immediately peer down at your shoes, nervousness boiling up inside you. George laughs haughtily at your flustered state, throwing his head back before glancing at you once more. He watches as your face changes from anxiety-ridden to very, very cheeky.

“And the pretty?”

George swallows over the lump in his throat and sucks in a breath. He hadn’t expected you to say anything about this, but it takes every ounce of his being to not go off about your beauty. “Well of course she was right about that.”

Feeling quite pleased with himself, he winks, noticing the smile tugging at the edges of your lips before you both turn and head off in your respective directions.

It’s obvious, now, that Professor Snape is in a worse mood than he normally is. The Dungeons seem darker, colder, less appealing (as if that’s possible) and George is crossing his fingers that this class flies by—that is, until you walk in. It seems as though the room brightens up.

It’s the first assignment of the year that Snape breaks you apart into groups—by houses, of course. George’s heart begins hammering in his chest when you slide into the seat next to him and across from his twin, whose eyes are going back and forth between the two of you as you all take out your textbooks and place them on the table.

Fred notices the Quidditch pin on your bag, just as George had that time in Hogsmeade. “Think we can get you to switch over to the Cannons?”

“No such luck, sir,” you reply softly, laying out the ingredients for your potion neatly next to your cauldron, “I’m sort of exclusively dedicated to the Bats.”

Words are escaping George’s lips before he can even register what he’s saying. “Her family would have her head if she fancied any other team.”

The two of you peer at each other, exchanging soft smiles, while Fred just shakes his head, as if to imply he was feeling some type of secondhand embarrassment from the rubbish flirting going on between you and his brother. It is then revealed, Fred realizes, that George has absolutely no plan whatsoever on how to continue this conversation, as he finds himself tripping over his words—so unlike him. “So, er, we need—what do we need exactly?” George kicks his brother underneath the table after a mocking laugh, leaving a red faced Fred doubled over in pain.

Snape’s constant glances at your group seem to be making George more nervous than possible. Normally, he doesn’t worry this much when it comes to classes, but with you sitting next to him, he finds himself incredibly focused on his assignment in front of him.

“Okay,” he says eventually, his body language exuding nothing but confidence, “Reckon we can finish this rather quickly, now—just need two more bezoars?”

“No!” you nearly jump out of your seat, but you aren’t quick enough. “George, just one!”

The potion erupts in the cauldron and George is left with soot all over his face and in his hair. Fred bursts into raucous laughter next to him while you cup a hand over your mouth. From the table next to yours, a Slytherin asks jokingly, “Seamus Finnegan isn’t in our year, is he?”

You hurriedly head to the supply closet, pull out a clean rag and race back over to your table, nearly tripping over your robes. George is almost happy his face is covered—the black soot is hiding the very obvious tomato-red color of his face now. But still, he can’t help but laugh at himself.. just a little bit. “Don’t worry, I—I can fix it,” you tell him tentatively.

You sway your wand above the cauldron, bringing it back to it’s correct dark green colour, and gently dab his face and run a hand through his hair. You’re starting to see that bright red again. And then it’s as if everything around you stops, and the world goes still and silent. You’re still running a hand through his hair, and George is peering at you with solemn eyes, his breathing becoming heavier, when Snape very rudely interrupts you both, making you jump.

“Had it not been for Y/N L/N’s quick fix, it would’ve been easy to mark this abysmal,” Snape tells you all, looking disgusted when he glances inside your cauldron at the potion you’ve concocted. “Respectable, I suppose.”

When you both finally notice that everyone around you is watching you in surprise, you quickly rub some of the soot off of George’s robes and quickly swing your bag over your shoulder, eager to leave the dungeons and regroup. You bite your lip and offer a small grin, “Erm—see you later,”

As George trudges behind his twin up the stairs for the next class, still trying to wipe away the soot from his face, Fred tells him teasingly, “Well—that went well,”

George shoves him as they both continue to laugh. “She’s—just—things are fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You’ve just got to do it already, haven’t you?” comes the voice of Ron, who slips next to them as they wander through the corridors, Harry by his side. “Just kiss her already, mate.”

“C’mon, ‘m taking my time. I don’t want to.. scare her away.”

“Ah yes,” Fred begins sarcastically, bouncing down the hallways now, “don’t kiss her as soon as you possibly can—girls love that.”

