When you were partnered with Fred Weasley for Professor Trelawney’s class, you knew he would ruin the entire experience for you. He called Divination ‘glorified guesswork’, and you called it an art. But in a project involving crystal balls, dream journals, and half-serious prophecies scribbled over tea leaves, you began predicting your future together without meaning to.
The air in Professor Trelawney’s classroom always smelled faintly of burning herbs. Smoke curled in lazy ribbons from a cluster of brass incense dishes, cloaking the round room in an amber haze that made your eyes sting and your hair smell like sage for the rest of the day.
You adjusted your teacup, trying to peer through the rising steam. Across the low table, Fred Weasley squinted into his own cup as if it had personally offended him.
“You’re meant to look for symbols, not glare at them until they appear,” you said, exasperated.
“I am looking,” he said, slouching back, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And all I see is hot leaf juice.”
“That’s because you’re not opening your mind.”
Fred gave a theatrical gasp. “Oh, I’m wide open, sweetheart. My mind’s practically falling out. Still nothing mystical’s appearing.”
You tried not to smile. ‘Tried’ being the operative word. “Maybe if you took this seriously…”
“Oh, I am,” he said with mock sincerity, lifting the cup to the light. “According to my inner sight, this bit here looks suspiciously like a blob, and that one, another blob! Truly a vision of the future.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt and peered at his leaves, finding the shape. “That’s supposed to be a griffin, you absolute menace.”
He blinked at you. “In what universe?”
“In the one where you actually believe in something beyond your own jokes.”
His grin flickered, then returned sharper, amused. “And in your universe, Professor Trelawney actually knows the future?”
“She sees glimpses and interprets it,” you said firmly. “Divination isn’t about certainty, it’s about intuition, connection, symbolism. About patterns.”
Fred leaned in, elbows on the table, voice low enough that only you could hear. “You think the universe cares enough to send you signs in a teacup?”
You met his warm, mischievous brown-flecked eyes and refused to back down. “I think the universe likes to play games with people who don’t believe in it.”
For a second, he looked startled. Then he laughed under his breath, something half-genuine softening his features. “Well, I’ll give it this much, it’s certainly entertaining.”
You fought the heat that crept up your neck, blaming the incense, the smoke, the ridiculous lighting.
Across the room, Trelawney’s voice rose in a dreamy lilt. “Class, do open your inner eyes! Remember, your partner’s energy may affect your reading.”
You and Fred locked eyes again. “See? Your energy is ruining my reading,” you accused with narrowed eyes.
“Well are you sure that’s not your own energy?” he said with mock solemnity. “It’s judgmental and slightly terrifying.”
You shot back, “Yours is loud and smells faintly of dungbombs.”
He laughed properly this time, tipping his chair back until it wobbled dangerously. The sound earned a few giggles from nearby tables.
“Mr. Weasley!” Trelawney swooped closer, her shawls swishing like moth wings. “Mocking the Sight will only cloud your inner vision!”
Fred straightened, hands raised in surrender. “No mocking, Professor, just…deep appreciation of the mystic arts.”
Trelawney eyed him suspiciously before drifting away, muttering about ‘unreadable auras’.
You leaned forward, whispering, “You’re going to get us both detention.”
He smirked. “Then at least we’ll have more time to discuss our blobs.”
You gave up pretending not to laugh. “You’re such a pain in the arse.”
He grinned. “And yet, you’re still sitting across from me. Must be fate.”
The word hung in the air between you, and you quickly retorted, “It’s called a seating plan, actually.”
Then Trelawney clapped her hands, jangling her bracelets. “Attention, my dear pupils! You will now be undertaking a term project. A partnership assignment of great spiritual significance.”
You heard Fred groan softly beside you.
“You and your partner,” Trelawney continued, “will be crafting a prophecy portfolio. A collection of four divinatory readings conducted over the coming weeks, each predicting an aspect of your futures! Tea leaves, crystal gazing, dream analysis, and card reading shall all be included.”
Fred turned to you, pale with mock horror. “Please tell me she’s joking.”
“Does she look like she even knows what a joke is?” you said, half-smiling, half-dreading what was to come.
He dropped his head into his hands. “Brilliant. A whole month of pretending to see the future.”
You closed your notebook, fighting another grin. “Then I guess we’ll have to find a time to pretend together.”
He looked up at you through his fingers, that telltale spark of mischief reigniting. “Careful, love. You make it sound romantic.”
“Only in your wildest dreams.”
He pointed a finger at you. “Ah, but dream analysis is part of the assignment.”
You groaned, gathering your books. “You’re going to tank my grade.”
“And you,” he said, rising and slinging his bag over his shoulder, “are stuck with me.”
You hesitated only a second before meeting his grin. “Fine. We’ll meet here after dinner on Sunday. Try not to be late.”
He mock-saluted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As you turned to leave, Trelawney’s voice floated through the haze behind you. “Ah, I sense great significance in this pairing…two threads entwined by destiny…”
Fred whispered as you passed through the beaded curtain, “If destiny smells this much like burnt lavender, I want a refund.”
