Struggle Writer

Fred dodged an Exploding Snap card and stuck out his tongue. “Oh yes, I’d love it if my eyes were compared to a disgusting, slimy animal, Gin.”

Ginny’s face went crimson.

“Hey!” you snapped, frowning at them both, even though you found it hard to reprimand Fred. The boy was your soft spot. Three years of friendship and you’d fallen for him hard. It was your little secret. “She was being honest. That poem was really romantic. At least she had the guts to say what she felt.” You glanced at Ginny, smiling warmly. “I wish someone wrote something like that for me.”

Fred paused, a snap card hovering just above his hand. His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and curious. “You do?” he asked lightly, his tone equal parts careful and doubtful.

You laughed, not noticing. “Of course. Who doesn’t want someone to write a poem for them on Valentine’s Day?”

George snorted. “I’d write one, but it would be about myself. Bit narcissistic, but the rhymes would be top-notch.”

You rolled your eyes as Ginny giggled beside you. The moment passed, the twins went back to their game, but Fred didn’t look away from you right away. His eyes lingered on your profile as you smiled down at Ginny softly. Little did you know, a plan was already forming.

———————————————————————

The next morning dawned pale and cold, but there was a strange excitement in the air, as though the castle itself had picked up on the undercurrent of mischief. You yawned your way down the girls’ dormitory stairs, tugging your jumper over your head and dragging your bag behind you. The common room was quiet save for the fire.

As soon as you cleared the bottom step, a booming voice rang out, startling you so hard you nearly rolled your ankle. “GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE OF MY SOUL! LEND THINE EARS TO A MESSAGE MOST BOLD!”

You froze. There, standing in the center of the common room atop a side table was George Weasley dressed in a white tunic, wings, tights, and - most unfortunately - a golden bow slung across his bare chest and a quiver full of heart-shaped arrows. He looked like an off-brand Cupid who had raided Professor Trelawney’s tea cupboard.

“Oh no,” you whispered, stepping back.

He cleared his throat dramatically and struck a pose. “Ahem. From a most secret admirer - though, really, he’s as subtle as a Bludger to the head - comes this ode of undying affection.”

You raised an eyebrow. “George…”

And then he sang. “O fairest flame with lion’s pride, who walks with stars and does not hide. Thy laugh outshines the morning light, and makes the darkest dungeon bright.”

You slapped your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. You instantly remembered your conversation from the night before and quickly came to the conclusion that Fred and George must be pranking you for your comments to Ginny.

“With eyes like firewhisky’s gleam, you haunt the corners of my dreams. Your wit as sharp as cursed blades, you set my quiet world ablaze.” George twirled, nearly falling over. “I see you there by candle’s gleam, the queenly heart in crimson seam. And if I dare, I’d say it true, I’ve gone and lost my mind for you. So if you laugh, or think it jest, know that I still feel so blessed. To see you smile just once a day would chase the lonely nights away.” George bowed low. “Signed, with excessive admiration…your mystery poet.”

The common room erupted in laughter and applause. You couldn’t help but double over, guffawing like a hyena. “Okay, nice one, George, but tell Fred his lines were a little cheesy for my tastes.”

George gave you a weird look but bowed and strutted out of the room like a peacock on parade. You smiled to yourself, still giggling. You never noticed Fred watching you from the boys’ staircase, his face unreadable.

———————————————————————

By the time you got to Charms that morning, you sensed something was wrong. Fred wasn’t talking to you. At all. In fact, he wouldn’t even look at you. Every time you made a joke, he turned away. When you nudged him with your elbow, he shrugged it off and focused on his wand movements. Even in Transfiguration, where you normally passed notes or teamed up on McGonagall’s trickiest assignments, he kept his distance.

You stared at his back during lunch as he talked to Lee Jordan, heart sinking. What did you do? Was he mad at you?

“Oi.” You turned to find George flopping into the seat beside you, plopping mashed potatoes on his plate with alarming speed. “Why’s Fred mad?”

“Bit dense today, aren’t you?” The (very slightly) younger of the two twins shot back.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He leaned in, dropping his voice. “That poem I sang this morning?”

“…Yes?”

He looked at you like you were the slowest Hippogriff in the stables. “Fred wrote it, for you, and you laughed. Did you expect him to take that well?”

You froze, fork suspended mid-air. “Aren’t you supposed to laugh at jokes and pranks?”

“Except it wasn’t a joke,” George raised an eyebrow. “Ge was being serious.”

“He…what?!” you whispered.

George nodded. “Wrote it last night after you went up to bed. Told me not to tell you if you laughed. But honestly, I hate watching him mope. So I’m telling you anyway because I’m pretty sure you like him back.”

“What? No, I…Why would you think that?” You face flushed red and George looked at you with a pointed expression. “Okay, fine, maybe yu’re right.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d laughed. You thought it was a prank. And Fred Weasley, joke master extraordinaire, had written you a poem. A romantic, vulnerable, real poem. You were an idiot. No. You had to fix this, and you had an idea of how.

“Hey George…”

———————————————————————

The sky above the Hogwarts pitch burned with the pale gold of a winter sunset, streaked with long violet shadows. The crowd was electric, banners fluttering, red and blue scarves waving like flames. Lee Jordan’s voice rang out above it all, his commentary full of jokes and cheers, earning him the occasional scolding from Professor McGonagall.

You stood just behind him in the announcer’s booth, eyes locked on the game below, though you could barely concentrate. Your heart wasn’t in the match, it was in the air with Fred. He soared like he was born to roam the skies, spinning through Ravenclaw Chasers, dodging Bludgers from their Beaters. His hair was a glint of auburn flame in the air, his movements effortlessly graceful. And you had laughed at his poem.

You still felt sick about it. You hadn’t known! It felt like a prank. Like one of those over-the-top stunts the twins pulled every other week. But you should have known better. Fred could be loud and wild, sure. But when he was serious, when he meant something, he meant it with his whole heart. And he’d meant it for you.

Below, Angelina Johnson caught the Quaffle mid-air, curled her body into a spin, and slammed it through the center hoop. Lee shouted the score. Gryffindor were now leading by twenty and the pitch trembled with applause. You took a deep breath and closed your fingers around the parchment in your pocket. It was creased and smudged from how many times you’d opened and reread it today.

“Looks like Harry’s about to end it. Ready?” Lee murmured, smirking as he took the enchanted microphone from its hook. You nodded.

“And Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee bellowed, his voice echoing over the loud celebratory cheers. “You’ve got five minutes,” he said to her in a lower tone as he covered the magical mic before handing it to her, stepping aside.

The final whistle blew, echoing across the pitch like a gunshot. Red and gold confetti burst into the air from somewhere in the stands. Gryffindors leapt to their feet, screaming in victory. Fred pumped a fist into the air as George collided with him in a midair hug, both of them laughing madly.

Well, it was now or never. “Hi! Um, wait! Everyone, can you just stay where you are for a minute?”

The students turned in confusion. Some of the professors, McGonagall among them, raised eyebrows but didn’t move to stop you. Fred, still hovering just off the ground, turned toward the podium, brows knit in curiosity.

You swallowed. Your stomach was full of pixies and nerves, but your voice was steady. “I know today’s supposed to be about the match,” you began, heart racing, “and Gryffindor absolutely crushed it—” (that got a round of cheers) “—but I have something to say. Actually, I have something to fix.”

You could feel hundreds of eyes on you. Your palms were sweaty, but all you saw was Fred, hovering alone above the pitch, motionless, staring.

“I messed up. This morning, someone sent me a Valentine. A really beautiful, clever, heartfelt Valentine.” You looked down at your parchment, unfolding it with shaking hands. “I laughed at it. I thought it was a prank, because the idea that someone like him could like someone like me just felt impossible.”

A few oooohs and whispering spread through the stands. Fred’s mouth parted just slightly, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“So I’m doing the only thing I can think of,” you said. “I have one last valentine that needs to be read.”

You took a breath and began to read, your voice loud and clear. “To the boy who plays with fire and air, whose laugh is a dare and eyes are soft with care, who flies like chaos with lightning breath, and stole my heart like it was an easy theft. You wrote me words I didn’t deserve, and I met them with the wrong kind of nerve. But now I see what you were brave to say, and I hope I can say it back today.”

Fred still hadn’t moved, his eyes trained on you. You took that as a god sign, so you continued.

“Because when you laugh, the world feels bright. And when you tease, it somehow feels right. And if I’m bold enough to speak this true, then yes, I’ve fallen hard for you.”

Your voice cracked a little on that last line. You glanced up above where George was hovering. He gave you a wild thumbs-up and pulled a bundle from his robes, lighting it up before tossing it in the air. The fireworks exploded into the sky in a blast of scarlet and gold, showering the pitch with glittering stardust. They twisted and turned midair, forming letters. Be mine?

The crowd erupted. Cheers echoed off the stands, louder than the final whistle. Even the Slytherins clapped, impressed by the theatrics. Somewhere behind you, a Hufflepuff was sobbing into their sleeve. And Fred…Fred had tears in his eyes. He rocketed forward on his broom, landing with a soft thud in front of the podium. You stared down at him, every nerve in your body alight.

He didn’t say a word. He just jumped onto the podium, grabbed you around the waist, and lifted you clean off your feet. You shrieked in surprise and then laughed, clutching his shoulders as he spun you in a circle, his forehead pressed to yours.

The crowd was deafening. When he kissed you, it was full of warmth and relief and pent-up joy. The world seemed to fall away - the stands, the cheers, the snow melting into the grass - and all you felt was Fred, grinning into your mouth like he couldn’t believe this was real.

He set you down gently, cupping your face with both hands, his voice soft just for you. “You weren’t laughing at me?”

You smiled through the tears threatening your lashes. “Not even a little.”

He kissed you again.

“All right! That’s enough, Mr Weasley, Ms y/l/n!” McGonagall finally cut in but even that wasn’t enough to stifle your joy.

———————————————————————

Later that night, long after the pitch had cleared and the sky returned to quiet stars, you sat by the Gryffindor fireplace, curled in one of the squishy armchairs. Fred sat beside you, legs stretched out, one arm lazily draped behind you. The party was still going strong in the background. Seamus was singing off-key, someone had conjured rose-colored fairy lights, and a plate of Chocolate Cauldron Cakes was making the rounds. But all you could think about was the warmth of Fred’s hand slowly playing with your fingers.

“You know,” he said, glancing at you sidelong, “I was going to ask George to perform another verse.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nodded seriously. “Something about your laugh sounding like a singing Fwooper.”

You couldn’t help but giggle and he snapped his fingers at the sound. “That’s it! Just like that!” Fred’s smile turned tender. “You looked beautiful up there.”

“I looked like I was going to vomit.”

“I’ve seen you vomit and you’re still beautiful.”Your cheeks went hot. He leaned in a little closer. “I’ve liked you since the start of the year. You were always hanging out with Ginny, even though she’s three years younger than us. And you look so pretty when you’re doing your homework, the way you chew on your lip all thoughtful like. And you’re always making those ridiculous puns in History of Magic…”

“They’re very good puns,” you countered.

“They’re so bad they loop around to genius.”You laughed again, and Fred’s grin softened into something almost shy. “I wrote that poem because I didn’t know how to say it plain. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same, and that I might make things weird or awkward between us.”

Your fingers brushed his. “I’m sorry I laughed. It’s been years of me waiting for you to finally notice me as more than your friend. I guess I got to used to waiting It didn’t occur to me it had finally happened.”

“Years, you say?” Fred tilted his head, eyes glinting with something mischievous.

“Oh, shut up,” you nudged his side with your elbow, face flushing pink.

“Maybe next Valentine’s, we both skip the poetry and just snog behind the broom shed?”

You feigned outrage. “That’s terribly unromantic.”

“Fine,” he said, leaning in so his nose brushed yours. “I’ll bring you chocolates and then we’ll snog.”

You pretended to ponder it. “Deal.”

He heard your voice in his head constantly, soft when you said his name like it was a secret, sharp when you scolded him for being reckless, warm when you laughed at jokes that weren’t even that funny. Sometimes he reached for you in his sleep. Sometimes he woke up furious with himself for dreaming at all.

“Fred,” George said gently one night, weeks after the funerals had ended and the casseroles stopped coming. “You have to—”

“I don’t,” Fred snapped, sharper than he meant to. “I don’t have to do anything.”

George didn’t push. He never did. But the worry in his eyes lingered, heavy and helpless.

At dinner one evening, the Burrow glowing warm and falsely normal, Arthur cleared his throat. “The Ministry raided an old property today,” he said, carefully. “One of Rookwood’s. Turns out he’d been keeping people there. Muggleborns he kidnapped during the war.”

Fred’s fork clattered against his plate. His heart slammed so hard it felt like it cracked something open. “People?” he said, voice thin. “Alive people?”

Molly’s chair scraped back as she rounded on Arthur, furious. “Arthur Weasley, honestly—!”

“What?” Fred stood abruptly, leaning over the table to make direct eye contact with his father. “Dad, tell me what you said.”

Arthur looked stricken. “Fred, I—”

“You said alive,” Fred pressed. His hands were shaking now, hope blazing bright and dangerous in his chest. “You said kidnapped. That means—”

“Fred,” Bill said gently, already knowing. Already bracing. “There were dozens missing. Hundreds.”

“It could be her,” Fred said, breathless. “She could be one of them.”

Silence fell like a verdict. Molly’s face crumpled. “Oh, Freddie…”

George reached for his arm. “Mate, listen to us.”

“No,” Fred said. “You listen to me. She didn’t die. I know she didn’t. This…this is it. This is why.”

“They would have found her by now,” Percy said softly. “They’ve been checking names.”

“They haven’t checked all of them yet.”

“They will,” Molly whispered. “And if—”

“When,” Fred snapped. “When they find her, I’m going to bring her home.”

Molly and Arthur exchanged worried expressions, concerned for their son. Neither of them believed you’d be coming home.

———————————————————————

The names were published a week later. Fred read them three times. Your name wasn’t there. He folded the Prophet with trembling hands and sat very still.

Something inside him finally, mercifully, gave way. He stopped looking for you so actively after that. Stopped flinching at footsteps. Stopped turning at every laugh. Stopped imagining you walking through the door like you always had, impossibly bright and real. He told himself that love didn’t vanish, but it could go quiet. That grief could be survived if you learned to live around it. He told himself a lot of lies.

Months passed and then, one afternoon, Diagon Alley buzzed with unfamiliar energy. Ministry tents lined the street near the Leaky Cauldron. The walls were full of official notices, healers and Aurors escorted witches and wizards who looked thinner, paler, and haunted. Recovered muggleborns.

Fred was halfway through a delivery when he heard your laugh. He didn’t imagine it. It wasn’t a memory catching up with him. It was real. It cut through him like a curse. He turned slowly, heart pounding, already furious at himself for hoping again. But this time, there you were, standing just inside the Leaky Cauldron, wrapped in borrowed robes. Your hair was shorter, your eyes darker with things he didn’t understand yet, but it was unmistakably you. Alive, breathing, and looking around like the world had only just given you back to yourself. Fred forgot how to move.

You looked up and your eyes met his. For a second, neither of you existed in the present. The war collapsed inward. Time rewound and stuttered and broke. You stared at him like he was a ghost. Then your face crumpled.

“Freddie,” you whispered, like saying his name might shatter you both.

He crossed the distance in three steps and pulled you into him, arms tight, desperate, shaking. You made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and buried your face in his chest like it was the safest place left in the world.

“I thought you were gone,” he breathed into your hair. “I thought…I thought I lost you.”

“I tried to come back,” you sobbed. “They took me. I couldn’t…I didn’t know if—”

“I know,” he said fiercely, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. But you’re here now. You’re here.”

He cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears, memorising you again like he was afraid you’d fade if he didn’t.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I have loved you, even when I thought you were dead.”

You laughed softly through your tears. “Idiot,” you whispered. “I loved you the whole time. That’s what kept me alive. Imagining coming home to you.”

Fred pulled you back into his arms, holding you like the world might try to steal you again. He didn’t let go of you. Not when the world resumed moving around you. Not when an Auror politely cleared his throat. Not when someone bumped his shoulder in passing. His arms stayed locked around you.

“You’re real,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “Merlin, you’re actually real.”

You nodded, unable to stop crying, hands fisting in the front of his jumper as if anchoring yourself. “They said I could come here. Just for a few days. They’re processing everything.”

“You’re not staying here,” he said immediately. “You can stay with me and George, at the flat. You’re not going anywhere without me again.”

You laughed weakly, the sound breaking around the edges. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I do,” he replied, just as softly. “I decided it months ago. You just didn’t know.”

He guided you to sit, his hand never leaving yours. He looked at you properly and took in the new scars you hadn’t tried to hide, the shadows beneath your eyes, the way you held yourself like someone who’d learned how to disappear.

His smile faltered. “They hurt you,” he said.

“Yes,” you answered honestly. “But they didn’t take everything. They couldn’t.”

He swallowed, eyes shining. “They bloody succeeded in taking me apart.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek the way you used to. The contact made him shudder. “I know,” you whispered. “I felt it. Every time I thought I wouldn’t make it…I thought of you. Of the way you smiled at me like I was something good in the world.”

Fred closed his eyes, a tear finally slipping free. “I tried to move on,” he admitted hoarsely. “Everyone said I had to. But it felt like burying you alive.”

“Thank you,” you said gently. “For not giving up on me.”

When he opened his eyes again, the grief was still there but it was softer now, finally sharing space with something brighter. “You’re coming home,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated. Just for a second. “I don’t know who I am yet,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to be…normal.”

Fred leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours again, steady and sure. “Then we’ll figure it out together.” He smiled like the sun breaking through ruins. “I mourned you,” he whispered. “I loved you in a world where you were gone. So loving you here? This part’s easy.”

You leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow and careful and tentative. A promise rather than a plea. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like proof.

“I still feel like a ghost.” You chuckled humourlessly at the strangeness of it all. Of everything not quite feeling solid.

“You’re not a ghost,” he said.

“What am I then?”

“You’re my future,” Fred replied without hesitation. “And I’m not letting it get lost again.”

———————————————————————

You never forgot that vision the same way other children forget things. It lived in you like a shard of ice beneath the skin, unmelting. And then, two years later, it happened. A car accident in foggy weather. The tyre had blowout and there had been no survivors.

Everyone said it was a freak tragedy. Wrong place, wrong time. No one could’ve known. But you had known. At eight years old, you stared out the window of your aunt’s car, hands folded in your lap like you were being punished, and you didn’t say a word the whole way to the funeral.

That was the day you stopped screaming, but the visions never stopped. By the time you were nine, you knew how to hide it. You didn’t tell people anymore. You didn’t cry in front of strangers or ask questions no child should ask. You just…watched.

You watched your grandfather smile across the table and saw him collapse beside a piano, his face purple with a heart attack.

You watched your neighbor’s dog run through the yard and saw the same dog limp and bloody on the side of the road, eyes glazed, tongue stiff.

It was always the same. One moment, not real. The next, inevitable. You learned not to react. Sometimes the deaths were quick. A blink, a flash, over before they began. Sometimes they were long, stretched-out shadows behind someone’s eyes. Years off, but certain. A creeping rot in the bones.

You didn’t see them all the time. It wasn’t like a movie playing every second. It was more like a ripple, something you could feel under the surface when you focused. When you stared too long. When you met someone’s gaze and they held it just a second too long.

And the worst part was no one else could tell. People looked at their loved ones and saw forever. You looked and saw a countdown.

You tried to warn your grandmother, once. You told her about the visions. Told her about how she would die. She laughed and patted your head and told you not to worry so much. She was dead before dinner. A stroke, in the middle of a fabric shop.

After that, you learned fate does not like to be interfered with. You made your peace with it. Kind of.

When you got your Hogwarts letter, you hoped - naïvely and stupidly - that it might change something. Maybe it would go away. Maybe you’d learn control. Maybe it was normal, and you’d meet others like you. Maybe you wouldn’t be so alone anymore.

But the moment you stepped onto the train, your eyes caught a boy with spiky black hair walking ahead and saw him lying on the floor of the Forbidden Forest.

You’d spoken to the teachers about it. Had gone to Dumbledore himself, but when even he didn’t have any solutions for you, you knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

So you adapted. You survived. You made rules for yourself.

Rule One: Don’t get too close.

People won’t understand you. They don’t know what it means to have every friendship under a time limit. To love people with a pre-written obituary. You learned quickly that being around others made you feel lonelier than actually being alone.

Rule Two: Don’t interfere.

It doesn’t work and it hurts to try. The universe doesn’t care how kind you are. It corrects your interference with surgical cruelty. One life for another. You saw that happen more than once.

Rule Three: Love the ones who will die young.

Because they need it. Because you can see them. Because you might be the only one who knows what they’re worth before the world loses them.

You made it a point to sit next to the quiet kids in class. The anxious ones. The sick ones. The reckless ones with a smile too big and hands too shaky. You remembered birthdays, even if they only had one more. You gave your favorite scarf to a Hufflepuff with hollow cheeks in fourth year, and she wore it until they lowered her casket in May. You taught a Ravenclaw how to cast Lumos under her sheets, and she died in an accident a month later.

Each death hit you like a bruise to the soul. But it didn’t break you. You knew what you were signing up for. You signed up anyway. You had a gift, or a curse, or both. But you chose to make something good from it and that was the life you built.

———————————————————————

Fred Weasley noticed you for the first time outside Greenhouse Three, three minutes past noon on a Saturday in October.

The sun was bright through the glass, casting warped beams across the tables, lighting the rows of squirming Mandrakes in a sickly gold. You were there reading and keeping to yourself when Fred slid onto the bench beside you with all the grace of a collapsing broomstick.

“Hope you don’t mind if I sit here for a bit?” he said. “George, Lee, and I needed some ingredients for a product we’re cooking up and we didn’t expect Sprout to be in the greenhouses on a Saturday. If anyone asks, I’ve been here with you the whole time.”

You didn’t look at him right away. Not because you were shy. But because it was habit. You didn’t meet people’s eyes easily, not anymore. You knew what might be waiting there.

You gave a quiet shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“Excellent,” Fred grinned, already rolling up his sleeves and peering over your shoulder. “What’re you reading?”

“It’s a book about rare magical plants and their properties,” you explained. “I’ve got a herbology practical exam on Monday.”

“Is that the Mimbulus Mimbletonia assignment?” He questioned and you nodded in confirmation. He was two grades above you - even though you were only a year and a half apart in age - and had likely done all of the same assignments before. “Well I hope you’re better at not killing plants than I am. Just last week I murdered a cactus. By accident. Mostly.”

You huffed a laugh before you could help it.

He looked at you sidelong. “Was that a laugh? I think that was a laugh.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, poking at your gloves. “Though if anyone asks I’ll deny it.”

“Oh, mysterious,” he said with mock drama. “I see, you’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

He smirked. “The ‘I keep to myself because I’m obviously haunted by a dark and tragic past’ type.”

You raised your eyebrows. He held his hands up in surrender, smudged with soil already. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just good at reading people.”

And then he went quiet. Because you looked up at him. Just a flicker of a glance. And Fred’s smile faltered. Not in a big way. Just a twitch at the corner. Like a ripple across still water. Your eyes were steady. Careful. Tired in a way most students your age had never learned to be.

Fred looked at you for a second longer than necessary. Then said, “There it is again.”

You blinked. “There’s what?”

“That look,” he said simply. “You’ve got this… I don’t know. Lamenting thing going on. Like you’re watching a movie no one else can see, and it’s not gonna end well.”

You looked away. Your hands found the pruning shears and gripped them too tight. Fred didn’t press. Not in the way most people would. He didn’t crack another joke or prod the bruise until you bled.

Instead, he nodded once and went back to pretending he was scanning the garden for Sprout. But that was the moment when Fred Weasley started really seeing you.

———————————————————————

The thing about Fred was, he wasn’t just loud. He wasn’t just funny or chaotic or the human embodiment of a controlled explosion. He watched. He noticed things.

Like how you always carried a spare set of gloves, even when you didn’t need them, because someone else might. Or how you always chose the bench closest to the door in every class. How you walked on the outer edge of a group in the corridors, not quite part of the crowd.

He noticed the way your gaze lingered on people. Quietly. Softly. As if you were memorizing them in real time.

And he noticed that people around you changed.

Not in a big way. Just small, strange coincidences. A Slytherin boy with shaky hands suddenly looked more confident after a single conversation with you. A quiet girl from Ravenclaw who’d spent two weeks skipping meals in the Great Hall sat with you once, and ate like she was starving.

Fred didn’t understand it. But he noticed. And because he was Fred, he didn’t let it go.

You hadn’t seemed to notice him again until three months later.

You were in the courtyard, kneeling in the grass with your bag abandoned beside you. A first year was sobbing quietly. Her shoes scuffed and too big. She had her arms wrapped around her knees like she was trying to make herself disappear.

Fred didn’t mean to see it. He’d been chasing George - literally - after an exploding ink prank went wrong. But something made him stop.

You made him stop. You knelt in front of the girl like you weren’t worried about grass stains. You said something low, something he couldn’t hear, but whatever it was made her laugh, just a tiny breath of one. You reached into your satchel and pulled out a chocolate frog. The girl blinked, stunned, and reached for it with both hands.

Fred didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just watched you get up, brush dirt off your knees, and walk away like it had meant nothing. You locked eyes with him across the courtyard, noticing him watching. Your eyes only connected for a second before you looked away, almost skittish.

It wasn’t long, but he saw it. He felt it. The same ache from Greenhouse Three. That strange look in your eyes.

The next time he saw you after that was in the library.

You had a book open on the table in front of you, but your eyes weren’t on the pages. You were staring across the room, at a seventh year. Tall. Blonde. You had your head tilted just slightly.

Fred almost turned away. Until he saw you lean forward and scribble something on the corner of your parchment. A note. Something small. You tore it out and crossed the room before the librarian could hiss at you. You dropped the note on the boy’s book and walked off.

Fred never found out what it said. But he did see that same boy later that night, laughing for the first time in weeks.

When Fred confronted you, it was quiet. Not dramatic. Not accusatory.

You were leaving Divination. The air was cold and damp, sky bruised with stormclouds. Everyone else had rushed ahead to avoid the drizzle.

But Fred hung back beside you, as though he hadn’t climbed the tower just to find you between classes.

“So,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

You raised a brow. “Will you ask it anyway?”

“Definitely.” You waited. He hesitated. “…Why do you do it?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“All of it,” he said, turning to face you fully. “The notes. The chocolate frogs. The gloves. The little acts of kindness. You…see people, even the ones no one else bothers to look at. Why?”

You hesitated. The answer burned in your throat. You couldn’t tell him the truth: Because they won’t be here long. Because every one of them is on a timer. Because I can feel it.

So instead, you said, “I want to make a positive influence.”

Fred didn’t speak for a moment. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He searched your face like he was looking for something else behind your eyes. But you didn’t let him find it.

Back in the Great Hall that night, Fred watched you from across the room.

You were sat at the Hufflepuff table, flipping through a book, though your gaze drifted often toward the ceiling. Like you were counting stars. Or measuring time.

George passed him a pastry and nudged his elbow. “You’re staring.”

Fred didn’t look away. “She’s weird.”

“Is that you complaining or falling in love?”

Fred didn’t answer. Because it wasn’t either. Not yet. Not quite. But the clock had already started ticking. And he could feel it.

———————————————————————

You weren’t expecting to see Fred in the morning. You were walking out of Charms, clutching a half-finished essay and a quill with its feather half-chewed, when he slid into step beside you like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

Fred Weasley grinned at you like the sun had just risen for him specifically.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly with his.

You didn’t flinch. But you did blink in surprise.“…yeah, it is strange. Especially considering you’re not in my class.”

“Right you are,” he said brightly. “But you’re the only one worth being late to class for.”

Your steps faltered. He caught it. Of course he did.

You gave a wary smile and adjusted your grip on your parchment. “So you were looking for me?”

“Following, stalking, semantics,” he replied, tossing his arms behind his head as he walked beside you. “Though I prefer to think of it as strategic loitering. Very dignified.”

You bit back a smirk. “Be careful, you’re starting to sound like you’re flirting.”

Fred gave you a mock-wounded look, pressing a hand to his chest. “Sound like? I’ll have you know, this is premium Weasley-grade charm. Bottled straight from the source.”

“And this is what? A free sample?”

“Oh no,” he said with a wink. “I’m hoping for a subscription.”

You laughed. You actually laughed, full and real, and for a second, that was all there was. Fred, smiling. Fred, warm and golden in the morning light. Fred, walking backwards just to face you as you tried to hide your grin behind your parchment. Fred, looking so alive—

Then it hit you. You didn’t know what triggered it. Sometimes it came like a whisper, sometimes like a blow. But this…This was a storm.

You stumbled. Fred caught your elbow, laughing at first, thinking it was just the joke. And then you looked at him and saw it.

You saw the flash first, of stone splitting open behind him. An explosion. Dust and fire. Screams. Blood on his temple. A smile, still frozen on his face, like he didn’t even know what hit him.

Fred Weasley. Gone. Gone in a flash. On the battlefield. Not decades from now. Not in the distant haze. Soon. He didn’t look even a day past twenty. Your breath left your body like a punch to the ribs. Your heart dropped. Your hands went numb.

And Fred - real, breathing Fred - was still standing there, holding your arm, eyes crinkled with amusement.

Until he saw your expression changed. You didn’t mean for it to. But you looked at him and something in you folded. The same thing that had happened dozens of times before.

The quiet mourning. The grieving before it happened. The look you gave the boy in the library, and the girl in the courtyard. Fred saw it. He saw it immediately, and his smile faltered. Just a flicker.

His hand slipped away from your arm like it had been burned. “…What?” he asked softly.

You blinked hard and forced the mask back on, fumbling for something to say.

“Nothing,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired. Long class.”

Fred didn’t buy it. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just tilted his head slightly, watching you with eyes a little too sharp for comfort.

The rest of the walk was quiet. He didn’t leave, but he didn’t fill the silence, either. You could feel him studying you out of the corner of his eye. Trying to put the pieces together. Trying to decide what he’d just seen flicker across your face.

You kept your gaze forward, locked on the stone floor, blinking back the weight behind your eyes. Not Fred. Not him. It wasn’t fair.

You were used to the ache. You were used to looking at people and preparing your heart for goodbye. You were used to burying them before they were gone.

You hadn’t meant to let him in, but some part of him had squirmed its way into your mind anyway. And now it was too late. You couldn’t unsee it.

———————————————————————

It started with the tea.

He liked peppermint. You weren’t sure how you knew that. Maybe from a Hogsmeade trip once, maybe from the time he stole someone else’s cup and said, “Much better than that dirt-flavoured Earl Grey.”

So when you saw the stack of cups at breakfast, you reached for the peppermint before you even thought about it. You didn’t drink it. You just poured it. Added a little honey. And then you walked past his table.

Fred Weasley looked up the moment your shadow fell across the bench. You didn’t say anything. Just set the cup beside him, met his confused glance with a small, tight smile, and kept walking.

He turned to George immediately. “What do I do?” he whispered.

George just stared at the mug, then at you disappearing into the crowd, then back at Fred. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. “It’s just tea. Drink it. Reckon she likes you.”

Fred grinned. But it wasn’t a triumphant grin. It was slow. Quiet. Almost…gentle. Like someone had handed him something fragile. Something he didn’t want to break.

Later that day, he found you in the courtyard. You were pretending to read. You always pretended to read when you needed to not look like you were watching someone.

He dropped into the seat beside you, all limbs and cocky bravado. “Didn’t peg you for a peppermint tea type.”

You looked up, heartbeat skipping, eyes narrowing in mock innocence. “Excuse me?”

Fred leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking straight at you. “You brought me tea.”

“I bring lots of people tea.”

“You don’t,” he said.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you tilted your head and turned a page - an upside-down page.

Fred caught it and smirked, purposefully reaching out to grab the book and turn it the right way around. Your face flushed. “You brought me tea,” he said again, quieter this time.

“Do you want to give me a medal?”

“No, I want a reason.”

You met his gaze. And for the first time, you let a little of the truth slip through your voice. “You looked like you needed it.”

The thing was, he didn’t need it. Not right then. Fred was laughing louder than ever. Cracking jokes. Pulling pranks. Daring Peeves to duel.

But you were watching him now the way he watched you. For the moments in between. The pause before the laugh. The hesitation when he thought no one was looking.

There was something quieter underneath him lately. A tension in his hands. A flicker in his eyes when someone would speak about the things going on in the wizarding world. The return of you-know-who. The ministry becoming more and more corrupted. Death eater attacks.

You saw it. You saw everything. And so, you did what you always did for the dying. You were kind.

But this time, it didn’t feel clinical. It didn’t feel routine. It felt like…preparing your heart for grief. Like choosing to sit near him in the library, pretending to study until he inevitably moved beside you and scribbled doodles in the margins of your notes.

Like defending him when a Slytherin girl accused him of hexing her quill, even when you knew he did it.

Like saving him an extra plate of his favourite pies and sneaking them over to the Gryffindor table when he came in soaked from Quidditch practice.

Like laughing when he slipped you a joke note in your bag.

Fred noticed. He noticed every single time. And he didn’t call attention to it. Not out loud. But you caught him looking at you like he was trying to memorise your face. You caught him watching your hands, your mouth, your every reaction like it mattered. Like you mattered.

You weren’t used to that. The ones who saw the look in your eyes - the knowing - usually grew afraid. Or suspicious. Or distant. Fred was the only one who leaned in closer. The only one who wanted to understand.

———————————————————————-

“I don’t get it,” One of Gryffindor’s Star quidditch players, Angelina Johnson, said one afternoon, slumping beside you at the Hufflepuff table as you watched Fred from across the room.

“Get what?”

“You,” she said, eyes narrowing. “And Fred. You’re not together, but you look at him like you are.”

You blinked. “I do not.”

Angelina raised her eyebrows. “You brought him soup to the common room last night.”

“He was sick.”

“You saved him his favourite pies for dinner because practice ran late.”

“I was…bored.”

Angelina leaned closer, smirking now. “Be honest. Do you fancy him?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Frowned. “…I don’t think so.”

Angelina looked at you for a long moment. “That’s not a no.”

You didn’t respond. Because for all your certainty, your heart had started doing that thing. That inconvenient, fluttering, stuttering thing. You ignored it, of course. Told yourself it was nothing.

You were always kind to the ones who would soon be lost. But deep down, a quiet thought bloomed like a bruise: You’re not just being kind, are you?

Fred found you again a few days later, after you’d snuck a chocolate frog into his bag. You were sitting under the trees near the lake, sketching something you’d never show anyone. He sat beside you without asking, knees bumping yours.

“You left,” He didn’t speak for a while. Then he leaned over, voice quiet. “You always do that.”

You glanced at him. “Do what?”

“Disappear before anyone can say thank you.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I don’t need to hear it.”

“Or maybe,” he said, watching you carefully, “you don’t want to admit you actually like me.”

Your pulse kicked. He didn’t look smug. He looked…gentle. Curious. Open. That scared you more than any teasing ever could.

You stood up quickly, brushing imaginary dirt off your skirt. “I should go,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

Fred stood, too, though he didn’t follow. He just stood there, letting you go, but not looking away. And you could feel it again. The way he looked at you like you were already his. And the way, deep down, your heart wanted to be.