It’s nearly eleven p.m. when the common room finally clears. You’re sitting near the fire, many pieces of parchment on the table in front of you, and you’ve got the back end of your quill in your mouth. George continues to steal glances at you whilst trying desperately to finish homework of his own.

“I can’t do this anymore, I’m heading to bed,” Fred announces, standing up and closing his spellbooks with a loud smack! “Coming, George?”

“Yeah—soon, mate,” he replies, not looking at his brother, but instead, keeping his eyes transfixed on you, as if he’s in some sort of a trance. He licks his lips impatiently, and then begins to bounce his feet up and down on the ground.

“So—she your girlfriend yet?”

George tosses a throw pillow from the couch in Fred’s direction. Through gritted teeth, he says, “Shut up, will you? She’ll hear you!”

Fred pauses for a moment and considers this.

“Maybe that’s what you both need.”

“What?”

“For her to hear it. If she’s not going to hear it from you how much you bloody want her—”

George sticks out his foot when Fred begins to cross to the other end of the common room, when he trips slightly, but catches himself before he faceplants, “Oi,” Fred says, rolling his eyes, and then lowers his voice, “would you just go for it already? So you can quit being all moon-eyed—”

George rolls his eyes at this. “I don’t want to rush things, Freddie. Don’t want to frighten her off. She’s not like us—she’s more subdued, quiet. I’ve got to take it slow, don’t I?”

“Merlin’s sake, Georgie,” Fred says, making him jump. “It’s so obvious she likes you back. Do something before she bloody finds someone else, would you?”

“Get out of here, you absolute git,” George playfully kicks his brother in the shin, who heads for the boys dormitory. He thinks on this for a moment, though. Was it too late? Nerves were once again bubbling up inside him, anxious thoughts eating him alive. George had always been patient—he wasn’t going to change his ways now, was he? But still, the talons of Fred’s words are entrenched in his mind. Had he already missed his chance with you?

Finally, the two of you are alone—completely on separate ends of the common room, immersed in your own work—but alone, nonetheless.

Of all the things George expected to happen late that evening, you suggesting heading town to the Quidditch pitch in the dead of night isn’t one of them. “Get your broom, then!” you tell him excitedly.

“Now?” he asks you, looking down at his watch. It’s nearing midnight. “You want to go down to the pitch now?”

“Oh,” you sputter, now feeling like an absolute idiot for suggesting something so sneaky. You shake your head at him. “I—I’m sorry—we don’t need to, really, it’s okay—I just thought, since you’re so used to sneaking out of the castle at night, it might be fun? I reckon we’d probably get quite a tongue lashing from McGonagall if we were caught, though—just forget I said anything, it’s fine, really, we can go another day—”

George can hardly hide his smile at your hysteria. He grabs you gently by the arm and turns you back toward him, your face rosy and eyes skittish. He places both of his hands on your shoulders and laughs. “I think it’s a really great idea.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he replies, lying completely through his teeth. “You’ve got to learn to play in all conditions, haven’t you? Nothing quite like a dark day on the pitch.”

“You don’t think I’m completely out of my mind?”

George tilts his head in thought. “Well—maybe a bit,” he lets a laugh escape his lips before heading to his four poster to grab his broom, “but it helps that you’re cute. You’re always going to surprise me, aren’t you?”

You beam at this. “Guess you’ll never know with me.”

Regrettably so, the two of you don’t even make it to the pitch. You were so very close to exiting the castle, when you heard footsteps rounding the bend. Quickly, George grabbed you and dragged you quickly to some secret passageway he and Fred had found many years before, stumbling very clumsily as you went, which is exactly how you both ended up in this particular situation.

You’re both extremely close to one another, out of breath and exhilarated, listening to the low mumbles of Severus Snape and Argus Filch coming from the corridor you had just left. George brings his fingers to his lips, as if to say, Stay as quiet as you can! Once their footsteps retreat into nothingness, you both let out sighs of relief, George’s body flooding with adrenaline of narrowly escaping the wrath of Filch—a feeling he knows quite well.

“I am so sorry—are you alright?”

“Yeah, yes,” you tell him breathlessly, bringing a hand to your chest and sucking in a quick breath. “Reckon that almost-disaster just took a few years off my life, though.”