You bit your lip to hide the smile that wouldn’t leave your face.
By Thursday night, the Divination classroom had emptied into silence. The last flickers of daylight spilled weakly through the stained glass windows, painting the room in colourful and moody shadows. Candles were already lit (Trelawney must’ve left them burning) and the air hung thick and warm with the scent of old parchment, wax, and the ghost of incense smoke.
You were the first to arrive, clutching your notes, your wand, and a small crystal orb you’d borrowed from the supply cupboard. You’d arranged your table carefully with your parchment spread, teacups ready, atmosphere set.
You told yourself it was for the assignment. Definitely not because you wanted to impress him. Him, who always seemed to make your stomach flutter and face flush.
The bead curtain rattled, and in walked Fred Weasley, his hair a little messy from Quidditch practice, tie loosened, grin perfectly insufferable.
“Well, well,” he said, hands tucked into his pockets as he took in the scene. “You’ve really gone for the full mystical aesthetic. Should I be worried you’ll start levitating any minute?”
You didn’t look up from your notes. “Not unless you keep talking. Then I might start throwing things instead.”
He laughed, stepping closer until you could smell faint traces of broom polish and something sweet. Sugar, maybe? “I brought snacks, by the way. Figured if we’re going to be communing with the spirits, they might appreciate a biscuit.”
You glanced at the packet of chocolate biscuits he placed on the table and rolled your eyes. “That’s not how offerings work.”
“Maybe not in your world,” he said, taking one for himself. “But I’ve found biscuits improve most spiritual experiences.”
You sighed but couldn’t help smiling. “Right. Let’s start with tea leaf reading. Sit.”
He dropped into the chair opposite, still smirking. “Yes, professor.”
“I’m not mocking. I’m learning. I’m a very open-minded individual.”
You handed him a teacup, ignoring his tone. “Sip slowly and think about your future. Try to clear your mind.”
“That’s easy,” he said. “There’s not much in there.”
You gave him your best unimpressed look, and he grinned wider before taking a sip. For a few moments, the room was quiet. It was the kind of heavy quiet that made you aware of every heartbeat, every breath, and every faint pop of candle wax. You tried to focus on your notes, but your eyes kept flicking up to him, following the curve of his mouth, the way he squinted slightly as if thinking hard about something.
When he finally set the cup down, you reached for it. “Let’s see…”
You tilted the cup toward the candlelight, peering at the scattered shapes. “There’s…a wonky broom,” you said softly. “You’ll face a challenge, but come out victorious.”
He snorted. “Or I’ll just win my next match.”
You ignored that. “And here, see this? Looks like a heart.”
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “That blob?”
“It’s not a blob,” you said, trying not to laugh. “It’s a heart. Which means…” You hesitated as you read over your notes. You could feel his gaze on you, teasing but curious. “Which means romance might be in your near future.”
Fred grinned. “Ah, so I’m getting lucky. I knew Divination had potential.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”
You traced another cluster of shapes. “There’s…a flame. That could mean passion or transformation.”
“Passion and romance?” he said, leaning back with mock wonder. “Merlin’s beard, I’m practically a walking erotic novel.”
You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “Or it means you’ll burn something down. Which seems more likely.”
“Fair point.” He paused, tilting his head. “Your turn, then. Let’s see what fate’s got planned for you.”
“I already did mine earlier,” you said quickly, gathering your notes. The more time you spent alone with him, the more you found your heart rate jumping.
“Scared?” he said, voice low, teasing.
You looked up sharply. “Of what?”
“Of spending too much time with me. You know it’d inevitably lead to you fall madly in love with a dashing ginger prankster, obviously.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Dashing is a stretch.”
He laughed, leaning closer. “You didn’t deny the rest.”
You met his gaze for half a heartbeat too long before you looked away, pretending to rearrange your parchment. “Fine. You want to read my leaves? Go ahead.”
He grinned, turning your teacup around. “Right then. Let’s see what the universe says.”
He peered in, squinting. “Okay, I see…a blob. Maybe a badly drawn shoe. Or a potato.”
“That’s not even remotely close to a symbol.”
“Wait, wait!” He leaned closer. “That bit there looks like…two people.”
“Yeah,” he said with mock seriousness. “They’re holding hands. One’s clearly taller. Obviously me. And the other’s…you.”
You tried to keep your tone light, but your heart did an odd little flip. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grinned. “Maybe. But if I turn out to be right, I’ll expect full credit for prophetic accuracy.”
“You’ll be lucky if you get credit for showing up.”
You started jotting down notes about interpretations and metaphoric resonance, trying to ignore the way your hand trembled slightly. When you finally glanced up, he was watching you. He wasn’t smirking this time, just watching. A little too long. A little too intently. The candlelight softened his usual sharp grin into something quieter that made your chest ache unexpectedly.
“What?” you said finally, half-defensive.