———————————————————————

You were halfway through Transfiguration notes and a barely warm scone when Fred Weasley dropped into the bench beside you like he’d been catapulted.

“Oi,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “Bad day? You’re looking a bit like you’ve just been to a funeral. Except for this. No colour allowed at funerals. Stupid rule, really.”

He tugged at the bright gold bow that was holding your hair up. You glanced at him, his hair windswept, a leaf in it, tie loose, and that unrepentant grin that always made it harder to breathe than you wanted to admit.

“Hardly stupid,” you muttered. “Funerals are meant to be somber affairs. It’s not a party.”

“But it could be,” Fred smirked. “If I die tragically, at least make sure people laugh at mine. I don’t want any of that all-black, hoity-toity nonsense.”

You blinked. The words weren’t meant to hurt. But they did. A little more than they should.

You dropped your quill. “Don’t say that.”

He turned to you, surprised. “Say what?”

You shook your head, brushing crumbs off your page. “Nothing. Just…don’t.”

Fred was watching you again. Closely. Quietly.“Alright,” he said gently, voice a little lower. “I won’t.”

You didn’t mean to spend the rest of the day with him. But somehow, you did.

He walked with you to the library. Borrowed a book he didn’t need. Sat across from you and made faces every time you tried to focus. Slipped a note into your bag that read: If you keep ignoring me, I’ll stage a dramatic faint in the Restricted Section.

He waited outside your common room that evening before dinner with a pair of chocolate frogs and no explanation.

When you smiled and asked why, he shrugged. “You always give them to everyone else. Thought today you could use one.”

You tilted your head. “You thought I could use a chocolate frog?”

“A smile.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything at all. But you didn’t stop him either.

———————————————————————

Two days later, he cornered you on the Astronomy Tower. It was late. The sky was low and bruised with clouds. The stars were hiding. He found you leaning against the stone ledge, arms folded, hair tugged loose by the wind. How he knew to find you here you weren’t sure.

Fred approached slowly. “You always come up here alone?”

You didn’t turn. “Only when I want peace.”

“Ouch,” he said lightly. “Should I leave, then?”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t. Instead, he came to stand beside you. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said. “We’ve got this whole unresolved thing going on.”

You finally turned. “Unresolved?”

Fred nodded. “You give me tea. I give you chocolate frogs. You pretend you don’t care. I pretend I don’t notice you do. Very romantic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is this your idea of a confession?”

Fred put a hand over his heart dramatically. “What if it is?”

You stared at him. The boy who made everyone laugh. Who walked into a room like he already owned the air in it. Who’d been orbiting you more and more lately like gravity had decided it was time.

He was serious. Kind of. Almost. And that’s when it hit you. He liked you.

Not because you were convenient or easy. You’d purposefully made things difficult for him. He didn’t mind that you were some strange girl who knew too much about things no one said out loud.

And for a second, your heart fluttered. But then you remembered the way you’d seen him fall. Bleeding. Broken. Gone. A memory that hadn’t happened yet, but burned in your chest like it had.

He didn’t have long. You knew that. He didn’t.

Fred stepped closer, his voice suddenly gentler. “Go out with me.”

You blinked. “Fred—”

“Just once,” he said. “Say yes. Let me take you to Hogsmeade, or sneak you into the kitchens. Anything. I’ll even let you pick.”

You laughed. Quietly. Sadly. And he caught it. The shift. The weight behind it.

“Hey,” he said, softer now. “I’m not teasing. I want to know what it looks like when you stop running away from me.”

You bit your lip. You should’ve said no. You wanted to say no. Because this wasn’t fair. Not to him. Not to you. But you looked at Fred, warm and waiting, full of belief and stupid, stubborn light, and you thought: Maybe I can give him this. While there’s still time.

So you nodded. Once. “Okay.”

Fred blinked. “Wait, really?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

His grin nearly split his face. “Bloody hell, I wasn’t actually expecting…George owes me ten galleons!”

You shoved him lightly. “Don’t make me regret it, Weasley.”

You didn’t expect this to go anywhere. Fred would get bored eventually. It was just another act of kindness on your behalf.

But inside, your heart was already unraveling. Because this wasn’t a favour. It might have felt like one, but it wasn’t. You were falling. And you didn’t even see it.

———————————————————————

You weren’t expecting much. Not because you didn’t think Fred could deliver a proper date - he could charm a Hippogriff into a slow dance if he wanted to - but because you’d told yourself not to expect anything. You weren’t here for you. You were here for him.

One day, he wouldn’t be here. You knew that. He didn’t. So you said yes. Once. For kindness.

But then he met you outside the castle wearing a button-up shirt and a ridiculous velvet blazer the colour of raspberry tarts, and held out a bouquet of fizzing whizzbees on sticks, and suddenly you were laughing before you even said hello.

“You’re joking.”

Fred gave you an exaggerated bow. “I’m romancing you, actually.”

You eyed the ‘bouquet’. “You brought me candy. On skewers.”

“Florals are so last season.”

You bit back a smile as you took them. “You’re completely mad.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping beside you, “here you are. On my arm. Tragic.”

You let him guide you down the sloping path toward Hogsmeade. The wind tugged at your hair, the hem of your cloak. Fred kept sneaking glances at you like he wasn’t quite convinced this was real.

You didn’t blame him. Neither were you.

The day was grey, with thick clouds above and a storm threatening the horizon, but Fred made it golden.

First stop was the joke shop. Not Zonko’s, but a tiny stall tucked behind Honeydukes where a wizard with purple spectacles sold contraptions Fred described as ‘too risky for George’.

He bought you a singing plant (you had to shush it three times), a mood-reading quill (which immediately wrote ‘trouble brewing’ when you touched it), and a matchbox-sized reusable firework that burst into glitter hearts when lit.

Then came Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Fred asked for “the frothiest one they had” and poured half of it onto his nose “for comedic effect.”

You sipped yours slower. Watched him over the rim of your mug. There was something behind the way he looked at you today. Still teasing, yes. Still Fred. But gentler, somehow. Like you were something rare, not to be startled. You weren’t used to that. And it made something inside you start to ache.

After lunch, Fred dragged you to the Shrieking Shack - not for haunting, but for a “Fred-exclusive ghost tour” in which every spooky sound was clearly made by him throwing rocks or growling behind his scarf.

“Did you hear that?” he gasped dramatically, clutching your arm. “I think it’s the ghost of Christmas past!”

You snorted. “I think it’s the ghost of a boy who wants to hold my hand.”

Fred wiggled his fingers. “Guilty.”

You didn’t take it. But you didn’t pull your arm away either when he took it anyway.

The sun dipped lower. The cold sharpened. Fred walked slower now, matching your pace exactly. You ended up back near the edge of the village, past the shops and crowds, where the fields started to slope into forest. It was quiet here. The kind of quiet that let your thoughts breathe.

Fred stopped walking. “Alright,” he said. “This is the part where I impress you.”

You looked at him, wary. “More than firework hearts?”

He grinned. “I brought provisions.”

From the inner lining of his cloak, he pulled a small tartan blanket, two chocolate bars, a flask, and a teacup. Just one.

You raised a brow. “And we share?”

“We could,” Fred said, a little too quickly. “Or I could pretend to be smooth and say I brought it because I like the idea of you stealing my things.”

That startled you. The honesty. The warmth. The way he was looking at you like he meant it. You sat down anyway. He joined you. The hill gave a view of the castle, glittering far away, all turrets and gold. The sky was burning pink.

Fred passed you the chocolate. “You’ve been quiet today.”

You glanced at him. “You haven’t.”

“That’s our dynamic.”

You huffed a laugh.

Fred leaned back on his elbows, legs outstretched. “Be honest. Is this the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

You hesitated. Then shook your head. “No,” you said. “It’s the best.”

Fred blinked. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You were already struggling. Because if you didn’t know what came next - if you hadn’t already seen it, felt it, mourned it - you would’ve fallen for him right then.

The way he smiled at you without asking for anything in return. The way he gave the day everything he had, just to see you laugh. The way he tried, so hard, even though you’d never asked.

You bit your lip. “Fred?”

“Yeah?”

“If you only had a year left to live…what would you do?”

He turned his head toward you slowly. “What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

He frowned, but not seriously. “Okay. Well, first, I’d rob Gringotts. Then I’d make George get a tattoo of my face on his face. Then I’d finally tell Filch what I really think of his bloody cat.”

You didn’t smile.

Fred’s own faded. “Hey.”

“I’m just saying,” you said softly. “Sometimes…sometimes we don’t have as long as we think.”

Fred tilted his head. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. Lied. “I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y’know,” he said, “if I didn’t know better…I’d say you’re trying to prepare me for something.”

You froze. Your eyes met. For a second, just one, it felt like he knew.

But then he smiled. And you realised it had been just another joke. He didn’t know. He couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But you did. And it was killing you.

You walked back in silence. Not because it was awkward, but because there was so much between you now - unsaid and real and humming like a storm behind your ribs.

When you reached the castle steps, Fred stopped you. “I had a good time,” he said, voice soft.

You looked at him. He was flushed from the cold, hair messy, eyes bright and searching. You could feel how much he meant it.

“Me too,” you whispered.

He stepped closer. “Can I—”

You kissed his cheek before he could ask. A soft brush. A thank you. He stared at you after, a little stunned. And for the first time since you said yes, you felt dizzy.

Because somewhere during this date, the ache of the future got tangled with the warmth of the present. And you weren’t sure anymore which one was winning.

———————————————————————

You knew better. You knew better than to let it go this far. But it started slow, like everything dangerous does. You’d meant to give Fred one good day.

A single memory he could carry like a charm in his pocket. Something small and kind to slip into the cracks of his fate. But now it was weeks later, and you were too deep to climb out.

Too deep in it to pretend otherwise. It had been eight dates now. You kept count, though you told yourself you didn’t.

The second was a walk around the Black Lake, where he tried to juggle rocks and ended up splashing you both, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

The third was a Honeydukes raid - he snuck you into Hogsmeade after curfew through a secret one-eyed witch passage and let you test all the samples. You’d snorted soda through your nose after the “singing socks” made your shoes tap-dance uncontrollably.

Fourth was at the owlery. You don’t know why he took you there, only that he said it was “underrated and full of character, just like you.” You watched the sunset behind scattered wings, and he told you about how George once tried to train an owl to pickpocket.

You still smile when you think about it.

The fifth, sixth, and seven were blurred between quiet library corners (he claimed to study, mostly just drew ridiculous cartoons in the margins of your notes), Quidditch stands after practice (he flew slow laps just to show off for you), and midnight snacks in the kitchens (he tried charming a spoon to feed you pudding and accidentally launched it into your face instead).

The eighth was yesterday. He kissed you after. It wasn’t a planned thing. Just a quiet, breathless moment when he was walking you back to your common room. He stopped at the door, turned to say goodnight, and the words got lost somewhere between your eyes and the way you smiled like the night hadn’t ended yet.

His lips were warm and smiling against yours. You hadn’t stopped him. You hadn’t wanted to.

Now you sat curled in the Gryffindor common room, curled under one of the tartan blankets, pretending to read while your heart betrayed you.

Fred sat on the rug nearby, cross-legged, building a tower out of Chocolate Frog boxes with George and Lee Jordan. He was saying something ridiculous, probably plotting a prank, and every now and then he glanced your way like he couldn’t help himself.

He smiled when he caught your eye. And you felt it again - that impossible, aching want. The urge to freeze this moment and lock it in your bones. Because you knew. You knew this wouldn’t last. You knew how the story ended.

You’d seen it again the night he kissed you. The flash behind his eyes. The scream in the air. The way the ground cracked beneath the weight of stone and magic. The stillness. He would die in a war that was currently brewing. And you couldn’t change it. You couldn’t stop it. You’d never been able to. Fate didn’t let you edit. It traded one death for another.

That’s why you’d never tried. That’s why you weren’t supposed to fall in love. But Fred had this laugh - Merlin, that laugh - and he looked at you like you were the only bit of sense in his chaotic world. He made you feel less like a ticking clock and more like a person again.

You hadn’t meant for it to go this far. And yet here you were, hanging out with his friends in his common room like you belonged.

You looked up as he crossed the room and dropped beside you on the couch, all legs and warmth and the scent of cinnamon and broom polish. His shoulder brushed yours.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice soft and teasing. “You know you’ve been reading that page for ten minutes?” You tilted the book to hide your face, but he just leaned closer, eyes dancing. “Is it that good, or are you just trying to avoid me?”

“I’m trying to look studious,” you replied, not looking at him.

“You’re failing beautifully.”

You let the book fall to your lap and studied him. The freckles like constellations. The slight sunburn from practice earlier. The softness in his eyes. You were already gone.

“You’re being very charming,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He grinned. “I’ve been told it’s one of my more dangerous skills.”

You couldn’t laugh. Not fully. Because all you could think was: How many more times do I get to sit beside him like this? How many more pages do I get to pretend to read while he’s alive and warm and next to me?

“Fred…” you started, but the words burned out in your throat.

He turned toward you completely now, sensing the shift, reading it in the quiet like he always could.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

You looked down at your hands, clenched in the blanket. “I don’t know. Just…don’t want this to end.”

He didn’t ask what you meant. He just reached for your hand and held it in his.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

You wished you could believe him. Wished he was right.

———————————————————————

Fred had always talked about the future like it was a prank waiting to be pulled.

It didn’t scare him, not really. He treated it like one big adventure with half serious plans, half chaos, and a lot of laughter in between. And lately, more and more of those plans included you.

“We’ll move to London,” he’d say offhandedly, like it was already decided. “Start a shop in Diagon Alley. George wants Knockturn but I think he just likes the drama.”

You’d smile, but never answer. And when he’d push - “You’d at least come visit, wouldn’t you?” - you’d kiss him instead.

Soft. Distracting. Sweet.

It always worked. Until it didn’t.

It was small at first. Barely a flicker. But Fred wasn’t stupid. He noticed things. Especially about you.

The way you’d go quiet when people talked about what they’d do after Hogwarts. The way your eyes drifted when someone said ‘next year’. The way you changed the subject like it owed you something. Like it was dangerous.

He noticed how you’d stiffen when he spoke about the future with you in it. Joking about weddings, or flat hunting, or how you’d have to name your kids something ridiculous just to keep the Weasley chaos alive. You’d laugh. But not the way you would about anything else.

And then there were the other things.

It happened the first time after the Hufflepuff prefect, Rosalie McDonald, never came back from summer break. They found out her family had been attacked by death eaters.

The day before going on break, Fred had caught you talking to her outside the library. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it just happened.

“I think you should write to your older sister,” you’d said gently. “Now, while you still can.”

Rosalie had blinked. “What do you mean ‘while I still can’?”

You’d hesitated. Then smiled. “Just…something tells me she needs to hear from you.”

Fred hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

And then it happened again. Six months later. An older Slytherin boy, Nolan Travers, hexed by his own parents for refusing the dark mark. Before he’d gone home for Christmas, Fred had seen you slide a wrapped chocolate frog into Nolan’s bag. You barely spoke to the guy. Fred had teased you about it later.

“What’s that, a secret admirer thing? Didn’t know you were into angry boys with an attitude.”

You’d just said, “He always seemed like he missed being a kid. I figured he should have one more.”

Fred had laughed. Until Nolan was gone. And then it wasn’t funny anymore.

He started watching you differently after that. Not just as the girl he fancied - madly, deeply, stupidly - but as someone he didn’t fully understand.

There was something underneath your softness. Something ancient and brittle and trembling like a spiderweb across time.

You never said anything out loud. Not really. But you said goodbye to people with your eyes. With your hands. With the way you looked at them like you knew.

You started spending more time with the younger students, helping with homework, walking them to class, slipping them extra pastries at breakfast.

You knew. And he didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know if he should.

One evening, Fred found you sitting on the Astronomy Tower, knees hugged to your chest, staring out across the dark sky. The stars were sharp and clear above you.

He sat beside you slowly, careful not to disturb the quiet. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

You took too long to answer. “Tomorrow,” you finally whispered.

He turned to look at you. “Funny. You never do.”

You flinched. Just a little.

Fred watched you out of the corner of his eye. “You never talk about the future,” he said softly. “Not really. I do. I plan. I dream. You just…disappear.”

You said nothing. He nudged you gently. “You don’t think we have one, do you?”

That made you look at him, sharply. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your face twisted. Like something was pulling inside your chest, something clawing to stay hidden.

“I just don’t see the point in pretending,” you murmured.

Fred’s brow furrowed. “Pretending what?”

“That everything lasts forever.”

It was quiet again. Too quiet. Even the wind held its breath.

Fred’s voice dropped low. “You act like you know how it ends.”

You turned your face away. “Don’t.”

He studied you carefully now. The set of your jaw. The shine in your eyes. The way your fingers curled into your sleeves like they were hiding something.

You stood abruptly. “I should go.”

He rose with you. Reached for your hand, but didn’t grab it. “Hey. Just, tell me. Is there something I should know?”

You hesitated. And then did what you always did when you didn’t want to lie. You kissed him. Soft. Distracting. Sweet.

He let you go, even though every part of him screamed not to.

As your footsteps vanished down the stairs, Fred stood under the stars, alone, wondering if maybe he was falling in love with someone who already knew how their story ended.

———————————————————————-

The world was on fire.

Hogwarts roared around them, crumbling under the weight of centuries and war. The sky above had turned the color of dried blood, smeared with smoke and flashes of green light. The very ground seemed to shake with grief, stone and magic groaning beneath their feet.

Fred had known this was coming. Not because anyone had told him. Because you hadn’t.

Because every time he talked about the future - about the joke shop reopening, about traveling, about growing old with matching canes and bad knees - you went quiet. You looked away. You smiled too tightly, like it hurt.