“You get used to it after a while,” George tells you, tightening his shoelace, “if I had a sickle for the amount of times I’ve almost been caught, I’d be a very rich man.”

You giggle sweetly. “And how many times is that, exactly?”

“Oh, somewhere near two hundred and fifty,” he says. He sticks out his hand and pulls you to your feet and the two of you make your way to the entrance of the secret passageway, George keeping a strict eye out for any more professors or ghosts wandering the corridors.

And that’s when you trip over your own two feet, and a muffled thump! echoes through the passageway.

Your hand flies to your face, covering your mouth, as you erupt into a fit of laughter. George is pretty sure tears are escaping your eyes, but he can’t tell if it’s because you’re laughing so hysterically, or because you’re hurt in some way. He can’t read your expression, and it frustrates him to no end, as he frantically bends down toward you to see if you’re alright. “Are you okay?”

You nod quickly, still laughing.

He rests his hands gently on both of your knees and begins to laugh, too. “No more falling, yeah?”

And when you both regain your composure, you’re both looking at one another, that strange, still silence floating in the air as the tension rises between you both. And with a surge of confidence, you pull gently on George’s shirt and press your lips lightly to his.

You feel his shock against you, but it’s mere milliseconds before he’s melting into it, his lips molding perfectly against yours, his heartbeat increasing rapidly inside his chest. He’s sure you can hear it. He thinks he can hear yours, too.

And before he knows it, he’s the one who’s falling.

Falling, falling, deeper, faster.

The kind of falling you can’t help—it’s just overtaking, overwhelming. The kind you can’t stop, no matter how hard you try.

But George doesn’t seem to mind.. not even in the slightest.

He isn’t sure if you want to walk hand-in-hand back to the common room as you both stealthily make your way through the corridors. But he figures, since you’ve already kissed him, hand holding probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

So he intertwines his fingers in yours and feels relief flood through him when you bite back a large grin.

You both hop through the portrait hole after he says the password, “Lemon Drop”, ignoring the Fat Lady’s questions about what you two are doing out so late, and the entire room seems to ease up when you’re finally safe inside.

“I know we didn’t get to practice any Quidditch,” George begins, squeezing your hand a bit, “but I still hope you had fun tonight—besides the almost getting caught part.”

But little does he know, that was your favorite part of the entire evening. He notices that nervous smile again, something he’s found himself to be quite fond of.. it doesn’t help that you’re so bloody adorable. “I did,” you tell him straightforwardly, both of you thinking back to the kiss.

He swallows thickly, suppressing down any butterflies in his stomach. “Good—great—‘m glad you did.”

“And George?” you start, standing up on your tippy toes, getting as close as you can to him.

He can barely get the word out. His heart is going to explode out of his chest, he’s absolutely sure of it. Oh no. “Yes?” he gulps.

“I suppose you can tell Fred I’m your girlfriend now.”

He shakes his head in admiration, trying not to smile like a complete goof. He calls to you from the staircase opposite yours, “Reckon you’re always going to surprise me?”

We Who See Thestrals

a post-canon Harry Potter fic

This is one of my oldest, dearest headcanon ideas finally written out. It came to me right after I read Deathly Hallows, soon after it was published, so it’s been a private thought for a long time. But I thought it might make some good pandemic relaxation reading–it certainly made great pandemic stress-writing. 

This series is 10k and finished. Even beta-read! Incredible.

1: Luna Lovegood Gets a Joke-Shop Job

1924 words/10k

“Look,” said Ron, “I don’t think she’ll last here long, either, but with The Quibbler and everything Luna doesn’t need money. She just needs something to do. Hermione should be the one asking, but she said she was delegating it to me. So pretend this was a super-persuasive pitch on why an old friend should be given a chance.”

George cocked an eyebrow at his brother, more to make him squirm than because he was particularly interested in arguing. Ron was a decent shop clerk and a better trainer, since he liked to get out of doing things but didn’t like to see them done wrong. Until their youngest was old enough to go away to school, Ron was the home parent which meant he only could work the slowest hours of the day. George also knew it was good to let his people show some initiative, even if the person was Ron.