He blinked, then smiled again, easy and familiar. “Nothing. Just, maybe this isn’t complete hippogriff shit after all.”
You arched a brow. “Careful, Weasley. That sounded dangerously close to respect.”
He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”
But as he reached the door, he glanced back once more. “See you Sunday? For the crystal ball session?”
“Good.” He hesitated a beat, then added, softer, “Don’t stay up too late staring into the abyss or whatever.”
You smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When the door swung shut behind him, the air still smelled faintly of sugar and smoke. You stared down at your teacup again, at the faint pattern that you believe was shaped like a heart, and wondered if there might be something to it after all.
By Sunday evening, the Divination tower was nearly silent again, save for the low hum of wind against the windows. The air was cool now, tinged with the scent of rain and the faint shimmer of candle smoke. You sat cross-legged on the floor beside a round table, the crystal ball between you glowing faintly with reflected firelight.
Fred was late, of course, but only by five minutes this time. When the bead curtain clattered, you didn’t even look up.
“You’re improving,” you said dryly.
“Traffic on the moving staircase,” he said easily, dropping his bag with a thud. “Tragic, really. But I brought reinforcements.” He held up two steaming mugs. “Hot chocolate,” he announced proudly. “For when the mystical experience gets too intense.”
You took one, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible to take seriously.”
“And yet you still agreed to spend your Sunday night with me,” he said, settling across from you. His grin softened slightly as he looked at the crystal. “Alright then. Let’s see what the great orb of destiny has to say about our futures, shall we?”
You set your mug aside and brushed your fingers lightly over the surface of the sphere. It was cool and smooth, catching light in soft swirls. “You’re supposed to clear your mind first. Focus on a question. Something about your future.”
Fred rested his chin on his hand, eyes bright with mischief. “Alright. How about, ‘Will I survive this project without being hexed by my partner?’”
You gave him a look. “Try again.”
“Fine. Something serious, then.” He leaned in, the firelight catching in his hair. “What product should I use in my hair to eliminate the frizz?”
You rolled your eyes at him and pulled the crystal ball closer to yourself, “Fine, if you don’t want to take this seriously, I will.”
The crystal clouded faintly under your touch, mist swirling in slow, silvery shapes. You frowned, watching it shift.
“I see…” you started softly. “Light. Candles, maybe. And…movement.”
He grinned. “So far, sounds very vague.”
“Shh,” you said, squinting. The mists twisted again, forming something that looked like… “A table. Two people. Maybe sharing a meal?”
Fred chuckled. “A feast? Brilliant. We only have one of those every night in the Great Hall.”
You ignored him, tracing the image with your fingertip. “There’s more. A colour…Red. Like flame. And a sound…something falling.”
He tilted his head. “Falling?”
“Yes,” you murmured. “Something fragile breaking. And…oh.” You frowned. “And flowers. I can’t tell which kind.”
Fred’s expression softened, curiosity replacing humor. “That’s oddly specific.”
“It’s probably symbolic,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Sometimes the images don’t mean anything literal.”
He leaned closer, elbows on the table. “You don’t actually believe that.”
You hesitated. “I believe the crystal shows what we need to see, even if it doesn’t make sense yet.”
He studied you for a long moment, that teasing spark dimming into something quieter, almost thoughtful. “You really think everything’s got meaning, don’t you?”
You shrugged lightly. “Not everything. But enough.”
Fred smiled. It wasn’t his usual cheeky grin, but something small and real. “That’s kind of adorable, you know.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly at his words. They threw you off guard. You looked back down into the orb. “It’s your turn, then. See what you find.”
He cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Prepare to be amazed.”
He peered into the crystal, pretending to squint like Trelawney, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Ah, yes. I see…a stunning young woman across from me. She’s clever, mysterious, possibly in danger of falling madly in love with me—”
“Fred.” You chastised with blushing cheeks.
He broke off, laughing. “Alright, alright. I see…uh, well, it’s blurry. Some light. Some movement. And something red.”
He nodded, leaning closer. “Red and…warm. Feels like…firelight.”
“Okay, now you’re just copying what I said!” You huff in annoyance. You didn’t know what you expected from Fred when it came to Divination, but was it really too much to ask that he take this assignment at leat a bit seriously?
“No, wait, I’m not done yet,” He shook his head. “There’s people laughing. It feels like something good’s about to happen.”
You met his eyes over the misting surface of the crystal, and for a long, unguarded moment, neither of you said a word.
Then he grinned again, the tension snapping like thread. “See? I told you I was a natural.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still racing. “You’re hopeless.”
“Maybe,” he said lightly, rising to his feet. “But at least I’m consistent.”
He gathered his things, lingering a little too long by the door. “Next session’s dream interpretation, right?”
You nodded. “Next Sunday.”
“Can’t wait.” He smiled, softer now. “Though maybe we can talk somewhere a bit cosier. Meet me at the three broomsticks instead?”
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck somewhere between your throat and your heart. When he left, the room seemed too quiet. The crystal sat between your hands, still faintly glowing, its mist swirling like breath.