He’d noticed everything. The way you lingered when hugging people goodbye. How your eyes sometimes filled with tears for no reason at all. How you never made plans beyond this week, this night, this moment. As if you couldn’t.

And he knew. He knew something wasn’t right. You weren’t just someone who had feelings about things. You were someone who knew with certainty. And tonight you looked terrified.

Even as the battle began and Hogwarts turned into a war zone, you stayed at his side, lips pressed thin, hand clutched in his like it was the only thing keeping you from falling into the abyss.

But then Fred had gone to his father, pulling Arthur aside. “She can’t follow me,” he said hoarsely. “You have to keep her back. Promise me.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened behind his cracked glasses. “Fred—”

“Promise me. Please.”

Arthur looked at him like he already knew what this meant, and then nodded.

You hadn’t seen it coming. You hadn’t thought Fred would ask for help. When Arthur wrapped an arm around you and gently - yet firmly - steered you toward the Great Hall, you resisted. When you saw Fred running the opposite way, toward the worst of it, you screamed.

“Fred! FRED, DON’T—!” Your voice cracked like a spell mid-air.

You struggled, breaking free of Arthur’s grip. You ran after him. You tried to keep up, but his legs were longer. His strides were larger. He moved faster. You knew what was coming. And so did he.

The corridor exploded.

Stone tore from the walls like paper. Fire bloomed in the air. The sound was deafening. Metal against stone, bodies crashing, spells colliding, a scream that Fred wasn’t even sure was his.

Then, nothing. Just smoke and stillness. He was lying on his side. There was blood in his mouth. Dust in his lungs. Something sharp digging into his back. He couldn’t move his right arm. Couldn’t hear much beyond the ringing in his ears and a distant, muffled shouting.

He was alive. Barely. How? He’d felt it coming. He’d made peace with it. Accepted that this - right here - was the end. His vision swam as he tried to sit up, coughing violently.

And then you were there. Crawling over the rubble, your knees scraped raw, blood down your temple, a cut across your cheekbone. You were panting, gasping, your fingers trembling as you touched his face.

“You idiot,” you choked. “You…oh my God, you bloody idiot—”

“You weren’t supposed to come,” Fred whispered, wincing as he tried to lift himself.

“You were supposed to die,” you hissed.

And then he saw it. The color draining from your skin. Your hands leaving bloody prints against his chest. You were shaking - your whole body - but not from fear. From pain.

He looked down. There was a burn across your abdomen, jagged and pulsing with green rot. A curse. Deep. Fatal.

Fred’s breath caught. “No…no, no, no—”

You tried to smile. You really did. “It’s okay,” you rasped. “It’s already done.”

Fred gripped your shoulders and tried to sit up fully, holding you in his lap now, frantic. “What did you do? What the hell did you do?”

“I traded it,” you whispered, forehead resting against his.

“No. You weren’t supposed to interfere,” Fred said, voice cracking like old glass. “You never interfere.”

“That’s because fate takes anyway. Fate always takes anyway, but I figured out how to cheat it. A life for a life.” Your eyes fluttered shut.

He stared at you, heart breaking in real time. He shook his head violently, his jaw tight with rage and grief. “You had no right. That was my death. That was my life to give—”

“I saw your death,” you said softly. “Before. It would have been terrible. You died under rubble. George screamed your name, and I couldn’t do anything. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You don’t understand.

“Yes, I do.” Fred swallowed hard, clutching you like you’d vanish into dust if he loosened his grip. “I do understand. I’ve noticed. The way you always seem to know who’s going to die and when. I know what you can do. And I don’t care. I would’ve…I accepted it. I knew I was going to die.”

You smiled faintly. “I couldn’t live with that.”

Fred was sobbing now, helpless and furious and broken. “You don’t get it. I can’t. I can’t live without you—”

“You have to.” You reached up, brushing his tear-soaked cheek with shaking fingers. “Fred. You’re going to live. You’re going to grow old. You’ll run that shop. You’ll tease your nieces and nephews and dance at weddings. You’ll be happy.”

He clung to you like a lifeline, his lips trembling. “It doesn’t mean anything if it’s not with you. That was our future.”

You gave a soft, sad smile. “My future ended the moment I knew you were going to die. You were the last thing I had left to fight for. So I changed it,” you murmured. “It’s already done.”

“What do you mean?”

You smiled. Eyes wet and far away now. “I can see it…your death.”

He froze.

“You’re going to live a long time,” you whispered. “You’re going to be old. Happy. Surrounded by people you love. It’s not going to be violent. Or dirty. Or lonely. It’ll be quiet. It’ll be peaceful.”

Fred’s face crumpled. “That was supposed to be your death.”

“I had no one left but you,” you said softly. “And you…you have them. Your family. Your whole life.”

Fred shook his head. “I’d trade it. In a second. I’d go back and die for you right now.”

“No.” Your voice was barely there now. “You have to live for me. For us. I’ll see you again, when it’s time.”

And then you exhaled like a sigh, and you were gone.

———————————————————————

The Burrow had grown over the years. Extensions, additions, magic upon magic. Its foundations were laughter and stubborn love.

Fred sat in the sunroom, a blanket over his knees, a warm mug forgotten on the table beside him. The walls were covered in photographs of laughing children, proud parents, wild holidays and Christmas mornings.

And you. Still eighteen. Still smiling. Still leaning into him like you had your whole heart tucked into the space between your ribs, and you were trying to give it away.

He heard them in the kitchen - nieces and nephews and their children, Ginny’s grandkids racing through the hall, Hermione scolding someone gently, George laughing so hard he wheezed.

Fred leaned back in his chair. He could feel it now. Like a breeze moving through his bones. Like the way time used to slow when he looked at you.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.

And death came, not with violence, but with light. And when he opened his eyes, you were there. Smiling. Whole. Just as he remembered you.

“Hey there, trouble,” you said, brushing his silver-streaked hair back from his forehead. “It’s good to see you.”

He laughed wetly. “Took me long enough.”

You held out your hand and when he took it the deep wrinkles in his aged skin smoothed. His hair regained its vivid orange colour, and his hunched posture righted itself. Once again he was twenty, just as he had been when you’d left him. And together, you stepped into whatever was next.

———————————————————————

She darted through the bean rows and under the crooked fence, laughing, light on her feet like she knew the place better than he did. Fred stumbled over a garden gnome and nearly face-planted, but scrambled up with dirt on his knees and a wild grin on his face.

“Come back!” he shouted. “I just wanna talk!”

The girl looked over her shoulder and grinned, mischief in her eyes.

She led him past the orchard, up toward the old treehouse Bill and Charlie had built. No one really used it anymore. It was half falling apart and tilted sideways in the branches. But she climbed it like she did it every day.

By the time Fred reached the ladder, panting, she was sitting cross-legged in the doorway, looking smug.

“Took you long enough,” she teased.

Fred laughed breathlessly, pulling himself up the rungs. “You run like you’re being chased by a Chinese Fireball.”

“Maybe I saw your hair and thought I was,” she said with a wink.

They sat across from each other in the dusty wooden hideout, legs crisscrossed, hair messy, cheeks flushed. She picked at a loose nail in the floorboard, and Fred noticed the way the sunlight danced across her face through the tree branches.

“So,” he said, eyeing her curiously. “What’re you doing here?”

She tilted her head, considering. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Fred frowned. “This is my backyard.”

“Well…not right now,” she said softly.

He squinted at her. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned back on her hands and looked out the window.

“It’s nice here,” she said. “I like this place. Feels safe.”

Fred looked around the treehouse. “It’s barely standing.”

“Exactly.”

He grinned. He didn’t know why her being here felt right, like they’d met before. Or would meet again.

They talked for hours. Or what felt like hours. About gnomes and pranks and which Bertie Bott’s Beans were the worst (she swore soap was underrated). She made him laugh so hard his ribs ached, and every time he caught his breath, she’d say something else that made him lose it all over again.

She was clever. Funny. She looked at him like she knew all his secrets and wasn’t going to tell a soul.

Eventually, her expression softened. “You have to go,” she said gently.

Fred blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s time.”

He frowned. “Time for what?”

But she just smiled. A little sad this time. “Don’t worry. I’ll try find you again.”

The treehouse shimmered. The wind shifted. And the light in the window started to flicker like someone had blown out the sun.

“Wait,” he said, leaning forward. “What’s your name?”

But she was already fading.

Fred jolted awake to the sound of someone shaking his shoulder.

“Oi, sleeping beauty,” George said, looming over him with wild bed hair and jam on his shirt. “You comin’ to breakfast or are you hibernating until autumn?”

Fred blinked up at him, heart still thudding.

“There was a girl,” he mumbled. “In the garden.”

George raised a brow. “What, in your sleep? Was it one of the Hollyhead Harpies again?”

“No!” Fred sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. “She was real. This girl. She was in the garden and she ran from me, but I chased her to the treehouse, and she said…she said I’d find her again.”

George gave him a look like he’d just grown wings. “You mean, you had a dream?”

Fred opened his mouth. Closed it again. The dream had felt too real. Like her laughter was still ringing in his ears.

“No, shut up,” Fred snapped, scrambling out of bed. “She was here. I saw her.”

George watched, unimpressed, as Fred yanked on his socks with the urgency of someone preparing for battle.

“She ran into the garden,” Fred said quickly. “Then she climbed the old treehouse. I talked to her, George.”

“So you had a dream about a girl, so what?” George said, standing and stretching.

“She’s real,” Fred insisted, already at the door. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

George groaned. “Fred, for the love of Merlin’s socks—”

But Fred was already halfway down the stairs.

They thundered past Ginny sitting cross-legged in the hallway and nearly knocked over Percy, who scolded them on instinct. Fred ignored everyone. He grabbed George by the wrist and yanked him through the kitchen, where Molly stood at the stove, wand levitating a pan of sausages.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” she called. “You haven’t eaten a bite, and I’m not having you boys fainting in the yard!”

“Can’t talk! Girl in the garden! It’s an emergency!” Fred shouted as they raced past.

Molly blinked. “A what in the where?”

The screen door slammed behind them.

Fred’s feet hit the grass hard, heart hammering as they ran past the swing, over the gnome pit, and through the vegetable rows where he’d first seen her crouched in the cabbage patch. The summer light was already climbing the treetops.

“She was right here,” Fred said, pointing. “Then she ran, over the fence, through the orchard, there!”

George squinted ahead. “You’re dragging me across the yard because of some dream-girl who ran into the woods like a lunatic?”

“Just shut up and look.”

They reached the base of the treehouse.

The boards were as crooked as ever, the ladder missing its second rung. Fred climbed it two at a time, ignoring the creak of the old wood, and hoisted himself into the doorway.

He was breathless. The air felt thick. But inside, it was just the treehouse.

Dust and old leaves. Scratched initials in the walls. A broken bottle cap in the corner. The sun streamed through the slats like it always did.

No girl.

No sign of anyone at all.

Fred sat there, frozen. He stared at the spot where she’d been - legs crossed, head tilted, teasing him about Bertie Bott’s Beans. It had happened. He’d felt it. Heard her voice. Saw the glint in her eyes.

He gripped the edge of the floorboards and leaned out.

“She was here,” he said again, more quietly this time.

George raised a brow from below. “You drag me all the way out here, shirtless, before breakfast, and your mystery girl turns out to be a gust of wind and a rotten plank of wood. I’d say you owe me your secret chocolate frog stash.”

Fred didn’t answer. He was still looking around. Still waiting. Still expecting her to pop up behind him and say, “I was just hiding.”

But she didn’t.

George smirked. “Should we alert Mum that you’ve officially lost it? Or would it be more fun to wait until the voices in your head start convincing you of other weirdos running about our house?”

Fred climbed down slowly, not answering.

“She was real,” he said, more to himself than George. “She was real.”

He glanced over his shoulder one last time, toward the treehouse, where the sunlight shimmered on the wood in a way that almost felt like a memory.

George shook his head and turned back toward the house. “You’ve officially gone barmy.”

But Fred didn’t follow right away.

He stood barefoot in the grass, eyes scanning the garden, every leaf and shadow. And deep down in his chest - just below the thump of his heart - was a tug he couldn’t explain.

———————————————————————-

A few weeks later, Fred was ankle-deep in dirt and halfway through hurling his sixth garden gnome over the fence when he saw her again.

It was late afternoon. The sun was low and golden, the kind of warm light that made the Burrow’s crooked walls glow like something out of a painting. Fred had been sent out alone - “If you and George keep catapulting them into the neighbor’s chimney, you’ll be grounded until Christmas,” Mum had warned - and he was now knee-deep in mud and muttering to himself about traitorous gnome bites.

Then he saw a flicker of movement between the hedges.

He straightened, heart stuttering. “Oi…”

There. Near the old laundry line, just past the apple tree. A blur of color. A familiar tilt of the head. The girl.

She stood half-hidden in the tall grass, watching him with a smile like she knew something he didn’t.

Fred dropped the gnome he was holding. “You!” he gasped, breaking into a sprint.

She laughed, soft and bright, and turned to run. Same as before.

Fred chased her without hesitation. He didn’t stumble this time. Didn’t lose his footing or get caught in a root. He jumped the garden fence like he’d done it a hundred times, ducked beneath the branch of the old plum tree, and sprinted after her up the sloping hill toward the treehouse.

She was waiting for him in the doorway when he climbed the ladder, chest heaving. “You’re faster this time,” she said, teasing.

Fred’s whole face lit up. “I knew it. I knew you were real!”

He stepped into the treehouse, his hands out like proof of his existence. “Wait here, I’ll get George. You have to meet George. He thought I was mad! He said you were just a dream!”

“No,” she said gently, reaching out and touching his arm. “You can’t get him.”

Fred blinked at her. “Why not?”

She looked out the window, where the sun glowed red through the trees. “Because it’s just us here.”

“But,” He frowned. “Does this mean I’m dreaming?”

“I think so,” she said after a pause. “It feels like it.”

“So you’re not real.”

She looked at him then. Steady and serious. “That doesn’t mean I’m not real. I think I’m dreaming too. I just…can’t explain it.”

Fred stared at her. “That’s not fair. You show up in my backyard, vanish without warning, and now you’re telling me you’re maybe real?”

She tilted her head. “Do you want me to be?”

Fred flushed. “I…yeah. I guess I do.”

She smiled. “What were you doing? With those creatures?”

He sat down beside her, wiping his muddy hands on his shirt. “I was getting rid of gnomes.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re horrid little things.”

“I know! They bite.”

“I saw one take a nibble on your thumb.”

Fred held up the injured finger like a badge of honor. “Did you see how far I threw it, though?”

She laughed, and he wished he could bottle the sound and take it with him when he woke.

“So…do you not have gnomes where you’re from?” he asked, curious. “Or are yours better behaved?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t go outside much.”

He quieted. “Oh.”

There was something sad in the way she said it, like it wasn’t by choice. They sat together for a while in the old treehouse, trading silly stories and ideas for pranks Fred hadn’t even told George yet. She asked what it was like to have so many siblings. He asked what she did for fun, and she hesitated before saying she liked to read. Books. Stories. To learn about the world outside of her bubble.

It was strange, but she always had this way of making the air around her feel softer. Lighter. Like the treehouse was floating just above the ground, and if they stayed quiet long enough, they’d drift into the stars.

Eventually, the sky turned dusky purple. The sun dipped low enough that the windows glowed gold.

She looked at him, then. The same way she had the first time. “It’s time,” she said softly.

Fred sat up straighter. “No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“But…can’t you stay longer?”

She stood slowly, brushing off her knees. “No, I’m out of time too. Goodbye, Fred.”

“It’s not goodbye,” he said, suddenly desperate. “It’s just, see you next time.”

She paused at the ladder, turning back. Her eyes met his. That strange, starry look again.“Okay, I like that. See you next time,” she said.

And then the world around him began to fade, the floor of the treehouse blurring into light, the shadows melting away.

Fred blinked awake to sun pouring in through his blinds. He sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed.

“George!” he shouted, grabbing a pillow and launching it across the room.

George groaned from under his blanket. “What?”

Fred scrambled out of bed. “She was there again. She’s real, George. She’s just…in my mind.”

George rolled over, groggy and unimpressed. “You woke me up to tell me your imaginary girlfriend has returned from the misty depths of your brain?”

Fred crossed his arms. “She’s not imaginary.”

George buried his face in the pillow. “Merlin’s armpits, Fred, it’s six in the morning. Go back to bed before I throw something at you.”

Fred didn’t go back to bed. He stared out the window instead, watching the sun rise over the hills behind the Burrow. Somewhere in the distance, he knew she was out there. Waiting for next time.

———————————————————————

Fred wasn’t sure how many times he’d seen her by now. Twenty. Thirty. More? He didn’t count anymore. Didn’t need to.

He just knew that every so often, when the world slipped quiet and his body stilled beneath his covers, he’d open his eyes and find himself back in the treehouse, with her. Like she’d never left.

And there she was again tonight, legs swinging off the edge of the floor, arms stretched behind her as she leaned back and looked up at the stars. The wooden planks creaked beneath them, and the wind brushed gently through the leaves like it, too, wanted to listen in.

Fred sat beside her, knees pulled up, picking absently at a splinter in the floorboard.

“You ever wonder,” he asked, “why we’re always here? Like…Why is it always my backyard?”

She shrugged, smiling at the night sky. “I like it here.”

Fred glanced at her, surprised etched into his features. “You do?”

“Of course,” she said, as though it were obvious. “It feels like someone actually lives here. It’s full of things. Overgrown and messy and noisy, just like it should be. I wish I had one just like it.”

Fred looked down at his shoes. “Most people don’t think that. Everyone at Hogwarts says we live in a ‘burrow’ because there’s so many of us. They say it like it’s a joke.”

She tilted her head toward him. “A burrow?”