They had a lot of young people come and go, since the job wasn’t all playing with the products, and George had the bad habit of moving anyone with potential up to R&D (Recreation & Development) or to pop-up sites. Which often turned into managing new stores. Dennis Creevey had been their biggest success so far, though the Hogsmeade location was a no-brainer. Dennis wasn’t much of an innovator himself, but he sold all their newest products with the passion of a very small child and the tenacity of a survivor.

They all were survivors, their generation of Hogwarts students. Some of them, like George, had decided that the best thing to create in the world was a time of innocence they couldn’t even enter. And that’s why so many parents bought so much delightful nonsense from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

“I don’t mind having you hire and train her,” he said, as if having wrestled with himself, “as long as you make sure she doesn’t blow up my shop in vengeance for what you did to her house.”

He left Ron sputtering an unformed rebuttal, and went through his vanishing cabinet to the lab.

Luna started the next week. That day George was too busy trying to get the topiary algae to form itself with a longer nose to go down to the shop for niceties. When he heard a whump all the way through the door, through the other vanishing cabinet about five miles away, he decided it was time to check in on the new hire. He carefully finished his notes, told Neville he’d call him back and took out the prototype earplugs he’d made, improving the extendible ears beyond all recognition. They really helped when he needed to trouble-shoot things like recalcitrant botany with friends, so he’d given sets to several of the usual suspects and occasionally owled his spare pairs to others. He took off his slimy gloves and went down to the shop.

Not a george weasley gif but still applies oop

Masterlist here

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Warnings: implications of suicidal thoughts

Word count: 1585

Request: Can you write a George Weasley fic based off of the song Princesses Don’t Cry by Aviva? Fluff or angst, or both? I love your writing so much!!!

A/N: of course, lovely! I live for stories like these, considering I’ve always wanted someone to do this for me… I hope you enjoy, and feel free to request again! This was the first time I listened to this song and it hits so hard…

ALSO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES OUT THERE!!!! MY MESSAGES ARE OPEN IF YOU NEED AN EAR, BUT I AM IN NO WAY A THERAPIST AND SHOULD NOT BE TREATED AS SUCH.

~~~

No, I’m fine, I’m lying on the floor again / Cracked door, I always wanna let you in / Even after all of this shit, I’m resilient / ‘Cause a princess doesn’t cry

~~~

You sat in the owlery, content all alone as the sun settled, sinking behind the mountains. You rarely got moments alone like this, and it had been hard enough to shake your friends off of your back to come up here. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. You sat at the window sill precariously, your legs dangling above the ground hundreds of meters below. 

How did it all come to this?

I made a quiz, its 36 questions, and y’all, I play-tested this, I got feedback, I hyper-analyzed, its good. I wasn’t like, I was gonna just let hogwarts houses die but apparently y’all be like,,, not knowing what a slytherin or hufflepuff is no shade and if all these quizzes are gonna ask you this question anyways: this is it. Idiot tested. Idiot approved

request from @evadne-poventis: I was thinking my character Eva has known the Weasleys for years and she eventually got engaged to Fred, then the war happened, he passed and she moves in with George for support and they fall in love

pairing: fred x reader, george x reader

word count: 3.9k (YIKES)

warning(s): mentions of death, anxiety, mental illness, nightmares, implied sexual content so ~proceed with caution~ i s’pose

A/N: i am just.. so sorry

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @perksofbeingawf @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @how-do-life-does @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @snakesonaplane-7 | message me if you’d like to be added!

“We’ll get through this,” Fred said. He was standing across from you, outside of the Burrow, in the chilly, windy atmosphere, the sky turning a darker grey above you both. “We’ll get through this, and then we’ll get married and live happily ever after.”

You snorted at his silliness. Happily ever after. Who says things like that?

“Freddie,” you said, sniffling a little bit, trying your best to not think of the unknown.. the impending war just moments away, “What if—”

“No,” Fred silenced you by pressing his lips to yours, his hands cupping your face, your tears surely falling onto his fingers, “Don’t. Everything will be alright. You’re strong. We’ll be alright.”

You believed him. You believed him with every ounce of your entire being.

“Okay,” you replied. You peered at him with solemn eyes.

“Besides,” he started, losing the very serious tone to his voice, “if something happens, who’s going to dance with you at our wedding?” He began to dance very obnoxiously, making you laugh through your crying. You couldn’t help it. Fred was always making you laugh. He spun you around, lifted you off of the ground, and then placed you gently on your feet. But he was nervous, too. Very scared. You could see it in his eyes and in the way his voice was caught in his throat when he said, “When this is all over, you’ll be my mine forever—and the rest will be history.”