You leaned forward, watching as the faint shapes reappeared. There they were, two people at a table, candlelight, smashed glass, and the color red everywhere.
The Three Broomsticks was alive with noise and warmth that evening, smelling of hot butterbeer and sounding of laughter. Candlelight danced across the low, golden wood tables. Fred hadn’t been joking about wanting somewhere ‘cosier’ to work. Which was how you ended up opposite him in a corner booth, parchment between you and two drinks steaming gently beside a flickering candle.
“You do realise this is supposed to be a working session,” you said, dipping your quill. “Not just an excuse for you to drink me under the table.”
Fred raised his mug. “A man can multitask.”
You rolled your eyes. “Alright, Weasley, let’s hear your dream from this week.”
He leaned back, eyes dancing. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this level of psychological insight.”
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Fine. I was flying. Above the pitch, no broom, just floating. Then suddenly I was being chased by a giant teapot with Trelawney’s face. She kept shouting ‘read the leaves, Mr. Weasley!’ while hurling biscuits at me.”
You snorted. “Incredible. Truly symbolic. I’m sure the Department of Mysteries would be fascinated.”
“Don’t mock my subconscious, love. It’s a delicate ecosystem.”
You smirked. “I think it says you’re afraid of authority and hydration.”
He grinned. “Your turn then, dream expert. Let’s hear what the inner eye revealed to you.”
You hesitated, nibbling the end of your quill. “Mine was…odd, actually. I don’t remember much of what actually happened but I remember emotions and sensations. Like laughing and feeling happy. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”
Fred stilled slightly. “That sounds…familiar.”
He shook his head quickly, forcing a grin. “Nothing. Just a bit eerie, that’s all.”
You frowned at him, but before you could say anything, Madam Rosmerta appeared with two plates. The rich smell of shepherd’s pie and roasted vegetables filled the air, and Fred brightened instantly.
“See, I told you studying’s better with food. Mystical revelations and mashed potatoes.”
You laughed. “You Weasley’s and your bottomless stomachs. It’s a modern medical miracle how you’re always hungry.”
“Admit it, though,” he said, leaning forward, “you’re having more fun than you expected.”
You wanted to deny it, to roll your eyes or make a quip, but the truth hovered too close to the surface. Between his ridiculous jokes and the easy rhythm you’d fallen into, it was hard not to enjoy every second.
“Maybe,” you said finally, teasing. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
He grinned. “Too late for that.”
You clinked your mugs in mock salute and that’s when your elbow caught on the little glass flower vase on the table. It toppled and water spilled in a wild, glorious arc, catching the candlelight as it splashed across the table. The glass shattered, red flowers scattering over the floor
Fred stared at the mess, mouth half open, then looked up at you.
“Fred,” you whispered. “It came true.”
“The prophecy. The one from the crystal ball! Firelight, laughter, something breaking, red everywhere!” You pointed helplessly at the water-stained tablecloth. “This! This is exactly what we saw!”
Fred blinked again, then started laughing. “Oh, come on!”
“I’m serious!” you said, half laughing yourself. “You can’t deny it, this is word for word what we described.”
“It’s a coincidence,” he insisted, trying to mop up the water with a napkin. “A happy accident.”
You leaned closer, eyes wide. “You can’t possibly still think Divination’s rubbish after this.”
“I can and I do,” he said stubbornly, dabbing at the stain. “You knocked over a vase, you didn’t uncover the mysteries of the universe.”
You laughed so hard your sides hurt. “You’re such a cynic.”
“And you’re dramatic,” he shot back, but he was smiling. The type of smile that softened at the edges and made something flutter uncomfortably in your chest.
When the waitress replaced your vase, he raised his refilled drink toward you with a smirk. “To prophecy,” he said.
You clinked it lightly. “To denial.”
He grinned. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re smug.”
That made your pulse jump, though you tried to hide it behind your glass.
Outside, the snow had started falling softly against the windowpanes, muffling the world. Inside, everything was golden light and laughter and a feeling in your chest you didn’t dare to give a name.
It started again a few days after the vase incident. You were sitting beside Fred in the library, parchment spread out, trying to draft your analysis for the Divination portfolio. He’d insisted he could help, though so far his contributions consisted mostly of doodles of Trelawney riding a broom made of tea leaves and scarves. Though he still insisted he was teeming with natural talent.
“Alright, fine,” you said, leaning over his shoulder. “If you’re such a natural seer, predict something else. Anything.”
He pretended to think deeply, tapping his quill against his chin. “Something small, then. Like…I’ll get ink on me within the next minute.”
You snorted. “That’s not a prophecy, that’s statistics.”
He winked, set the quill down and immediately knocked over the ink bottle with his elbow. It splashed spectacularly across his sleeve and your parchment.
You stared and he froze, then started laughing. “See? Prophetic genius.”
“You’re unbelievable!” you said, trying to blot your notes.
“Admit it, I’m magical,” he said, grinning as he examined the ink stain on his arm.