He nodded, a little sheepish. “Y’know. Like we’re a nest of rabbits or something.”

She sat up straighter. “I like the sound of a burrow.”

Fred gave her a look, like he didn’t at all believe her.

“No, really!” she said. “Rabbits are clever. And brave. They live underground, all tucked in together, warm and safe. They take care of each other.”

A small, crooked smile tugged at Fred’s lips. “That’s daft.”

“Yeah,” she said brightly. “But you smiled.”

He rolled his eyes, but it lingered on his face anyway. The treehouse fell quiet again, the kind of silence that felt comfortable now.

Fred glanced sideways. “What’s your house like?”

She didn’t answer right away. Eventually, she said, “It’s cold.”

Fred looked at her, tilting his head in questioning.

“It’s too quiet. Too clean. Like no one actually lives there. Like it’s just a place people pass through,” she murmured. “My parents are always away. Work or travel or…something. I don’t know. I don’t really ask anymore.”

Fred’s chest ached a little. He didn’t know what to say to that.

“I wish I had a big family,” she added softly. “Even if it meant gnomes and chaos and secondhand shoes. I’d trade everything for noise sometimes.”

Fred swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’d probably regret that once Ron starts singing in the bath,” he said, trying for lightness.

She laughed. A quiet, honest sound. But then she looked down at her hands. “It gets lonely.”

Fred’s voice was quiet. “I don’t think you’re lonely anymore.”

She looked up.

He shrugged, a bit awkward. “I mean. Not when you’re here. With me.”

She smiled, soft and thankful. “You’re right. Not here.”

They sat side by side for a while longer, shoulders brushing occasionally, neither of them rushing the moment. The treehouse was a little world of its own. Just theirs.

But soon, the wind started to change. The stars shimmered. The corners of the world began to stretch thin.

She turned toward him. “It’s happening again,” she whispered.

Fred clenched his fists. “No. Not yet.”

“I don’t want to go either.”

He looked at her, eyes stubborn. “It’s okay. I’ll just see you next time.”

She smiled. “Next time.”

———————————————————————

Fred leaned back against the stone wall of the courtyard, balancing on two legs of his chair like he always did. Reckless, casual, bored on the surface and buzzing underneath.

Lee Jordan was tossing Bertie Bott’s Beans into his mouth like a game of Russian roulette, making faces at every wrong one. George sat cross-legged on the bench, sharpening the tip of his quill with a pocketknife, because apparently that was more fun than homework.

“I’m just saying,” Fred said, voice light but eager, “she knows loads more about Muggle stuff than anyone I’ve met. She says her parents hire tutors - proper ones - to teach her both magical and Muggle subjects. She’s homeschooled.”

Lee looked up, a bit interested now. “Homeschooled? That’s rare, innit? Does she live nearby?”

Fred grinned. “I think so. She must, right? She doesn’t say much about it, really. But she’s brilliant. She knows the weirdest facts. Like did you know rabbits can die of fright?”

“…Why would anyone need to know that?” George asked flatly, not looking up.

“I’m just saying,” Fred went on, “she’s smart. And she’s funny. And—”

“—and imaginary,” George cut in before Fred could finish.

Fred’s stomach dropped.

Lee blinked. “Wait, what?”

George gave Fred a look. Not cruel, just tired. “She’s not real, Lee. He’s talking about this girl he dreams about. He’s been on about it for four years now. I thought he’d give it a rest but apparently not.”

Fred’s ears turned pink. “She’s not imaginary.”

George shrugged. “You’ve been dreaming about her since you were ten, Fred. That’s not a friend. That’s a very dedicated sleep schedule.”

Fred stood up abruptly, knocking the back legs of the chair down with a thud. “Forget it.”

“Fred!” George called, sounding vaguely apologetic.

But Fred didn’t turn around. He stalked off across the courtyard and up the castle steps, fury curling beneath his ribs. He didn’t even care where he was going. He just needed away. They didn’t understand. They never understood.

That night, Fred shut the curtains around his bed harder than usual and shoved his face into the pillow, muttering curses under his breath.

He wasn’t even sure he’d fall asleep. He felt too wired, too angry, too full of something he couldn’t name.

But he did. And when sleep came so did she.

He opened his eyes to the quiet creak of wood, the warmth of filtered sunlight, and the scent of honeysuckle and dirt.

He was in the treehouse, and there she was. Sitting with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out across the floor, smiling at him like she’d been waiting all night.

Fred slumped down beside her with a dramatic groan. “I hate everyone.”

She laughed softly. “That bad?”

He nodded into his knees. “George told Lee you weren’t real.”

She tilted her head. “And Lee believed him?”

Fred scoffed. “Course he did. He looked at me like I’d grown a second head.”

“I mean…I’d believe it if you had grown a second head,” she said with mock seriousness. “You’ve got the personality for it.”

Fred huffed a small laugh.

She leaned over and nudged his shoulder. “They wouldn’t understand, Fred. Even I don’t completely understand it yet. You can’t blame them.”

He turned toward her, brow furrowed. “How can you not know how this works yet? I mean, are you dreaming too? Are you asleep somewhere, or…? Is this magic?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I just know I’m here. With you. And it feels real.”

“It is real,” he said stubbornly. “You’re real. I know you are.”

She smiled gently. “Then that’s enough for now, isn’t it?”

Fred looked around the treehouse - the same old boards and sunlit slats, the echo of childhood and the safety of something unchanged. “It’s always here.”

“I told you,” she said, “I like it here.”

Fred smiled, genuinely this time. “You’re mad, you know that?”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “Maybe. But I think your house sounds like the warmest place in the world.”

The treehouse swayed gently in the wind. She looked out the window, watching the light fade from gold to soft blue. “I wish I could see what school is like. Hogwarts. I imagine it all the time.”

Fred turned to her, eyes lighting up. “…maybe I can show you.”

She looked at him, a little surprised.

He nodded with conviction. “Next time you come back, I’ll bring Hogwarts with me.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I’d like that.”

———————————————————————

Fred had been thinking about the next time he’d get to see her for weeks. He was beginning to get impatient, but sometimes it had been longer than that between seeing her, so he knew not to get too antsy. It had been years since the first time, and he thought he’d be better at waiting by now. Perhaps patience simply wasn’t his strong suit.

Ever since he’d promised to show her Hogwarts, he’d been going over it in his head: the routes, the rooms, the best places to sneak sweets from the kitchens or spy on Filch without getting caught. He’d tried to fall asleep early every night just in case she came. She didn’t. Not until tonight.

The world around him came to life, and this time it wasn’t the treehouse. This time…it was Hogwarts.

The entrance hall towered above him, golden light streaming from the torches in the walls. The floor gleamed like polished stone, and everything shimmered with a softness that could only exist in dreams.

Fred turned slowly, taking it in, and then her voice echoed across the stone. “We’re actually here!”

She was beside him, mouth wide open in awe, her eyes glowing brighter than the torches. “I can’t believe this is real,” she breathed.

Fred grinned. “Technically it’s not. But close enough.”

She laughed, bright and full, and then suddenly she grabbed his hand. “Come on! You’ve got to show me everything!”

Fred jolted. Her fingers were warm against his. Real. Solid. She laced them through his like it was nothing, like they’d always done that, and tugged him toward the stairs with enough excitement to pull him clean off the floor if she wanted.

Fred followed, blinking fast. He didn’t know why his ears felt hot. Or why his chest buzzed a little like it was fizzing from the inside. She’d never touched him before. Not like that. But here she was with her hand in his, dragging him through dream-Hogwarts, practically vibrating with joy.

“This place is massive,” she whispered, eyes darting around the staircase as the steps shifted beneath them. “And there are so many portraits you can barely see the walls. Wait! It just blinked!”

Fred laughed, trying not to trip over his own feet as she led him through the corridor. “Yeah, they move. Some of them talk too. Don’t bother trying to use the second-floor shortcut though - Sir Cadogan’s portrait will not let you through unless you give him a haiku about swords.”

“I’d give him a whole poem if it meant I got to see all this.”

She was glowing. Truly. Wide-eyed and speechless as they passed through the library, then into the Great Hall where the enchanted ceiling rippled with clouds. Her mouth fell open.

“I’ve read about the enchanted ceiling but never thought it would look this real!” she whispered.

Fred watched her, chest bright with something warm and bubbling. He wasn’t looking at the Great Hall anymore.

She finally let go of his hand when she ran toward the middle of the room, twirling once beneath the floating candles. And just like that, his hand felt cold. He flexed his fingers without thinking. Missed the weight of hers. The warmth.

She spun back toward him, her whole face lit up. “Where do you sit? Show me where!”

Fred swallowed, pointing out the spot. “Er, over there. Gryffindor table.”

She was already running along the aisle, inspecting every floating dish and enchanted plate, every stone pillar and detail. She reached out toward a floating candle and gasped when it dipped slightly toward her palm.

“It likes me,” she whispered in wonder.

Fred didn’t say anything. He was still standing in place, staring at her.

Her eyes were brighter than the candles. Her hair caught the light just right. She was flushed with laughter and excitement and looked more alive than anyone he’d ever known, even though this wasn’t real.

Something flipped in his chest. Strange and soft and unsettling in the best way. How had he never realised that she was pretty? Really, properly pretty.

And then he registered that he was just standing there. Staring. For a moment too long.

She turned, grinning, her cheeks glowing with energy. “Are you gonna show me more or are we just gonna stare at floating candles all night?”

Fred blinked fast, ears going red. “Right, yeah. Course. Wait til you see the common room.”

He jogged forward to catch up, still buzzing from her touch, her smile, the way she made Hogwarts look new.

And for the first time in all the dreams they’d shared, Fred didn’t just feel comfort or friendship. He felt something bigger. Something he didn’t quite know the name for yet.

———————————————————————

Fred knew it the second the dream began. He’d started to pick up on the subtle feeling of magic in the air after all these years.

He recognised the soft light. The warm air. The Quidditch Pitch waiting beneath a wide, endless sky. His broom clutched familiarly in his hand.

Fred stood in the center of it now, taller than he used to be, broader through the shoulders. His school robes were gone, replaced by something simpler. A maroon jumper and worn trousers, like how he looked at home. He ran a hand through his hair, already messy from the dream-breeze, and glanced up at the stands.

She was there again. Like she had been countless times before over the past five years. But it still startled him every time, the way she looked at him. Like she’d been waiting.

She looked older too. Not in a strange, all-of-a-sudden sort of way, but in the softest details. The curve of her jaw more defined, the lines of her silhouette longer, surer. Her hair fell differently. Her voice had dropped ever so slightly since the year’s start. He tried not to stare. He failed.

She waved, standing. She wore his Gryffindor jumper this time - oversized on her, the sleeves swallowing her hands. He wasn’t sure when that started happening, her wearing things of his in the dreams. It made his heart kick funny in his chest every time.

She met him at the edge of the pitch. “You’re late,” she teased.

“Oi, I pretty much built this place for us,” Fred smirked. “You want me to be punctual and magical?”

“Something tells me you’ve never been punctual a day in your life, Fred Weasley.” She shook her head, looking down at the broom in his grip. “I’ve never actually been on a broom,” she said shyly. “Not in a dream. Not in real life.”

Fred blinked. “Never?”

“Nope.” She bit her lip. “Kind of nervous, honestly.”

Fred grinned, holding out his hand. “Then you’re in luck. Because I am the best Quidditch instructor in this dream realm.”

She took his hand. And he held onto it a little longer than he should have. The tension lately had been…unbearable. Every time he saw her in his dreams, it felt like something inside him clicked into place. Like the moment he opened his eyes and saw her, he was home.

And when she looked at him the way she did now, all soft-eyed and tender - he was wrecked.

“Alright,” he said, trying to sound casual as he brought the broom forward, “normally you’d start solo, but given the whole ‘I’m in charge here’ thing, we’ll cheat.”

“Cheat?” She echoed in confusion. “How can you cheat in flying?”

“You’re getting on with me.” he explained.

Her eyes widened slightly, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. “And where exactly am I meant to sit?”

Fred patted the broom handle. “Right behind me.”

“Okay,” she agreed, stepping closer.

Fred got on first, and then she swung her leg over carefully, sliding close, arms hesitating for a moment before wrapping around his waist. Her chest pressed to his back. This was not like when they were kids. Not at all.

He froze for a second. Then swallowed.

“You alright?” she asked, her voice barely above his ear.

Her cheek brushed his shoulder. Her arms were snug around him. And her fingers clutched at his jumper like she didn’t want to let go. He could feel every single inch of her against him - warm and soft - and it short-circuited his brain entirely.

Fred cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just…wasn’t expecting you to be that close.”

“Would you rather I fell off mid-air?”

He smiled despite himself. “I mean, it would be a little funny.”

She pinched his side gently, and he laughed, then kicked off the ground. The broom launched into the sky, rising in a smooth arc above the pitch. The wind blew her hair into his face, and she laughed. It was an excited, breathless sound that made his chest hurt in the best way.

Higher and higher they soared, Hogwarts and the treetops and the distant hills shrinking beneath them until it was just sky. Sky and clouds and the two of them, tucked against each other in the golden light.

“This is amazing!” she cheered against his shoulder.

Fred wanted to say something clever, something smooth. But all he could think about was how aware he was of her. Every place they touched, every shift of her body against his.

“It’s even better with you,” he said before he could stop himself.

She held him tighter. He didn’t know if she was scared or thrilled. But when her chin pressed lightly between his shoulder blades, he could feel the shape of her smile.

Fred swallowed. Everything in him wanted to turn around. Just to look at her. Just to kiss her, maybe. If she wanted that too.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she murmured. Her voice was barely audible over the wind, but he felt the words more than heard them.

Fred nodded, too afraid his voice would crack if he spoke. Inwardly he thought, ‘me neither’.

She leaned closer, cheek to his back. “Do you get to feel like this every time?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

They soared in silence for a while. No need for words. Up here, it was just the two of them. Above everything. Just Fred and the girl who might not exist, but who felt more real than anything in the waking world.

Fred didn’t want to land. Didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want to let go of the girl who held him like this was the only place in the universe that made sense.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor boys’ dormitory buzzed with energy. George lay sprawled across his bed flipping a Fanged Frisbee between his fingers, while Lee sat cross-legged on the floor with a stack of parchment and names scrawled across the top.

“Alright,” Lee grinned, tapping his quill to the list. “Alicia’s going with some Ravenclaw bloke. Bit of a shame. I was hoping you’d get in first, George.”

George waved him off. “Katie asked me last week, actually. But I’m holding out. Gotta keep my mystique.”

Lee snorted, then turned to Fred, who was perched on the edge of his bed, uncharacteristically quiet, staring at a knot in the wood floor.

“And what about you, Fred?” Lee prompted. “You going to ask someone before all the good ones are gone?”

Fred didn’t respond.

George sat up. “Don’t tell me you’re not going.”

Still nothing.

Lee raised a brow. “You? Skipping a chance to dress up and act charming and wildly inappropriate on a dance floor? You sick or something?”

George narrowed his eyes. “Wait,” His tone shifted. “Is this about her?”

Fred didn’t move, but that flinch in his jaw said enough.

Lee blinked. “Her? What, who?”

George let out a breath and threw his Frisbee down. “The girl. From his dreams. Don’t you remember? He used to talk about her all the time, back when we were younger. Said she was homeschooled, weird house, never went outside, only saw her in dreams, some treehouse nonsense.”

“She’s not—” Fred cut in suddenly, then trailed off. His voice was hoarse. “It’s not nonsense.”

George’s expression softened but he didn’t let up. “Fred, you haven’t mentioned her in ages. I thought maybe you’d…I dunno. Grown out of it.”

Fred looked up finally. “I didn’t grow out of it. I just stopped talking to you about it.”

Lee looked between them, brow raised in confused concern. “Wait…Are you saying you still see her?”

George sat up straighter on the bed, arms bracing his knees. “Mate, I’m saying this because I love you, alright? But…you can’t keep living in your dreams. You’re sixteen now. You can’t go to the Yule Ball with a girl who might not even exist.”

“She does exist,” Fred said, low but fierce.

“Then where is she?” George challenged gently. “Has she written? Owled you? Sent you a single real-world sign? Come on, Fred, what if she is just a dream? What if she’s only ever been one?”

Fred’s lips parted like he had an answer, but no sound came. The silence that followed felt like the longest they’d ever had.

George stood and crossed the room to his trunk, pulling out a small, dark vial with a handwritten label. He handed it to Fred.

“Dreamless sleep,” George said, voice careful. “Nicked it from Snape last week. Just one month. That’s all I’m asking. Give yourself one full month to clear your head.”

Fred stared at the vial in his hand. It felt heavier than it should have.

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” George added. “I just don’t want you to waste something real - someone real - because you’re chasing something you can never reach.”

———————————————————————

Fred sat on the edge of his bed, one hand tangled in his hair, the other clutching the small, unassuming vial George had left behind a week ago. The liquid inside shimmered faintly in the candlelight - silver, soft, promising oblivion. Dreamless sleep.

He’d been considering George’s words all week. On little potion and no more treehouse. No more late-night broom rides. No more of her.

He stared at it like it might vanish if he looked too long. Or maybe he wished it would.

The dormitory was quiet. Lee was already snoring. George’s bed creaked every so often when he turned in his sleep. The world had gone still, but inside Fred, everything was loud.

He tilted the vial between his fingers, watching the way the light played off the glass.

She wasn’t real. Or she was. He didn’t know anymore. But that hadn’t stopped him from falling for her.

She’d grown with him, this girl of dreams. She wasn’t a whisper anymore, not some shadow at the edges of sleep. She was a person. A person with soft hands and bright eyes and a laugh that made the world feel like summer even when snow rimmed the windows of the Burrow. She listened. She asked questions. She cared. No one else saw that version of him. Not even George. With her, he felt known in a way that terrified him.