“Y/N?”

A soft voice wafted into your bedroom, taking you by surprise, and bringing you back to reality. It was George. His eyes looked red and tired. Like he’d been crying.

The apartment you shared was grey and colorless. It desperately needed to be dusted, but you both couldn’t bring yourselves to do so.

It had been six months since the war.

Fred hadn’t survived. One of many.

Your ‘happily ever after’, was it shattered? Were you to be considered a widow? You didn’t know—you weren’t technically married to him when he died. You adjusted yourself on the bench near your window and George came over to you and sat himself down next to you.

“You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

George nodded and offered a small smile. He didn’t need to say anything else. You both just knew. “Hungry?” He stood up and stuck out his hand and helped you gently to your feet.

You let out a soft hum and the two of you made your way into the kitchen.

After the war, after Fred had been killed, you asked George to move into the apartment that you and Fred had lived in together right after your engagement. When he saw how distraught you were, the emptiness and loneliness in your eyes, he immediately packed up his things and took to the empty room across from yours.

You’d fallen into a comfortable living arrangement. You’d spent your days at work, and George did his best to make his way back into the shop with Ron by his side. But it wasn’t the same. It was drastically different than how you imagined life after the war.

George found himself growing very comfortable beside you. It was nice to have someone else in the house—another body, another presence. It helped to not feel so desperately alone in what seemed like the worst few months of your entire life.

But you still desperately missed Fred. It seemed as though he came to visit nearly every night. You felt him beside you—when you slept, you could almost feel his arms around you, his smirk against your neck, hands tightening around your waist.

But each and every time you woke up, the space in the bed next to you was empty. You re-lived it every single day. You constantly grabbed at the sheets, desperate to feel his body. George re-lived it everyday, too..

You both missed Fred more than you could express with any amount of words or tears.

“C’mon then—we’re going to be late for class,”

“I don’t really care about class, to be honest with you,” he pulled on your hand and gently pressed you against the wall in the emptying corridor.

“McGonagall’s going to have your head.”

“Then let her,” Fred said breathlessly, brushing his thumb swiftly against your cheek, “I just need a bloody moment alone with you.”

He gently pressed his lips to yours, and you thought that maybe you could skip Transfiguration, just this one time— “It’s a shame we never get to be alone.”

“Mm,” he replied, barely breaking from you, “tell m’ about it,”

He moved down to your neck. Breathlessly, you told him, “Reckon you’ll just have to find a way to sneak into the girls dormitory tonight, then.”

He pulled back, eyeing you curiously. “You? Breaking the rules?” Such a tease.

“Oh shut up,” you replied, slapping him playfully. “You going to do it, or not?”

He laughed before kissing you again, “Love it when you talk sweetly to me, my love.”

One day George took you into the shop. It was only his second time back since his twin’s untimely demise.

“Does it look absolutely dreadful in here?” he asked you, laughing softly as he turned on the light.

“Not at all,” you replied and squeezed his hand. “Still just as bright and inviting as the day you opened.”

He offered you a small smile, grateful for your kind words. “D’you ever think I’ll be able to do it again? You know...run this place? Without him?”

His voice caught in his throat. It seemed as though tears were welling up in his eyes. “Yes,” you told him, confident as you’d ever been. “I do. And I think Fred would want you too, don’t you reckon?”

George laughed again, leaning against the counter. The shop, so very large and inviting, seemed so small now in its emptiness. “Can’t you hear him? Scolding me.”

“Yeah, I can,” you agreed. Was it okay to smile yet? Seemed as though George felt the same way, because he let himself grin from ear to ear, and immediately stopped when he felt a guilty pang in his heart. You felt a tug on your heartstrings. He looked so broken.

George was your best friend in the world. That’s how it had always been. He’d always been your closest confidant, the person you went to for everything. He was the first person you spilled your guts to when your feelings for Fred had changed, the first person you ran to when Fred told you he felt the same way. You didn’t tell anyone else about your engagement until you told George first—that’s how Fred wanted it. And now that Freddie was gone, it seemed to have only brought you and George closer. Was that a bad thing?

You both felt guilty about it, but, at least you had one another.