You smiled despite yourself. “Or just messy.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Maybe both.”
A week later, during lunch in the Great Hall, he waltzed right up to you, sat down beside you and made another prediction, though this time unprompted.
“I foresee,” he said solemnly, “that within the hour, a feather will land directly on my nose.”
You raised an eyebrow, surprised that he had ventured over to your table of his own accord. “That’s oddly specific.”
He just grinned, bit into a sandwich, and kept talking about something George had blown up in Charms.
Forty minutes later, an owl swooped overhead on its way to deliver a letter. A single downy feather drifted loose and, by some miraculous twist of fate, it landed perfectly on the bridge of Fred’s nose.
You gaped. “You planned that!”
“I didn’t!” he protested, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Fate clearly adores me.”
“Fate is mocking you,” you said, shaking your head, but you were laughing too hard to sound convincing.
He leaned across the table, feather still on his nose. “Admit it, you’re starting to believe in my abilities.”
You looked at him, at that infuriating grin, and said, “I’m starting to believe I need a restraining order.”
A few days later, during yet another Divination session, you were reading the cards together waiting for class to officially start. Fred was sprawled on the rug and you kneeling beside the table.
He flipped a card and frowned. “The Wheel of Fortune. That means…something’s about to change?”
You glanced at the card. “Or you’re about to find something you didn’t expect.”
He grinned. “Alright then. I predict I’ll find something of yours within the day.”
You laughed. “Please don’t make that sound creepy.”
That afternoon, after Transfiguration, he caught up to you in the corridor, holding something aloft. Your school scarf that you hadn’t even noticed was missing.
“You dropped this,” he said, mock solemn. “Prophecy fulfilled.”
You stared, half impressed, half suspicious. “You didn’t take that on purpose, did you?”
“Love,” he said, dramatically placing a hand on his heart, “I’d never steal anything but your heart.”
You reached for the scarf with flushed cheeks at his comment, but he held it just out of reach. “You could at least say thank you.”
“Fine. Thank you, O Great Prophet.”
He smiled, eyes bright. “You’re welcome, O Nonbeliever.”
Your fingers brushed his as you took it back, and for the first time you couldn’t tell whether your shiver came from the cold or from him.
The air in Trelawney’s tower was syrup-thick with the kind of sweet heat that made your eyelids heavy and your thoughts wander. Candles flickered in glass bowls, throwing soft light across crystal balls and decks of worn tarot cards scattered across low tables.
Professor Trelawney floated around the room in a cloud of shawls and perfume, her voice lilting through the haze as she finally began the lesson.
“Today,” she declared, “we will peer into the hearts of destiny. Each pair will divine something in their near future. Use the cards, the smoke, and your intuition. The Fates will speak through you.”
Fred slouched beside you, his chin in hand, trying and failing not to grin. “Oh, brilliant. You’ll probably predict I’m destined to fall in love with a banshee.”
You gave him a flat look. “You’d deserve it.”
He winked. “Bet she’d scream my name.”
You groaned, your stomach jolting and face shifting red at the crude joke. “You’re absolutely intolerable today.”
“And yet you still chose to partner with me,” he said, smirking as he reached for the deck of cards.
“I didn’t choose. It’s called the great and mystical seating plan. Now shut up and give me the cards,” you said, trying not to smile.
He handed them to you and you split the deck, letting the cards fan between your fingers, the edges soft from use. Fred leaned back, watching you like it was all a game.
“Born ready, darling Seer.”
You rolled your eyes and drew your card first. It landed face-up between you. The Lovers.
Fred burst out laughing. “You’re joking. You rigged it.”
You stared down at the card, its two mirrored figures joined by a halo of golden light. “It’s not rigged,” you muttered, cheeks warm. “It means a deep connection…or a choice of the heart.”
Fred smirked. “A choice, eh? So, between me and you, who’s the lucky one?”
You flicked the edge of his card deck toward him. “Your turn, wise guy.”
He grinned, drew one, and flipped it. The Two of Cups.
You both froze. It was another card of love, two figures sharing goblets, a symbol of partnership and emotional bond.
Fred tilted his head, smirk fading just slightly. “Alright, that’s weird.”
“Coincidence,” you said quickly, though your pulse had started to quicken. “There’s a lot of relationship cards in the deck.”
He leaned closer, voice low. “You sure about that?”
Trelawney drifted past, humming until she caught a glimpse at the cards pulled on your table. “Oooh, the two of cups, and the lovers! What a rare treat for us today. I know the perfect exercise for the two of you!”
She hurried to bring over two crystal stands with sticks of incense stuck into the base. “Now, focus on your crystal incense burners. The smoke will be guide by the spirits. Ask about your future partner.”
You tried to ignore her large, bug eyed staring at you as you exhaled nervously and rubbed your palms together. “Alright. Future partner,” you whispered under your breath, lighting the incense cone. “What will he be like?”
Fred leaned on his elbow, pretending to be bored but watching out of the corner of his eye.