He pressed the vial to his palm, knuckles white. How had this happened?

What started as childish curiosity - the thrill of finding a secret no one else could see - had turned into something else entirely. Now, when he woke up, his chest ached from missing her. When he laughed at a joke Lee made, it was tinged with the thought of how she would’ve laughed too. When he passed a girl in the corridor, pretty and smiling, he didn’t feel a spark, because the only one he wanted was somewhere he couldn’t reach.

He hadn’t spoken about her to George in a week. Not since that last fight. Not since George called her an illusion and Fred didn’t have the words to fight back.

And that had been worse, somehow. The look on George’s face when he realised that Fred was in love with a ghost, or a figment, or a half-imagined girl from his own mind. It was pity. George pitied him. And maybe he should. Because what kind of person was so hopelessly tangled in someone who might not even exist?

He clutched the vial tighter, pressing it to his chest now, heart thudding beneath the glass.

Would it be kinder to let her go? If he kept dreaming of her - seeing her, talking to her - he’d never be able to fall for someone else. Never be able to love someone here, in this world, when part of him lived in another. A half life.

His eyes burned, and he didn’t know why. He blinked hard and looked at the potion again.

Maybe this was mercy. He could take it. Go to bed. Sleep through the night. Wake up empty but clean. Like washing off a wound and sealing it shut. But something about that terrified him.

Because what if she was real? What if this connection - whatever it was - meant something? What if cutting it off was like cutting off a part of himself?

He hated that he didn’t know. Hated the idea of walking away without answers. Of never seeing her again. Of never finding out who she was.

And god, he wanted at least one more night. One more time to see her. To hold her hand. To hear her voice.

Fred slowly placed the potion down on the bedside table. It clinked lightly against the wood. Then he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. His last thought before sleep claimed him was not of doubt or logic or sense.

It was her name and the way she looked the last time he saw her, smiling up at him like he was the only thing in the world worth waiting for.

Fred let himself fall. Into sleep. Into dreams. Into her.

The wind curled softly around the Astronomy Tower, tugging at her hair as she leaned over the stone railing, eyes lifted to the sky.

Fred stood just behind her, hands in his pockets, heart heavier than it had ever felt in a dream.

The stars were bright tonight. Too bright, almost. They looked like someone had scrubbed the sky clean and poked holes through it with a pin. She pointed to one now, her face alight with fascination.

“That’s Altair,” she said, smiling as she turned back to him slightly. “You can see the whole Summer Triangle from here, even though it’s not summer anymore. That one’s Deneb. And that—” she lifted her hand higher, “—is Vega. You can always find your way north if you follow—”

He didn’t hear the rest. Fred wasn’t looking at the stars. He was looking at her.

Her dress fluttered in the wind like something out of a story. Her lips were still moving, but he barely registered the words. The moonlight lit her from the side, gilding her hair, brushing against her cheekbones, making her look unreal. Ethereal.

But wasn’t that exactly the problem?

She noticed his silence. Of course she did. She always did. “Fred?”

He blinked, forced himself to meet her gaze.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, tilting her head at him with a soft frown. “Quieter than usual.”

“I’m just thinking,” he said, his voice low and distant. He stepped forward, leaned beside her on the railing. The cold stone pressed into his forearms, but he barely felt it.

She smiled gently. “That’s dangerous for you, isn’t it?”

He laughed, but there wasn’t much life in it. A beat passed between them. The wind picked up again, carrying the smell of frost and pine from the forest below.

Then, slowly, he said, “There’s a dance coming up at Hogwarts. The Yule Ball.”

“Oh?” she turned toward him slightly. “Are you going with someone?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Not yet.”

She watched him, curious. Waiting.

“I was thinking,” he continued, choosing each word carefully like it might break if he stepped too hard on it. “What if…we went together?”

Her expression flickered. Just slightly. But he saw it. The shift. She didn’t say anything.

“I mean—” he rushed on, trying to cover the weight of what he was really asking. “—we could make it work, right? You could send me a letter, or give me an address, and I’ll write to you. We don’t have to wait for dreams to see each other. Not if you’re really…out there.”

Silence stretched between them. She looked away, her eyes darting to the stars again as if they might give her the answer he wanted.

Fred watched her, heart thudding like it was trying to warn him.

Finally, she said, quietly, “I can’t.”

His chest stopped moving entirely. She wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry, Fred,” she said, voice gentler than it had any right to be. “I just…can’t.”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t ask what she meant, or what was stopping her, or whether she even wanted to come into his world. Because deep down, he already knew. She wasn’t coming.

Whether she couldn’t or wouldn’t, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be part of his life beyond the fragile walls of this dream. And that was all the answer he needed.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp sting rising behind his ribs. He smiled - barely.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “Forget I asked.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No, really,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She turned to look at him again. There was something sad in her eyes, like maybe she wished she could say something different. But she didn’t. And Fred didn’t push it.

He just stood beside her and looked up at the stars, memorising the way her silhouette looked against the sky, the soft rise and fall of her breath, the way her hands rested on the stone beside his.

He didn’t say anything more about the letter. Or the ball. Or the real world. He didn’t tell her that this was ‘goodbye’, and not ‘next time’.

He just stayed there with her for a little while longer, because as much as it hurt, he wasn’t ready to let go. Not quite yet. Not until morning.

———————————————————————

The fire had burned down to embers, but Fred didn’t move.

He sat against the crumbling wall of the safe house, legs pulled up, arms looped around his knees like he was bracing for impact. Outside, the wind moaned against the hills and the boarded-up windows creaked under its weight. It was cold, but he barely noticed.

In his fist was a tiny glass bottle, drained clean. He turned it over in his hand, watched the last faint trace of liquid cling to the inside of the rim.

Gone. His last vial of Dreamless Sleep potion was empty.

Fred exhaled slowly, head tipping back against the stone behind him.

He’d rationed it longer than he should have. Skipped nights. Lied to George about needing less. Told himself the war was keeping him up, that nightmares weren’t the only thing to fear when your name was on a Death Eater’s list and you’d just blown up another outpost.

But that wasn’t the truth, and he knew it.It wasn’t fear of nightmares that kept him drinking the potion every night. It was fear of her.

He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since that night on the Astronomy Tower. That last night. That last dream.

Fred shut his eyes and saw her the way he’d remembered her for all these years: starlight tangled in her hair, moonlight soft on her cheeks, her fingers brushing the stone rail like she belonged there more than anywhere else in the world.

She’d looked like magic that night. And maybe that was the point. Because she wasn’t real. Was she?

He sighed and let the bottle drop to the floor beside him. It hit the flagstones with a muted clink.

After that night, everything had changed. One night became two. Two became a week. And then it became routine.

Part of it was George. Always watching, always hovering, trying not to say I told you so but screaming it anyway.

Part of it was Fred himself. Because George was right. He had been drifting. He was sixteen and already dreaming of impossible futures with a girl who couldn’t - or wouldn’t - follow him into the waking world. A girl he wasn’t even sure existed outside his head.

So he’d buried the starlit version of himself and gone to the Yule Ball with Angelina instead. She laughed at his jokes, called him out when he was being a prat, and kissed him when the music slowed. They’d dated for a while. It wasn’t bad. It just…wasn’t right. Wasn’t her.

He told himself that meant he was finally grounded. But even then, he’d catch himself glancing up at the sky on clear nights. Thinking of her. Wondering if she was still waiting up there, behind the veil of sleep.

And then he got busier. The joke shop had opened. Life had picked up speed. Diagon Alley filled with color again and Fred had something to build, something real to protect.

And not going back started to become…easier. Safer.

The longer he stayed away, the more impossible it felt to return. The guilt clung to him like a second skin. Because if she was real, if she had waited for him, how could he ever explain abandoning her without a word?

So he never did.

Until now. Until he was here, on the run, with an empty bottle and no choice but to dream again.

His throat tightened. His palms itched. What if she was gone? What if she never existed? What if he closed his eyes tonight and found nothing but shadows?

He curled tighter into himself, breath shallow, as dread and longing warred in his chest.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it would be better to stay awake forever than to risk seeing her again. But it was too late. The fire was dying, the cold creeping in, and exhaustion pressed heavy against his bones.

So Fred closed his eyes. And for the first time in years, he let himself fall into his dreams.

The first thing Fred noticed was the smell. Ash. Smoke. Burning wood.

His eyes shot open inside the dream, lungs tightening. He was back at the Burrow, but it was wrong. The air crackled with something malicious. It was nighttime, but the dark was torn apart by intermittent flickers of fire. Tongues of flame licking the roof of the garden shed, smoke pluming thick from the remnants of the wedding tent. Torn silk ribbons fluttered weakly in the breeze, charred and dangling from snapped poles. Chairs were upturned in the grass, broken. Tables half-collapsed.

His heart thudded. For a fleeting, impossible moment, he wondered if it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe he’d been caught. Maybe they’d dragged him back here to watch it all burn.

But no. No, this was familiar in a different way. The weightless feel of his feet, the fog at the edge of his vision. This was a dream. A dream that echoed with remnants of old magic. He hadn’t felt this in years. Not once since that night in the Astronomy Tower. Since the first time he’d taken the dreamless sleep potion George had given him.

His hand twitched at the thought of that empty bottle.

“Hello?” he called into the dark. His voice bounced around the ruins and came back wrong. Muffled and slow. Too quiet.

Then he saw it. A blur. A shadow darting behind the shell of the tent.

He spun. “Oi! Wait!”

But the shadow was already gone.

He ran after it, breath coming fast even though his chest didn’t rise and fall here. He chased the figure past the scorched gnome hutch, through the blackened remnants of the garden. He saw flashes. Long hair, a flash of a pale dress, bare feet darting over the scorched earth. Just like the first time.

Just like when they were kids and she’d run from him across the yard, teasing and laughing, before vanishing into the treehouse. Only this time there was no laughter. This time he felt like he was chasing a ghost.

He ran harder, nearly tripping over a fallen plank, and then finally,he saw the outline of the treehouse through the rising smoke. The structure was still standing somehow, crooked and swaying, covered in ivy and scorched marks. The ladder hung loose. The rope swing beside it was frayed and dangling, burning slowly at the ends.

He climbed. Each rung creaked beneath his weight. The wood splintered, and heat radiated from the air like a fever. But still he climbed, and when he reached the top, he shoved open the hatch.

And there she was. She screamed when she saw him. Full-throated and loud, the sound of someone who’d truly been afraid.

Fred froze. “It’s just me!”

Her hand flew to her chest. Her eyes were wide. Her hair was tangled and windswept, her cheeks flushed from the run, but it was her. The same girl. The same eyes that had haunted his sleep. The same expression. Except this one was laced with something he didn’t recognise on her face.

Fear. Then it twisted. Not fear any longer, but rage.

“You!” she shouted, grabbing the nearest thing - an old stuffed dragon - and hurling it at his chest. “You absolute arse! Where the hell have you been?!”

Fred caught it in surprise but stumbled backward. “I—”

“You disappeared! For years! I didn’t know if you were dead, if something happened, or…or if you just decided you didn’t want to see me anymore!”

She threw something else. A little wooden snitch he and George had carved together when they were twelve. Then a game board. A pillow. The whole place still bore traces of them. Of the children they used to be. But none of it was soft now. None of it was nostalgic. It all felt jagged and painful and lost.

She threw item after item at his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

Fred caught things clumsily, wincing as he dived the heavier trinkets. She hurled another toy, then a book, and then a tin box that clattered against the wall beside him.

“I—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be left alone for years? To not know if it’s something you did wrong, or if the other person just…vanished?”

Fred looked down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “I was taking something.”

“What?”

“A potion. Dreamless sleep.”

Her mouth fell slightly open. Her rage paused, blinking in disbelief. “For how long? All of this time?”

His nodded silently, and she sank onto the floor, like her legs could no longer hold the weight of that answer. Her voice was quieter now. “Why?”

Fred crouched in front of her, feeling smaller than he had since he was a child. “Because I was getting consumed by you,” he said softly. “By all of this. I was sixteen, and I couldn’t live like that. I was dreaming more than I was living.”

She looked at him, unreadable. “So you just left.”

“I didn’t know how to come back after I’d left the first time,” he admitted. “Didn’t know how to face you. And then the longer I stayed away, the harder it became.”

She stood still for a long time. “Why now?” she asked eventually, her voice quieter. “Why come back now?”

“I ran out.” He admitted. “There’s no way for me to get more where I am now.”

She huffed a dry, humourless laugh, but it caught in her throat.

Fred sat and shuffled closer, his voice low. “I missed you.”

“Not enough to choose to come back,” she whispered.

He looked at her then - long and proper. She’d grown up, just like he had. But her face still held the shape of the girl he used to meet under the stars. Her eyes still held a softness that made his chest ache.

She nodded slowly, shoulders sinking a little more. “I can’t really blame you,” she added after a beat. “You had everything you needed. An amazing school. Friends. Family. An exciting life. Nothing like mine.”

Fred sat wordlessly beside her on the creaking wooden floor as guilds gnawed at his insides. What could he possibly say to make it better? The air smelled of smoke, but the breeze that came through the treehouse window was cool and soft against their skin. The flames from below danced across her features in warm gold and orange.

She leaned forward instead, gazing down through the open window at the scorched garden. “What happened to this place?”

Fred followed her gaze, heart sinking. “A lot’s happened since the last time I saw you.”

“I know. The world turned upside down.” She glanced in his direction. Not quite looking at him but no longer actively trying to look anywhere but. “Where are you now? In the real world?”

“Where I am,” Fred said, “is on the run. Bill’s wedding was attacked by Death Eaters. Percy’s betrayed us in favour of his cushy ministry job. Charlie’s stuck abroad, Ron’s missing, and Ginny…Ginny’s going back to Hogwarts like everything’s normal while the rest of us are separated, fighting just to stay alive.”

She turned her head and met his eyes. “Fred…”

He flinched when she reached for his hand. The contact sparked through him like a jolt of lightning, and all the old feelings rose up again - raw and untamed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve any of that. None of you do.”

He didn’t pull away. His fingers closed around hers and held on. “I really have missed you,” he whispered.

Her lip trembled. “I missed you too.”

“Merlin, so much has changed. You’ve changed.” He assessed, tilting his head at her, as though looking at her from a slightly different angle might help him to see right through the guard that had never been up before.

“Tell me everything?” she asked.

And so he did.

———————————————————————

The Burrow shimmered in warm afternoon gold, just as it had all those years ago. Before war, before heartbreak, before they’d stopped speaking. The crooked house stood tall against a pale blue sky, the clothesline swaying in a soft summer breeze, the Weasleys’ old gnome-bitten garden full of buzzing bees and forgotten toys.

Fred blinked in disbelief, standing in the exact same patch of grass where he used to toss gnome after gnome with George. It was just like it used to be. He knew it couldn’t be real, and he was right.

He turned and saw her. She was sitting on the front step, her chin resting on her knees, hair caught in the sunlight like a memory he wasn’t sure he deserved to have back. She looked older now in the brighter light. Beautiful in a different way than he remembered. Less wonder, more fire. Stronger. She looked up at him and smiled softly, almost nervously.

He approached her slowly, hesitating. “This…this wasn’t what it looked like last time.”

“I changed it,” she said, glancing over the garden fondly. “I thought you might need something comforting. I know I did.”

Fred’s heart ached. “You can do that? Influence where we go?”

She nodded. “Not always. But sometimes. If I really try. And you did it for me once, back when we were young and all I wanted was to see Hogwarts.”

That stilled him. The unspoken truth of it - of what they’d been, of what they might still be - hung between them like fog.

He sat beside her on the step, careful to keep his hands to himself though every part of him wanted to reach out.

“Where are you now?” he asked after a pause. “I mean, really. In the real world.”

She grimaced. “You wouldn’t come back here if you knew.”

“I’m not going to shut you out again,” he said firmly. “I swear. No matter what it is.”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I’m still where I was when you left me. Stuck in a lifeless house. My parents are home more now. I thought I wanted that. I used to wish for it constantly. But now that they are…it’s worse.”

His brows drew together, mind instantly going to the darkest place. “Worse how?”

She exhaled sharply. “My parents aren’t death eaters, if that’s what you’re thinking. But they aren’t fighters either. They think if we keep our heads down, stay out of it, we’ll be spared. They’re cowards, Fred.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, wishing he could hold her hand, brush her hair back, anything.

“My mum’s a Muggle. My dad’s a pureblood. Technically we’re blood traitors, even if we never picked a side. And You-Know-Who’s not exactly known for sparing anyone. They just keep pretending we’re invisible.”

She glanced at him, her voice bitter. “But we’re not. They think if we stay complicit - silent and pliable - we’ll be spared. But that’s complete and utter rubbish. You-know-who doesn’t have mercy. And the longer this goes on, the more I think…we should be doing something. Helping. Fighting back.”

Fred nodded. “You’re right. Thinking any of us are going to be safe is a mistake. Even if it were true, what kind of a world would we be living in then? How can they stand it?”

“It’s delusion. People are scared so they justify their cowardice with whatever lies they can convince themselves of.” She spat bitterly.

They fell into silence, the kind that felt like a breath held too long. The kind that said more than words ever could. His eyes landed on her and he felt that familiar, terrible ache in his chest.

She had grown up into someone so remarkable it made his throat tighten. So brave. So blisteringly real. And not for the first time in all these years, he hated himself for ever cutting her off.

He broke the silence first, giving a voice to the questions that had been plaguing his mind since the last time they’d met. “Do you remember what we talked about the time before last? Back in the tower?”

She tilted her head. “I remember you being quiet. We looked at the stars.”

Fred nodded. “Do you remember what I asked you?”

Her expression shifted. A shadow of guilt crossed her face. “About the Yule Ball.”