One night, you dreamt of Fred. It was one of many dreams you’d had since he died, but the most vivid. He was sitting across the Divination classroom from you, gazing at you as if he were in some sort of trance, sending winks across when Professor Trelawney wasn’t looking. Then it flashed to a scene outside in the corridors, when he’d kissed you on the cheek before heading in the opposite direction. Freddie, come back! Where was he going?

A crack of thunder woke you with a start. You felt your fingertips brushing your cheek, where Fred had just kissed you. For a moment you thought it was very real, only to stare down at the space next to you in bed.

It wasn’t the first moment of panic you’d had since the war.

You began to cry uncontrollably, gasping desperately for air, your face blotchy and red and swollen from the tears. The rain was coming down harder, now. George nearly scared the living daylights out of you when he opened your door, looking panicked as well.

“What’s wrong—are you alright?”

But you didn’t need to tell him. He knew you’d dreamt of Fred. “Lumos.” He placed his wand on your bedside table and pulled you into his arms as he sat down next to you, your head resting delicately against his chest as you continued to cry. Your body shook in his arms. His presence was comforting, though. He kept gently sweeping his hands through your hair, telling you softly every few moments that everything would be alright, squeezing his arms tighter around you. He wanted you to feel safe. That’s all he’d ever wanted. He wanted to take the pain away, and it broke his heart every single day that he couldn’t. He just wanted Fred to be here.

He pulled you to your feet and cupped your face in his hands before pulling you into him and pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead. As your crying slowed, your hands tightened around his waist. At least he was here. At least you hadn’t lost him too. You choked back a sob and he asked you delicately, “D’you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

You shook your head.

“D’you want a bit of tea?”

You shook your head again. And then, to his surprise, “Just...stay?”

He felt nerves like he’d never felt in his life, but he didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to see, because you didn’t know. Nobody did.

Nobody knew that George had been madly in love with you since before you and Fred had gotten together.

Not even Fred knew. And being the gentleman that he is, George never said a word to his twin, or to anyone, when you two began dating. And when you’d decided to move in together, he helped you unpack things in your new home with his brother. And when you and Fred ran to him to tell him you were engaged, he swallowed his pride and held you both in his arms, ready to celebrate.

And when Fred died, George promised himself he’d do everything in his power to keep his brother’s fiancé happy and safe.

So, if you wanted him to stay now, he shouldn’t feel guilty about that, right?

He swallowed over a lump in his throat when you peered up at him, eyes solemn and bloodshot and needy. Why were things so much easier to spill in the middle of the night? There was something about the darkness, about the stars twinkling in the sky, that made him feel so vulnerable.

He ran his hands from your neck, across your shoulder blades, down your arms and around your hips, squeezing tightly. Was this a mistake? You were closer to one another than you’d ever been.

You had this overwhelming urge to just.. inch forward.

He pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips and when you pulled away, you kept your eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them again. He waited with baited breath for your next move, the very quick rise and fall of his chest visible to you.

It was easy to become vulnerable in the middle of the night.

You grabbed the collar of his pyjamas, pulled him closer to you and kissed him sweetly. It started relatively slow, easy.. innocent. But it quickly turned hungry and dizzy and dangerous. He was on top of you, his lips on your neck and his hands underneath your shirt. He was desperate to feel your soft skin beneath his fingertips. The rain continued on, drowning out the rest of the world around you, but you could still hear soft moans escape his lips. It was comforting, in a strange way, to be in a world of your own..

Because while the rest of the world was rejoicing at the ending of the war, you and George were just doing your best to find something that felt normal. Okay. Real. So was it so terrible that in the midst of all of this, you’d found one another? Feeling his body pressed hard against you, in this way.. it felt strangely familiar. Like home.

Your eyes fluttered open to the light sound of the rain pattering on the rooftop a little while later. Inches from you, George’s eyes were opening too and he reached out to run his fingers through your hair. He leaned forward and kissed you gently.

You were both quiet, drifting in and out of sleep, lazily pulling your sheets across your bare bodies. You were busy running your fingers gently over his muscles when he awoke and smiled softly at you.

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, and then you noticed it.

Your engagement ring. You hadn’t had the courage to take it off since..