The smoke curled upward, shifting in lazy spirals until it began to twist into a familiar shape. A bird of some kind. Wings spread, feathers curling like fire.
Fred noticed it before you did. “That looks like…a phoenix.”
Trelawney blinked, her eyebrows shooting up. “Ahh yes, symbolising someone bold, warm, and fierce.”
“Fierce?” he echoed with a lopsided grin. “Oi, that sounds like me.”
Then strangely his incense caught too, a plume of silver smoke spilling from his burner. You both watched as it thickened, spiralling into something slender and graceful.
“Whoah,” Fred straightens sharply in surprise.
It looks like…water,” you commented, watching it flow endlessly in the air before fading.
“Hmmmm,” Trelawney hummed lowly with a wagging finger. “Water means sensitivity. Empathy. Calm.”
Fred looked from the smoke to you. “Now that one’s definitely you.”
You felt the blush creep in before you could stop it. “Don’t start.”
“Too late,” he said softly, still watching the fading curls of mist.
“Now!” Trelawney called suddenly and loudly, startling you both as she dropped a handful of crystals and tiny items onto the lace tablecloth. “Close your eyes. Let your hand be guided to an item on your table.”
You hesitated, then shut your eyes. Your fingers drifted over the table until they landed on something small and cold. When you opened them, you found a silver button.
“A button?” Fred asked, grinning. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re going to marry a tailor?”
“It means…” you frowned, flipping through your Divination notes. “Security. Attachment. Someone who holds things together.”
“Mmm quite correct my dear,” Trelawney nodded with an absent smile.
Fred hummed, amused by the whole thing. “Alright, let’s see what fate gives me.”
He reached out blindly until his fingertips brushed across your sleeve, and then, accidentally, your wrist. You both stilled. You looked down at his hand, lingering against your skin, the contact electric in the quiet hum of the classroom.
He swallowed and pulled back quickly, trying to cover with a joke. “Ah, well. Looks like fate’s given me…uh, you.”
“Very funny,” you said, but your voice wasn’t steady anymore. In fact, the growing amount of predictions that seemed to be leading in a direction you were too nervous to pursue was leaving you increasingly anxious. Or were you simply feeding into your own delusions? Your own biased want for it? For him. The first rule in divination was not to look through a lens but to remove yourself from the equation. A rule you didn’t feel like you were following.
Fred was still looking at you when he said, softly, “Yeah. Hilarious.”
Trelawney’s shawls rustled as she finally moved away to Andrea the whole class. “Now, my dears. The final task. Place your cards beneath the crystal ball and seek clarity! It will show you what needs to be seen for your future to become clear.”
Fred grinned again, but there was something nervous in it this time as he followed the instructions. You leaned in together, faces reflected in the milky glass. Mist swirled inside it, shapes forming and breaking.
At first, you saw nothing. Then, light. Flickers of red and gold. Laughter. Something falling. Water arcing. Smashing of glass. Your breath hitched in your throat.
“Fred,” you whispered. “Do you see…?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Neither of you said it aloud, but you knew that you’d already lived this moment. That night at the Three Broomsticks. The mist faded, leaving only your reflections staring back at each other, your eyes wide, hearts racing, something new and undeniable between you.
Fred cleared his throat, trying to hide the shift in his expression. “Well,” he said, voice low. “Either I’m getting very good at pretending to predict things, or that’s the weirdest déjà vu I’ve ever had.”
You forced yourself to smile feebly, unable to look away from him. “Maybe the universe is just trying to get your attention.”
He tilted his head, gaze soft now, almost fond. “I think it’s doing a bloody good job.”
“Whatever, it’s all just a bunch of hippogriff shit, right?” You brushed it off, tearing your gaze away from him as you quote his original sentiments. It didn’t stop the nagging feeling in the back of your brain that was screaming at you to look at all the signs.
“Oh, I don’t know about that anymore,” he said softly, and when you flicked your gaze back up to meet his in surprise, he quickly cleared his throat. “I am a master Seer after all. And I’m predicting that the next time I see you, you’ll be carrying something blue and humming”
Your smile returned as he drifted his fingers over the crystal ball dramatically, and you rolled your eyes. “Right, predicting the important things as usual, Weasley.”
The Divination tower was quiet that Sunday afternoon. No classes, just leftover incense and the ghostly tick of the old clock. You dumped your things on the floor and perched at one of the low tables, quill scratching against parchment as you tried to finish your report for Trelawney.
Fred burst in like a firework, only minutes after you’d arrived, suspiciously on time for once. “You are not going to believe this.”
You didn’t look up. “That’s the general pattern, yes.”
He ignored the jab, striding toward you with that manic gleam in his eyes. “You remember the completely accurate prophecies I made last week? The one about the scarf and the feather?”
“I remember you making a lot of noise,” you muttered.
He grinned, undeterred. “Well, guess what? It happened again.”
You finally glanced up. “What did?”