“Yeah.” He paused, then asked gently, “Why did you say no?”

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “Because I was scared.”

He blinked. “Of what?”

She inhaled slowly. “I was worried…that the most interesting thing about me was that I existed in your dreams. That if we took it into the real world, the novelty would wear off. That you’d get bored of me.”

Fred stared at her. “That’s why?”

“I know it sounds stupid now,” she said, cheeks pink. “But it felt very real then. And I knew it was what pushed you away. I just didn’t know how to stop it.”

“I didn’t stop caring,” Fred said firmly. “Not once. I never would’ve lost interest.”

She met his eyes finally, tears threatening behind hers. “I know. I just…couldn’t see it back then. I was too young and too afraid.”

They sat in silence again, the chirping of birds in the fake-summer air filling the space between them.

“I thought about you all the time,” he said eventually. “Even after I started taking the potion. Even…when I was with someone else. It never stopped.”

“You…you were seeing someone?” Her throat cleared, and it was entirely too much like she was trying to sound casual. “What was she like?”

“She was a good friend. Just took me too long to realise that was all she really was,” Fred admitted with a shrug.

“Fred, why didn’t you ever choose to come back?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I left because I didn’t think I wanted to, if I couldn’t have you properly. And then enough time passed that it felt like I’d lost the right to explain. Felt like I couldn’t come back. Couldn’t face the decision I’d made.”

She reached out, finally, and took his hand. “Only thing you really lost was time.”

Fred laced their fingers together, surprised at how easily it came. “Everything could have been so different.”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “But there’s no point thinking about what you can’t change. What’s done is done.”

A silence passed between them. It was heavy, but not cold. The distant hum of bees and the soft creak of the Burrow’s ancient walls grounded the dream in memory. Fred let his eyes trail over the curve of her profile. Still familiar yet sharper now. Her beauty had deepened, and something in her expression - wiser, sadder - made his stomach churn.

“We can still change what happens next,” he murmured, voice quiet, reverent almost.

She turned toward him fully. “So what now?” She glanced down at their hands where their fingers interlocked. “Are you…are you going to take it again? The potion?”

He turned to meet her eyes. “What about you?” he asked instead. “If I don’t take it again - if I leave the door open - would you be willing to meet me?”

She blinked. Her breath caught. “Outside of all this?”

Fred nodded, voice low and raw. “Yeah. After the war, maybe. If we both make it out…would you want that?”

Her lips parted like she might say something immediately, but instead she closed them again and looked down at their feet. When she finally looked up, there was a shine to her eyes. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “What it would be like to see you, really see you. Touch you, hear your voice in the real world. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance again, after I turned you down last time.”

“Well, I’m asking again now,” Fred said.

She gave a watery smile, nodding. “Then yes. If we survive this, if the world gives us even half a chance…I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

Fred let out a breath and smiled back at her. “Alright, then it’s sorted.”

“And in the meantime?” she asked, hopeful, hesitant.

“In the meantime,” Fred said, his fingers curling gently around hers, “I think being with you right here is nice.”

She exhaled, relief softening her shoulders. “I’m glad.”

They sat like that, hand in hand, as the Burrow soaked in the golden haze of memory. A place built from childhood summers and stolen glances. And for the first time since these dreams had started, Fred Weasley didn’t feel torn between two worlds. He just felt…whole.

———————————————————————

The lake shimmered under the late afternoon sun, the surface catching golden light and scattering it like dropped coins. Hogwarts loomed in the distance behind them, softened by haze and memory. It was warm, but not stifling. The perfect spring day.

She stood calf-deep in the Black Lake, sunlight catching the water that clung to her skin. Her dress was hitched up in her hands, damp at the hem, hair tangled from the breeze. She looked over her shoulder, squinting into the sun to watch him.

Fred sat a few meters back on the slope, sleeves rolled to the elbows, skipping stones across the water with casual precision. Every so often, he’d glance up at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

They’d fallen into a routine again. Seeing each other during the night. Taking refuge in their fonder memories. He’d taken to hiding these little rendezvous of theirs from George. He knew what his brother would say.

“You already know my day was boring,” she’d shrugged when he’d asked. “So how was yours?”

“Spent morning to night running, so not the greatest,” Fred answered honestly. “Never thought anything could be worse than Oliver’s quidditch drills but I was wrong.”

“Snatchers again?” she called, shielding her eyes.

“Yup,” he called back, sending another stone skittering. “Two groups, actually. We’re getting popular.”

She waded closer, grinning. “I take it they’re not the fan club you always wanted.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Fred said. “Although one of them looked vaguely familiar. Could’ve been a Slytherin, honestly. That would explain the ugly.”

She laughed, and he smiled to himself.

“We got lucky this time,” he continued, tossing another stone. “Ran into someone we knew. Lupin. Old teacher of ours. Taught Defence in third year.”

She perked up. “Remus Lupin? You told me about him when we were kids. You liked him.”

“Still do,” Fred said. “Good bloke. Looks tired though. Older. Sad, in that quiet way people are when they’ve already decided they don’t deserve happiness.”

She moved out of the water, padding barefoot across the grass. “Is he fighting with the Order?”

“Yeah. Not always directly. Sometimes it’s just messages or tracking or undercover work, but he’s involved. He’s married now, too.”

“Oh?”

“Her name’s Tonks,” Fred said, raising his brows. “She’s a metamorphmagus. Related to the Blacks, actually.”

“Really?” she said, smile rising. “That’s unexpected.”

“Right?” Fred tossed a final stone and turned toward her. “And they’ve got a baby on the way.”

She paused in her step, blinking. “That’s wonderful. So why’s he not with them right now?”

Fred’s expression sobered. “Thinks he’s dangerous. Because of…you know.”

She frowned. “Because he’s a werewolf?”

“Yeah. Says they’d be safer without him. Thinks he’s cursed them just by being in their lives.”

“That’s…” she trailed off. “That’s tragic.”

Fred watched the ripple of light across the lake. “I don’t know. It’s a bit romantic too, isn’t it?”

She tilted her head. “How’s that?”

“He loves them enough to stay away,” Fred said, voice quieter now. “Even though it’s killing him. Maybe it’s foolish, maybe it’s wrong. But there’s something noble in it too. Choosing to be lonely so the people you love don’t have to suffer.”

She looked at him, brow softening. “You really think that’s romantic?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, glancing toward her. “These days, any love that survives feels rare enough to be romantic.”

There was a long pause. Then she sat down under a willow tree near the edge of the water, her back against the bark, legs stretched out in the grass. “You coming, or are you going to brood dramatically from over there?”

Fred didn’t answer. He just walked over and sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers as he leaned back on his hands. She didn’t move away. Neither of them did.

These moments had been happening more and more. Fingers grazing when they passed something to each other. Lingering stares that neither dared to hold too long, but both noticed. Silence that thrummed like a wire pulled taut between them. And still, no one said anything. Naming it might break it. Might make it real. Might end it.

She plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. “I need to tell you something.”

He glanced over. Her voice was soft. Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist.

“I’ve made plans,” she said. “For myself.”

He sat up a little straighter. “What kind of plans?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said quickly. “Not yet. But, I’m not sure if it’s going to even work. And if it does, I won’t be able to see you again. Not for a while.”

Fred stared at her, the warmth of the sun suddenly not quite reaching him. He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. “Has this got something to do with the war?”

“Partly,” she said. “But also…it’s just something I have to do. I didn’t want to disappear without warning. I know what that feels like.”

Fred gave a bitter laugh, low and humorless. “Yeah. Guess you do. Is this thing that you have to do dangerous?”

She turned toward him and her chin dipped in a slight nod. “That’s why I’m telling you. I don’t know if it’ll work, and I don’t want to promise I’ll come back. But I wanted to say goodbye, just in case.”

Fred ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just…bloody hell, you finally come back into my life and now you’re, what? Disappearing again? I thought we said we wouldn’t do that.”

“I know, but I can’t just sit in this big old house doing nothing. And I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “But it still feels like you are.”

She nodded, eyes glossy. “I’m sorry.”

Fred looked away from her, to the lake, to the mountains beyond it. His chest felt tight. “I’ll still see you,” he said quietly. “In my dreams. Even if you’re not really here.”

She blinked at him, and something in her expression shifted - grief, affection, longing all in one. She leaned in slowly, painfully, like she was giving him time to stop her. He didn’t. Their faces were inches apart. His breath caught.

And then she kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t urgent. It was quiet. Careful. Lips barely brushing, her hand finding his cheek, his fingers ghosting her wrist. A question more than an answer. A moment they had denied themselves for years.

She pulled away first, just slightly. “I had to do that,” she whispered. “Just once.”

Fred opened his mouth to say something, but she pressed her finger to it gently, silencing him.

“Tell me next time,” she said.

And then the air changed. The world dimmed at the edges. She was already starting to fade, the dream breaking apart at the seams.

“Wait!” he reached for her hand, but she was gone.

Fred’s eyes snapped open to cold air and damp leaves. He was lying in the forest again. His cloak was bunched under his head and the embers of their campfire had long since gone dark. George lay sleeping across from him, curled under his coat. Lupin behind him keeping watch against a tree.

Fred sat up slowly, heart aching. The kiss still lingered like phantom warmth on his lips.

He didn’t say a word.

He just stared into the trees, clutching that silence to his chest like a secret only the stars could hear.

———————————————————————

The castle groaned as if it too were dying.

Stone shuddered under Fred’s feet with each nearby explosion. Dust cascaded from cracks above as spells lit the corridors in strobes of colour - green, red, blue - lethal and unforgiving. Somewhere a child screamed, then an older one cried out in anguish, and Fred kept running.

Blood matted his shirt to his ribs. His wand hand trembled, fingers numb from spell after spell. But he didn’t stop.

George was just ahead, shouting over his shoulder, “We’re cutting through this way! Tonks and Lupin are in the north corridor!”

Fred leapt over the rubble beside him. They skidded behind a half-shattered pillar, lungs burning from smoke and the acrid sting of dark magic. Somewhere behind them, a wall collapsed with a guttural crash, and a massive section of staircase turned to rubble.

And then Fred saw them. Tonks had been struck. Her body lay curled against the stones like a broken doll, hair still half-pink, half-faded brown, blending into the blood staining the floor. She was still alive, though barely.

“Dora!” Remus shouted. The man was ten feet away, turning toward his wife, wand raised - just in time to see the curse coming.

A flash of green light hit him square in the chest. He stumbled - not backward, not even resisting - just collapsed with a quietness that made Fred sick to his stomach.

“Remus!” Tonks screamed, dragging herself toward him with shaking arms. “Remus! Rem—!”

Their fingers reached for one another, arms outstretched. Tonks was millimetres away when her body stoped moving.

Fred froze. Everything inside him turned to ice.

“No. NO!” His voice broke apart like shattering glass. He stumbled forward a step, but the world exploded again. Someone shouted a curse behind him

“Bombarda Maxima!”

The wall above him cracked like thunder. Fred barely managed to look up before the ceiling began to cave in, great chunks of stone shearing loose, plummeting toward him like punishment.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t. A scream tore up his throat but never made it out.

A flash of light blinded him.

A voice yelling “Reducto!”

The rubble dissolved into a mist of dust mid-air, falling in harmless waves around him. A second spell - bright and gold - shot over his head, and the Death Eater who had attacked collapsed. Stunned or worse.

Fred coughed and stumbled forward, disoriented. Smoke wrapped around him. His ears rang.

And then he saw her.

At first, she was just a figure moving through the haze. A silhouette burned into the brightness of the moment, her wand still raised, her chest heaving. Her clothes were torn, cheeks smudged with blood and ash, hair falling from its pins. Her eyes locked with his, and she froze.

Fred’s heart stopped beating.

She was real. There was no dream now, no magic-induced illusion, no distance. She was here. Flesh and bone and breath and fire.

He took a step forward, then another.

She stepped toward him too, wand slowly lowering. “I heard this was the time and place,” she said breathlessly, her voice raw and low, “to make a stand. To fight back.”

Fred didn’t even hear the end of the sentence. He crossed the space between them and crushed his lips to hers.

She gasped against him, and then she kissed him back like she’d been waiting for years. Like there was no next hour, no after. The air around them vibrated with tension and ash. Her hands slid into his tangled, blood-matted hair. He held her face like she was the only thing keeping him from breaking.

His voice cracked against her mouth. “I’ve wanted you for so long…”

She gave a watery laugh, their foreheads pressed together. “And you think now’s the time?”

“You told me,” he choked out, swallowing down tears, “You told me to say it the next time I saw you.”

Her smile was soft and trembling. “I’ve wanted you forever.”

Fred’s knees nearly gave out.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—” George’s voice rang out, hoarse and stunned. He fired a curse without looking, then turned back toward them. “Who the hell is that?!”

Fred barely pulled back to shout, “The girl you never believed was real!”

George blinked, wand still raised. “You’re joking! SHE’S THE GIRL?!”

And then it began. “You have fought valiantly…but in vain.”

The voice didn’t come from outside. It wasn’t shouted. It curled into their minds, cold and patient and cruel.

“But I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste…I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity.”

Fred went cold. He felt her hand slip into his and clutch tight as she winced against the sound.

“…Harry Potter, I speak now directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonour. Join me in the forbidden forest and confront your fate. You have one hour.”

A beat of silence. Like the castle itself held its breath. The Death Eaters were gone, retreating. Vanishing into smoke and shadow. What was left of their little corner of the castle was suddenly…still. Too still.

She looked up at Fred. “Do you think he’ll do it?”

Fred didn’t answer. He turned to George whose jaw was clenched, eyes glassy. He didn’t speak either. She knew the answer in their silence.

Fred looked back at the bodies. Tonks and Lupin. Lying together, hands now barely shy of touching.

His chest tightened. He dropped her hand gently and knelt beside them.

George dropped beside him, swallowing hard. “Help me carry them.”

Fred nodded, brushing the hair gently from Tonks’s eyes. Then, together, the twins lifted their fallen friends. One under each arm, dead weight heavy with meaning.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall was unrecognisable.

Gone were the floating candles and enchanted ceiling, the hum of student chatter, the scrape of chairs, the clinking of cutlery. Now, there was only silence, the air heavy with smoke and grief. The once gleaming stone floor was lined with bodies. Too many bodies to count. Some were students, others professors, some unfamiliar faces, and among them, side by side in cruel peace, Fred and George laid Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.

Fred’s jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. George’s eyes were red, a muscle ticking in his cheek, but there were no words left.

They’d laid them down gently among the others. Fred lowered Lupin’s body, and George followed with Tonks, setting her beside her husband. Their hands - pale and bloodstained still reaching toward one another, even in death.

Fred stood frozen, staring down at them. There was something so cruel about how close they had been in their final moments. Inches. Mere inches. He wanted to scream, to smash something, to reverse time. Anything to give them the one final second they’d been denied.

The girl - y/n - moved quietly beside him, her boots echoing faintly in the silence. Without a word, she knelt between the two fallen warriors. Gently, she reached out and took their limp hands, arranging them so their fingers laced together. Like they were simply asleep. Like they’d never been apart.

A sharp breath escaped George. Fred turned away, tears finally spilling hot down his cheeks.

She stood, silent, and slipped her hand into Fred’s. His fingers closed around hers like a lifeline.

A sudden cry rang out, and they turned to see Molly, Arthur, Bill, Percy, Ron, and Ginny rushing toward them from the far end of the hall. Relief cracked through the grief like sunlight through storm clouds. The family collided into a group hug, all of them clutching each other with the desperate energy of survivors.

Molly sobbed into Fred’s shoulder, whispering, “You’re alive, you’re alive,” over and over. Ginny gripped George’s sleeve like she might never let go. Relief mingled with grief, as the family reunited in the thick of the aftermath.

And then…eyes turned to the girl holding Fred’s hand. But now wasn’t the time.

Fred glanced between his family and the girl who had walked with him through dreams and darkness.

He cleared his throat. “This is y/n,” he said simply. “She came to help us out.”

George stepped forward, voice low and raw. “She did more than that,” he said. “She’s the reason Fred’s still standing here instead of being on the floor with the rest.”

The girl looked down for a moment, then lifted her gaze and stepped toward Molly. She extended her hand, a soft, tentative gesture. “I’ve heard so much about all of you,” she said, voice gentle.

But Molly didn’t hesitate. She didn’t shake her hand. She pulled her into a tight, trembling hug.

“Thank you,” Molly whispered. “Thank you for saving my boy.”

———————————————————————

It wasn’t until much later - until the battle was over and Voldemort was gone - that George moved away from Percy and Bill and sat beside Fred on one of the dusty benches that lined the Great Hall.

He looked cautiously between his brother and the girl beside him. “Fred…” he said, slowly, cautiously. “Who…who is she really?”

Fred looked at her, the girl - his girl - and for the first time in his life, he didn’t flinch from the truth.

“It’s her,” he said. “The girl I told you about. The one I see in my dreams.”

It wasn’t a joke. Not a cheesy pick up line. Not an escape. It was the simplest and truest thing he’d ever said.

She laughed softly, and it was a tired, sad little sound. She let go of Fred’s hand so she could address the complete and utter confusion at Fred’s statement.

“I’m a dreamwalker,” she said quietly. “Didn’t know it at first. I found Fred by accident, years ago. And…I guess I kind of got stuck. I didn’t even know how to control it. Not for a long time.”

George blinked. “You were real? All that time?”

She nodded. “I didn’t even know if he was real. Or if I was losing my mind. But I kept going back. I couldn’t help it. Then…I learned how to control it.“

She trailed off and looked around the ruined hall, as if trying to make sense of it all.

“But how did you get here?” George questioned and added nodded.

“Actually that’s something I’d also like to know,” he agreed.