You stopped short, and George noticed. Panicking, you backed away from him, tightening the covers around your chest and slamming your hand across your mouth to keep from screaming. Tears escaped your eyes with no effort.

He shot up immediately, pulling himself closer to you on the bed. “It’s—it’s alright—”

You bit back a sob, shaking your head violently, pulling your robe around you as quickly as you possibly could. George did the same. He stood up, feeling incredibly guilty, and walked around the bed and stood in front of you, looking as sad as he did on the day his twin was taken from him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head at him and finally found your voice—though, admittedly, rather shaky due to the tears. “No, no it’s—this—” you pointed back and forth at one another, “We—we can’t, George.”

“I know. We can just.. we can pretend like it never happened. I’ll just—I’ll go back to the Burrow.”

It felt as though your heart was breaking all over again. You couldn’t lose George, too. Panic was rising in your chest. “No, no! Please don’t go. We—we can work through this, okay? We’re just—sad. That’s all it was.”

You immediately regretted these words. George felt as though he was reliving every painful moment when he was reminded that you were not his. When after a Quidditch cup victory, Fred scooped you up into his arms and kissed you fiercely and George just had to pretend it didn’t hurt. When he’d painfully join you in the common room and you two snuggled close together on the couch. When you said to George, over and over and over again, how much you loved Fred when he’d finally asked you to marry him.

“Right,” he begrudgingly agreed, “we’re just.. sad.”

There was a heavy, painful silence between you both before George squeezed your hand and headed back to his room, alone, feeling more empty than he ever had been. He fell backwards onto his bed, and then pulled out family photographs from his bedside table. He cried nearly the entire night looking through them—guilt and sadness and pain taking him over. He was sure his twin would hate him now. He didn’t sleep. Your bed was cold without him. You didn’t sleep, either.

Things seemed to fall back to normal after that. Well—as normal as things could be, you supposed. The two of you did not discuss that night. It truly was like it never happened. But every so often, you found yourself bringing your fingers to your lips, remembering how it felt to be close to George in that way.

And George always remembered the feeling of your body pressed to his.

He was very apprehensive, but he stayed in the apartment. He didn’t move back home. He didn’t want to leave you. He needed to keep the promise he made—to make you feel safe and happy. So he stayed, and went back to pretending, went back to silently hurting. He went back to making his number one priority, you. Giving you a normal life, no matter what.

He watched you one evening, hovering over the soup on the stove, breathing in the steam—surely thinking about things, and he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and kiss you sweetly in the sunlight flooding the kitchen. But he couldn’t, and he didn’t.

Another three months had passed. You hadn’t once spoken about that evening, but you thought about it every single day. So did George. He tried very hard to suppress his feelings, he’d been approached by many at the shop, but he’d turned down each and every single one of them. He just couldn’t let you go. And your growing feelings for him were scaring you. You couldn’t stop them, no matter what you did. Was it wrong? What would people think—what would his family think? You had many restless nights, arguing with yourself to stay in bed, to not go into George’s room and slide in next to him—and just a few feet away, in a bed meant for two, George was arguing with himself about the exact same things.

You felt guilty, yes, you but even more so, you felt so incredibly alone—because now it didn’t seem like just Fred was gone.

It felt like George was gone, too.

He was busy closing up the shop one evening when you approached him, careful not to scare him in the quiet. You tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around slowly, eyes tired and.. broken. “Hey,” he said, offering a small smile, “ready for dinner?”

“Not very hungry,” you admitted sheepishly, grinning a bit. “I—I just—”

George’s eyes grew with concern, and his heartbeat increased a considerable amount. Not a word, not a glance, nothing was exchanged about those moments since they happened—were you really about to bring them up?

“You and your brother are very different, you know.”

Surprised, he took this in. He smiled. “Yeah? Tell me.”

“Fred was.. boisterous,” you both grinned, thinking on this. “Not that you aren’t too, he just.. was a bit more outgoing. Loud. Exuberant. You’re.. more sensitive, and delicate,”

“That doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?” he asked teasingly.

“You know what I mean,” you continued, looking down at your feet. “Fred always wore his heart on his sleeve. Everybody always knew what he was thinking. He always made it rather obvious. But you—” you reached out slowly and placed a hand to his cheek, choking back tears that were rising to the surface, “you keep it all in, George. Nobody ever knows what you’re thinking.”

He blinked and waited.