He sat down across from you, leaning forward like he was about to reveal the secret to immortality. “I predicted, and I quote, ‘the next time I see you, you’ll be carrying something blue and humming.’”
You stared at him. “And?”
He pointed triumphantly. “You were!”
You blinked. “I was what?”
“You were humming on the stairs! And you’ve got that,” he gestured at the ink-stained ribbon holding your quill set together, “That’s the blue thing! I saw it! Exactly as I said!”
You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Fred, that’s not a prophecy. That’s an accident. You probably just noticed I always hum when I’m working.”
“No, no, no, this was the Inner Eye!” he insisted, eyes bright. “I felt it! The smoke, the cards, the bloody tealeaves…all of it’s been leading here!”
You blinked at him. “You mean here as in…to my quill set?”
“As in to you and me!” he said, gesturing between you. “Don’t you see it? Every reading, every symbol, every prediction, it all pointed to us!”
You let out a forced laugh, a bit breathless. “Oh, so now you believe in Divination? The same bloke who called it hippogriff shit two months ago?”
“Exactly!” he said, almost giddy. “That’s how I know it’s real! Because I wasn’t even trying!”
“Fred,” you said, half exasperated, half fond, “you’ve been rigging half of those predictions.”
You gave him a look. “You literally said ‘I predict ink will spill’ while your elbow was already halfway across the bottle.”
He pointed a finger. “Coincidence. The universe works through elbows.”
You laughed. “You’re being ridiculous.”
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with that rare earnestness that always caught you off guard.
“No, listen. We predicted you’d knock over that vase and it happened. I said a feather would land on my nose, and it did when I was eating lunch with you! I said I’d find something you lost, and I did! Every time, it’s been us. It’s always you.” His voice softened. “Tell me that’s not fate.”
You stared at him, heart thudding traitorously hard. “It’s not fate,” you said firmly. “It’s you being annoyingly lucky.”
He smirked. “I prefer ‘destined’.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to your parchment. “Even if it were real, there’s one thing you haven’t managed to predict yet.”
You looked up, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “Anything even remotely of meaning or consequence!”
Fred froze, mouth parting in surprise, before that slow, infuriating grin spread across his face. “So you’re saying…I just have to make a genuine, serious, proper prediction?”
You shrugged. “If you can make it happen undeniably, so even I can’t argue, then fine. I’ll admit you’re a true Seer.”
“Then you’ll admit we’re meant to be together and you’ll go out with me?” He arched a brow at you, refusing to back away from the subject.
“Fine, if you make a genuine prediction that comes true, I’ll go out with you.” You agreed, cheeks pink as you tried to sound casual. In truth, your heart was bursting out of your chest. You didn’t want to look too eager, and for the first time you hoped that one is his ridiculous ‘predictions’ would come true.
He sat back, eyes glinting like mischief incarnate. “Oh, you’ve just doomed yourself, sweetheart.”
You smirked. “We’ll see. Now sit down and help me write this damn presentation script.”
Three days later, you were in the corridor outside the courtyard, arms full of Divination scrolls you’d borrowed from the library, when you heard Fred’s voice from somewhere behind you.
“Careful!” he called, laughing. “The Fates will be testing you today!”
You turned and at that precise moment, Peeves swooped past, gleefully hurling a bucket of soapy water toward a group of second-years. You gasped, trying to dodge, but your foot slipped on the wet stone.
Before you could even blink, strong arms caught you around the waist, hauling you upright.
You found yourself pressed against Fred Weasley’s chest, his laughter warm and wild in your ear.
He steadied you, grinning down at you. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
You opened your mouth to retort, then froze. Because above you, where Peeves had thrown the water, the sunlight from the tall windows refracted through the droplets, scattering rainbows across the corridor in a shimmering arc.
Fred followed your gaze, his grin fading into something softer. “…I might’ve actually predicted this,” he said quietly.
“The incense smoke,” he said. “Remember? My smoke was in the shape of water.” He smiled faintly, and your heart faltered. He was right.
You stared, and then shook your head, already shutting down the hopeful thought. “No, that was meant to represent personality, not to be taken literally.”
“Well it works both ways,” He shrugged, still holding you close. “Fate finally cashed in. Come on, go out with me.”
You stood there for a long beat, the corridor washed in prismatic light, his hand still at your waist, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.
Finally, you sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not a Seer.”
He grinned. “Come on, you promised.”
You groaned, trying not to laugh. Okay, so maybe you didn’t believe he was a master of the Sight, but you did believe in the signs that kept accumulating. And really, even if you didn’t have any divine intervention, you still felt that infuriating flutter in your stomach whenever he was around, and the rapid beating of your heart. So why keep denying him?
“Fine. You win. I’ll go out with you. Not because I believe you have even an ounce of prophetic talent, but because you’ve annoyed me into agreeing.”
He looked delighted. “You’ll go out with me?”
“I said fine, don’t make me revoke it.”
He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You smiled despite yourself, glancing up at the fading rainbow above you. “So what now, Prophet Weasley?”