“And it drives me bloody crazy, you know?”

You both laughed at this, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. “I’m.. so sorry about that night.”

“Y/N, don’t—”

“No, please,” you said, taking his hands in yours. “That night, I—I think I asked for a little more than I could bargain for. You just.. looked like home to me. Felt like it. You are home. But sometimes it still feels like yesterday that he died, and I felt so bloody guilty, and I didn’t want you to think that I was with you because—”

Because he was the closest thing to Fred you could have. Because he looked exactly like him. Because it was like having Fred back in your arms.

The guilt that overtook you was almost crushing.

“I hope I’m not overstepping.”

George cleared his throat and squeezed your hand. “You’re not. I appreciate your honesty.”

You nodded slowly and opted to continue, “You’re my best friend, George. You always have been, ever since we were little. But I want you to know that—I see you for you. I’ve always looked at you and Fred as different people. You’ve never just been ‘Fred and George’ to me. He’s always been his own person, and you’ve always been yours. Just because you look alike doesn’t mean you’re exactly the same. I’ve always loved how different you are. So please know, that night, it—I wanted it. To be with you, I mean. I wanted it.. not because of all the reasons one may think, I wanted it because I’d.. fallen in love with you.” George’s insides suddenly felt warm and gooey, and his nerves were going mad. Embarrassingly, you asked, “I’m—I.. I love you. Does this make any sense at all?”

“Yes,” he replied with a catch in his throat, “It does. In our own, strange way.”

He squeezed both of your hands and pulled you closer to him, when he noticed something.

Your finger. It was bare. He glanced down at it, and then at you.

You pulled out your engagement ring from Fred, twirled it slowly in your hands, both of you peering at it with tears in your eyes before placing it gently back into your pocket.

“I miss him.” George admitted. He furrowed his brows and a few tears escaped his eyes.

You sniffled a bit and bit your lip. “Me, too,” you replied breathlessly. And then, moving closer, “D’you think he’ll ever forgive us?” Guilt was still eating you alive, but why were you depriving yourself of some type of happiness, when it was standing right in front of you?

George thought on this for a moment, clearly feeling the guilt in waves, too. But he wanted you. He had for years, and he was so close to having you in his arms—but with what price to pay?

The loss of a brother, of a friend, of his own flesh and blood.

“I think,” George began quietly, blinking to push away any tears rising to the surface, “that he’d say there’s nothing for him to forgive.” And you knew it was true. Fred was just as selfless as George was. One of the few similarities between them both that you didn’t mind noting.

You looked up at him, finally feeling somewhat of a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“Maybe this is his way of.. helping us. Bringing us together in a way we didn’t expect.”

You swallowed, “Do you still want to? Be with me, I mean.”

Laughing at his own overwhelming feelings, George resisted the urge to spill everything to you right then and there at that moment—how he’d been head over heels for you for years and never, ever once felt those feelings fluctuate. But he waited—he’d tell you one day. “Of course I do. Do you?”

“Yeah,” you told him, nodding your head in agreement, “I do.. I really do.”

He pulled you in, finally, for a searing kiss, the first time since that night all those months ago, and that feeling of familiarity and home flooded throughout his body. He gently brushed away the tears that fell from your eyes, and kissed you softly a few more times before pulling away completely. “I love you, you know.”

Forgiveness. A new beginning. It was a normal you never expected to have. Fred was still there. He always would be, in a different way. It was comforting in a way that nothing else ever would be, and you and George both knew that. He asked, watching you think, “Want to have a bit of tea?”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, as if you’d just had a million pound weight lifted off of you. And then, softer now, as he intertwined his fingers with yours and let a small laugh escape his lips, you said, “Tea sounds lovely.”

Somewhere in the beyond, in a space filled with white, Fred Weasley was watching down on his brother and on the one who was supposed to be his.

But things changed, he supposed. He shrugged at the thought, and laughed.

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. “They’ve found happiness, haven’t they?”

He turned towards Sirius, who grinned at him.

Fred smiled softly. “There’s nothing more I wanted for them.” He felt an overwhelming, overbearing, astounding amount of happiness, warmth, and peace overtake him. There was nothing more he needed or wanted. Thinking on her and his brother, he replied, “Our story was meant to only last a short while.. theirs is meant to last a lifetime.”