He winked. “Now, I predict dinner. Tonight. Just you and me.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
“I always am,” he said, eyes glinting. “The universe told me so.”
The castle was quiet as you walked side by side with Fred through the winding corridors. The night air lingered faintly on the stone as you left the empty courtyard, picnic blanket in hand. The torches flickered shadows across the walls as you entered the halls of the castle.
“I can’t believe you ate all of that and still had dessert,” you said, shaking your head.
He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “What can I say? My inner eye told me to”
You rolled your eyes. “Did your inner eye also tell you you’d probably spill your drink on me?”
“Why yes, it did!” he said, nudging you gently with his shoulder. “See? Right about everything.”
You smirked. “Oh, of course. The great prophet Fred Weasley, never wrong, always fabulous.”
He laughed, and then, with a sly grin, leaned a little closer. “So…does that mean you admit I was right?”
“Not a chance,” you teased, stepping around him as he tried to catch your wrist.
He caught it anyway, holding your hand gently, his green eyes sparkling in the torchlight. “Come on. Just one little confession?”
You laughed, heart thudding. “Fine! Maybe…maybe you’re not completely wrong about reading the signs.”
“That’s all I ask,” he said softly, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours.
It was warm and easy, gentle at first, then teasing, full of laughter and surprise. Your arms curled around his neck without thinking, and for a moment, the whole castle felt smaller. It was just the two of you and the quiet magic of the moment.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless, your eyes fell on the wall behind him. You stiffened, blinking at the image before you. The painting you were standing in front of depicted two goblets, perfectly mirrored, golden light spilling across the cups, intertwined in a way that made them look like they belonged together.
You looked at Fred, who was grinning like he’d just won a Quidditch match.
“You see that?” you asked, pointing at the painting. “Two cups. Like…the card you pulled.”
He looked over his shoulder and laughed, the sound warm and triumphant. “Exactly like it. I told you the universe was on my side.”
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Oh…fine. Maybe you were right all along.”
Fred’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, brushing a kiss against your temple. “I knew you’d see it eventually.”
“You talk a bit game for someone who didn’t even believe in Divination a month ago.” You laughed again, letting yourself rest against him as you walked down the corridor, hand in hand, finally willing to believe in a little bit of fate…and in a lot of Fred Weasley.
The Divination classroom now carried an extra undercurrent of anticipation and a little nervous energy, mostly yours.
You and Fred had finally finished your joint portfolio, which included charts of tea leaves, crystal ball sketches, tarot readings, and a carefully chronicled list of ‘Accidental Prophecies’, complete with dates, times, and evidence of each uncanny coincidence.
Fred, of course, had insisted on a cover page decorated with doodles of stars and, inexplicably, a phoenix wearing a monocle.
“Perfect,” he said, beaming. “Totally academic, very official. Professor Trelawney won’t know what hit her.”
You shook your head, smiling. “I hope she doesn’t explode when she sees the ‘prophetic evidence’ section. Or that phoenix.”
Fred shrugged. “A little mischief never hurt anyone. And look at the bright side, we proved Divination works.”
You snorted. “You mean you now believe it works, after being dragged through every ridiculous prophecy imaginable.”
He winked. “Exactly. I now worship the Inner Eye. Also, it told me to ask if you’d like to continue…um, being prophetic together?”
You arched a brow. “You mean…like another date?”
He nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yes. Like another date. And possibly another date after that. And more after that. Until maybe the end of forever?”
“Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?” You ask, eyebrows dipping slightly.
“Yes, that’s exactly what this is,” he nodded, a tinge of pink dusting over his freckled cheeks.
You rolled your eyes, hiding the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But only if you promise not to predict spilling anything else on me.”
“Agreed,” he said, mock solemn, “though I can’t make promises about fate itself.”
Just then, Professor Trelawney glided in, shawls billowing dramatically, eyes hidden behind their usual mist of purple lenses. “Ah,” she said in her high, tremulous voice, “I can sense…a great merging of destinies! You’ve…completed your work?”
Fred leaned forward, trying not to grin too broadly. “Yes, Professor. All documented. Every…uh…anomaly, coincidence, and premonition.”
Trelawney’s gaze flickered at him, then to you, then back again. “The signs, I felt them. Remarkable.”
You and Fred exchanged a small, victorious glance.
“Thank you, Professor,” you said, trying not to laugh as she hummed dramatically and glided to another table further down the row.
As she left, Fred nudged you gently. “See? I told you. The universe is on our side.”
You shook your head, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. Maybe there were some cosmic signs.”
He grinned, taking your hand and entwining your fingers together in a way that made your stomach flip. “I knew you’d come around eventually. The cards never lie.”
You rolled your eyes, glancing down at the crystal ball that had started it all. Its mist swirled lazily, reflecting flickers of light across the walls, as if giving its own silent approval.
But you couldn’t be mad. As it turned out, you didn’t mind at all that the universe had been quietly, unavoidably, and completely on Fred Weasley’s side.
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