“I slipped my parents a sleeping draught and disabled the house’s enchantments and left. Made my way across the country. Didn’t quite know where I was headed, just that I wanted to help. Then I heard whispers,” she continued. “People talking about a secret organisation at Hogwarts that were fighting back. So I met a man named Aberforth. He put me up in a close by pub. He was the one who called me tonight. Told me if I wanted to fight, this was the time.”

Fred reached for her hand again. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m just glad you’re real,” George shook his head, still in a modicum of shock. “I thought this one had gone loony for years.”

———————————————————————

The long wooden table at the Burrow was packed elbow to elbow, alive with laughter and the clatter of dishes passed from hand to hand. George was arguing with Ron about something ridiculous - again. Ginny was teasing Percy for his new glasses. Charlie was deep in conversation with Harry while Bill and Hermione were discussing ministry work. Fleur was fussing over the newest Weasley, a beautiful baby girl. And Molly was trying to get everyone to eat more even though they were already stuffed.

Y/n sat nestled between Fred and Arthur, her plate stacked with homemade pie and roasted potatoes. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen and the warmth of the room. The Burrow smelled like bread and summer air and safety. It sounded like family.

“Merlin’s trousers, Mum, you’re trying to kill us with food,” George groaned, slumping back with one hand over his stomach.

“Oh hush,” Molly said, already scooping another helping of pudding onto his plate.

Y/n laughed softly and caught Fred watching her. He bumped her knee under the table and leaned over to murmur in her ear. “Fancy sneaking off?”

She glanced sideways at him, playful. “What, and miss pudding round two?”

“I’ve got something better,” he said, eyes sparkling.

He stood and gently took her hand. “Back in a bit,” he told his family casually, already tugging her toward the back door.

The garden had gone quiet under the fading sun. Fireflies blinked over the tall grass. They slipped past the coop, around the bend in the old fence, and into the overgrown trail that led to the crooked, half-falling-down tree house.

Except, it wasn’t falling down anymore.

She stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened. The tree house was glowing. Lanterns floated lazily around the branches, casting golden light across the wooden walls. The old rotten panels had been replaced with new ones. The disintegrating rope ladder gone with stairs in its place.

“You rebuilt it?” She exclaimed, running towards it excitedly and climbing the stairs two at a time.

Inside, a blanket was laid out. A small picnic of desserts spread across it - chocolate frogs, cream-filled pastries, strawberries, and two butterbeers clinking together in a bucket of cool water. There were flowers tucked into jars, and soft pillows in every corner.

Fred looked proud. A little sheepish. Nervous, maybe. He scratched the back of his neck. “Thought it was only fitting,” he said. “Because of, well, you know. All those nights in dreams. Figured it was time to make one real.”

She stepped inside slowly, awed. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “Freddie…” she said, stunned. “It’s amazing. Being here, at the Burrow, with your family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s like—” her voice caught, thick with emotion. “It’s like all my dreams have come true.”

He grinned, trying to keep it light. “Oi. You forgetting someone?”

She turned to him, amused. “Someone?”

He crossed his arms, mock offended. “Tall, handsome, hilarious redhead? Best beater in Britain? Your long-suffering dream companion?”

She nudged him playfully. “Oh, right. You. Of course you.”

He stepped closer. His voice dropped a little.“You know,” he said, tilting his head, “You are my dream girl.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she shook her head. “Fred…”

“What? It’s a line, yeah, but it’s a good one.”

She sat down on the blanket, pulling him with her. “You’re ridiculous,” she said.

He leaned closer, their knees touching, his voice softer now. “Maybe,” he said. “But it got you here, didn’t it?”

She looked up at him with stars shining brightly in her eyes. At the boy she met while asleep. The boy who built her a life in dreams until she had the courage to find one in the waking world.

“I was always coming to you,” she whispered. “Dream or not.”

He reached out, brushing her hair behind her ear. And under the lanterns, in the tree house that had once only existed in dreams, he kissed her.

Not because it was the end of something. But because it was just the beginning.

———————————————————————

The world was still a blur when Fred opened his eyes.

Well, one eye.

The other was bound tightly beneath gauze, the wrap tugging at his temple with every blink. The light above him was aggressively white, far too bright, as though it was trying to burn straight through his skull.

Everything was distant. Muffled. The sterile scent of antiseptic mixed with the faint copper tang of blood. Voices, somewhere nearby, a mediwitch speaking sharply, someone sobbing. Footsteps creaked across tile. The room tilted.

His arms felt like stone. His chest ached like he’d taken a Bludger to the ribs. Everything hurt.

But none of that mattered when his gaze caught movement beside him. Someone hunched over the bed, shaking.

And then he smiled.

A loopy, lopsided grin.

“Angel...” he croaked, voice rasping like gravel in his throat.

Your head jerked up.

You’d been curled there for hours, unwilling to leave his side even when they told you he wouldn’t wake for a while. Tear tracks were still fresh on your face, your eyes wide and glassy and raw.

“Fred?”

He blinked again, vision swimming. His eye fixed on your face like it was the only thing in the world that made any sense.

“Blimey…” he murmured, grinning broader now. “You’re beautiful. Am I in heaven?”

You let out a soft, strangled laugh, half a sob, half disbelief.

“No,” you breathed. “You’re in St. Mungo’s, you idiot. There was an explosion in the-”

Fred squinted. His brow furrowed.

“Oh yeah…” he mumbled, wincing as he shifted slightly. “Was it the Prototype 6.9? I told George not to combine it with Boom Berry powder, bloody volatile, that stuff…”

Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out for a beat.

Because that wasn’t what had happened.

That wasn’t this explosion.

He was talking about another one, months ago. A mishap in the backroom of the shop. A ceiling scorched, walls cracked, shelves overturned. It had taken two weeks and three repair charms to set it all right.

He was remembering that instead of this.

Instead of the war.

Instead of the final battle.

Instead of the castle collapsing around him, bricks and fire and curses tearing through the air.

You exhaled through your nose, fingers brushing through his fringe as you tried to anchor him. “That was you, Fred. You did that. You and George, you tested the prototype without labeling the powder. George swore he’d never let you near the cauldron again.”

Fred blinked again, confusion flickering behind his eyes. “Oh,” he muttered. “Right. Did I pass out?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because how could you tell him that he hadn’t just fainted in the shop?

How could you tell him that the last time you saw him, he’d been smiling in the Great Hall and then the world had cracked open, and part of the ceiling had come down in a thunderous roar, and someone screamed his name, and you’d run toward the rubble thinking, hoping, that you’d only find him bruised?

Molly burst into the room in that moment like her heart had just restarted. Arthur was at her shoulder, his face pale, drawn tight with emotion he rarely showed.

“Fred…” Molly whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh, Fredrick Gideon Weasley, don’t you ever, ever, do that to me again!”

She collapsed into the chair beside him, gripping his arm like she still couldn’t believe it was real. Her whole body shook with the sobs she’d been holding in for hours.

Fred looked over at her, baffled, his features still slack with groggy confusion.

“Mum? Did someone die?” he rasped, blinking like he was still waking from a dream. “You all look like someone died.”

You flinched.

So did George, standing just outside the door now, his knuckles white against the frame.

Fred’s words hung in the air like a cruel joke the universe didn’t have the guts to finish.

“George!”

Fred’s voice cracked through the stillness like a firework misfired in a library. The startled gasp around the room was immediate, even the Healer in the corner who nearly dropped a clipboard.

George was already at his side in seconds, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his bruised face breaking into a wild, trembling smile. “Yeah, it’s me, you prat,” he breathed.

Fred blinked blearily, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. Then, through the haze of potion and pain, he squinted.

“…Where’s your ear?”

George huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with the kind of sheepishness only a twin could pull off. “Long story.”

Fred stared a second longer, eyes scanning what parts of the room he could see, faces leaning over him, some red-eyed, some smiling through tears. He caught each one, naming them in a tired, raspy roll call.

“Mum.”

“Yes, baby, I’m here,” Molly choked, stumbling forward to clasp his arm with both hands. Her voice broke on the word baby, like it had been waiting years to be said again.

“Dad.”

Arthur leaned down to gently smooth Fred’s damp hair, his voice as soft as smoke. “I’m right here, son. You gave us quite the scare.”

Fred’s lips twitched, like his brain had caught up just enough to register everyone’s hovering, their hesitant smiles and the thick blanket of emotion hanging in the air.

He blinked. Then whispered, “Why are we whispering?”

The entire room erupted.

Laughter burst through the tension like a dam cracking, relieved, breathless, too-exhausted-to-care laughter. Molly broke into tears again, this time in the form of a wet giggle against Fred’s arm. Bill actually doubled over. Ron coughed into his fist to cover a snort. And George, still crouched beside the bed, pressed a hand over his mouth and wheezed so hard it looked like he might fall over.

You exhaled a watery breath, your head ducked slightly as your shoulders shook. Relief tasted like salt and felt like trembling joy.

Your hand was still resting on Fred’s chest, palm barely moving with each slow rise and fall. The other brushed gently through his curls, smoothing them back from his forehead, damp with sweat, sticky with potion mist and a faint burn salve. His skin was pale, but warm. His pulse, slow but steady beneath your fingertips.

And he was here.

Still half-drugged, still confused, but alive. Talking. Cracking jokes.

And you were just barely holding yourself together.

You didn’t dare speak. The lump in your throat had taken up permanent residence. Every time you tried to find words, all that came out was a whisper too soft to be heard, just comfort laced into touch, into quiet presence, into the way you curled protectively over him even now, as though shielding what was left of his strength with your own.

Molly stood close by, her hands wringing the hem of her cardigan, eyes locked on her son like she feared blinking might make him disappear. Arthur’s hand never left her back. And George…

George sat on the windowsill now, bruised and bandaged, a thin scratch curving just beneath his jaw, half of his hair still sticky with dried blood.

Fred shifted under your touch, his body twitching slightly as his lashes fluttered open again, eyes hazy, unfocused, and clearly still high as a broomstick in a windstorm.

“Mum,” he croaked, voice hoarse and bleary but unmistakably Fred, “why is this woman petting me? Where’s my wife?”

A beat of stunned silence, then the room erupted again

Stifled snorts, choked giggles, and not-so-quiet laughter spilled through every corner of the hospital room. Even Arthur had to cough into his fist. Bill turned away, shaking with laughter. And George nearly lost his balance against the window from how hard he was wheezing.

You choked on your own breath, caught between crying and cracking up. Your hands, still gently spread over Fred’s chest, trembled with the absurdity of it all. Of the fact that this disaster of a man was alive and still this ridiculous.

Molly, bless her ever-patient soul, leaned in with a smirk tugging at her mouth and whispered like it was a family joke passed down through generations.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Fred’s brows scrunched, that classic confusion squirming across his face. His head lolled toward your voice, though his gaze still struggled to land.

“My wife…” he repeated dreamily, his voice slurred like it was melting. “She’ll be furious if she sees you touching me like this… on the chest…”

George howled. Actually wheezed and slid down the wall, clutching his side, gasping for air.

You didn’t answer right away. Just kept stroking slow, calming circles over Fred’s heart as you leaned in a little closer, your voice soft, affectionate, laced with love and barely-stifled amusement.

“I am your wife, Freddie.”

His eyelids fluttered again. His eyes, still murky with potions, snapped open with sudden, laser-cut clarity. They flicked down to your hand, the familiar glint of his wedding ring catching the sterile light, then up to your face.

That infamous Fred Weasley spark.

That impish, unkillable glint of mischief that not even war, rubble, or death itself could smother.

“Oh.”

A beat passed.

Then the confusion melted. That signature grin slid into place like it had never left, slow and crooked and smug as sin.

“What’s up,” he said, like he hadn’t just woken from near-death. “Damn, I really did marry a goddess.”

The room roared with laughter.

George groaned dramatically, slumping against the wall like he’d taken a fatal blow. “He’s back,” he announced to no one in particular. “Merlin help us all.”

Fred tried to sit up, only to wince as his side pulled tight.

“Oi, easy now,” you scolded gently, pressing a hand to his chest to ease him back down. But the warning didn’t quite land, not with the way your grin stretched all the way across your face.

Fred beamed like he hadn’t just survived an explosion. He was glowing with mischief, alight with that unshakable, incorrigible spark that had always made him half menace, half miracle.

Later that evening, after the room had cleared and he was tucked into a hospital gown, color slowly returning to his face, legs propped up beneath a transfigured cushion, Fred sipped his pumpkin juice like it was vintage champagne.

Within hours, every floor of St. Mungo’s knew.

He’d woken up from near-death, accused his own wife of adultery, and called himself a war hero, all before breakfast.

And Fred?

Oh, Fred thrived in it.

“Must’ve thought my wife was an angel,” he told every healer, every visitor, every passing intern who dared make eye contact. “She was glowing, I tell you. Petting me like a dying hero.” he placed a dramatic hand to his heart. 

Sunlight filtered through the white curtains, casting a golden glow over the room where you and Fred lay tangled beneath soft sheets. His head rested in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning against your skin as you lazily traced patterns into the freckled expanse of his back. The world outside was quiet save for the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore. Peace. Pure, perfect peace.

Until it wasn’t.

With a burst of energy only Weasley twins possessed, the door slammed open. The newly appointed Weasley twins—Jane and Henry—launched themselves onto the bed with gleeful squeals, sending Fred jolting upright, hair tousled and eyes bleary.

“M’sorry, lovey,” you mumbled and pressed a kiss to his head as he groaned in mock agony. You reached for the two lively children, pulling them into your arms. “Now how did you two escape Nana and Papa?”

“They were busy making breakfast for us!” Jane answered with a bright grin, laughter filling the air when Fred began to tickle her. She squealed, squirming in your arms. “Daddy!”

You chuckled softly before turning your head toward Henry, his laughter quieter than his twin’s. You nudged your chin to his forehead, earning his attention. “Are you excited to head to the beach, Henry?”

He shifted in your arms and nodded, his browns eyes—the same one’s his father had—sparkling with excitement. “Yes! I’m gonna build the biggest sandcastle in the world! It’s gonna be bigger than the Burrow!”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, Jane now in his arms and messing with his hair. “Bigger than the Burrow? Mate, we better get to the beach now before other people begin taking all the sand!”

Henry’s mouth fell agape, voice coming out as loud as his father’s. “People do that?”

You suppressed your laughter as Fred dramatically described his story about his vacation to Egypt when he was fifteen—slipping out of bed to get for the day for Godric knows how long the twins will encourage their father to keep talking.

By the time you exited the bathroom with the white sundress Fred bought you just for Greece and hair pulled back—still styled perfectly like usual—Henry was sitting crisscrossed on your side of the bed still listening to his father while Jane finished another braid in his hair. As always, Fred remained unbothered by anything his children did to his hair, especially the braids his daughter adorned him with.

“—And your uncle Georgie and I could’ve trapped your uncle Perce in the tomb when…” Fred trailed off as he saw you step out of the bathroom and began to pack for the beach. His eyes scanned your figure before meeting your eyes, your warmed cheeks saying unspoken things. “Bloody hell, your mum’s gorgeous.”

At the mention of their mother’s return, the twins whipped their heads in your direction, clambering over the bed to race into your loving arms one more. You stumbled at the sudden impact and held them close, your smile absolutely blinding to Fred.

“You two need to get out of your jammies and into beach clothes,” you squeezed their shoulders and ushered them out of the room swiftly, tilting your head out the doorway to ensure they made it to their room before turning back to Fred. “You need to change too, Weasley.”

Snapping out of his quiet daze, he finally stood and stretched like a lion, freckles that were scattered across his body practically glittering from the rays of sunlight. He met your stern look—the one where you narrowed your eyes at him with your hands on your hips—and placed a large hand on your waist, pulling you close to him.

Keeping your facade up, you bite your tongue in hopes of not letting a smile slip through. However, nothing ever gets past Fred Weasley’s careful eye.

“I suppose,” he murmured and tilted his head down to meet your eyes properly, squeezing your hip softly.

You subconsciously wet your lips and flit your eyes down to his inviting lips—instantly lifting them back to meet his teasing eyes. “Better hurry if you want to help Henry make his sandcastle.”

Fred hummed and thumbed your waist, “Sure.”

Finally giving in, you wrapped your arms around his neck as a loving smile adorned your face, pushing on your toes to be closer. You play with the hair in your reach, twirling the red hair in between your fingers. “I love you, Fred Weasley. I hope you know that.”

He grinned and closed the distance between the two of you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. Fred deepened the kiss ever so slightly before pulling away, leaving you in a daze and wanting more.

“I love you a helluva lot more,” he looked between your eyes and slowly release you from his hold. “I’ll see you in a minute, gorgeous.”

“You make me swoon,” you tease lightly as you moved around him to exit the room, jokingly glaring at him when he smacked your ass on the way out.

The morning sun continued to stream through the windows as the Weasley family gathered around the kitchen table, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of Molly’s famous pancakes and Arthur’s perfectly brewed tea. Jane and Henry were already seated in front of their breakfast with the kind of enthusiasm only children could muster, syrup somehow already smeared across their cheeks when their father entered the kitchen.

And indeed, Fred Weasley indeed made you swoon.

When he wandered into the kitchen with the bag you packed for the beach, you felt your face heat up at the sight. He wore his light blue summer shirt that complimented his features beautifully—you honestly weren’t sure if he was a greek statue brought to life.

“Mum, you’re gonna cut into the plate.” Jane giggled and stopped your movements, tilting her head when you snapped your attention back to her food. “What’re you staring at daddy for?”

“Why are you being nosy?” Fred poked his daughter’s back, smiling when she laughed at the familiar feeling. “Mum can stare at me all she wants.”

Fred slid into the seat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair as he leaned in to whisper, “You know, I could get used to this. Waking up to you, the kids, and a view like that.” He gestured toward the window, where the sparkling Aegean Sea stretched out endlessly, its waves glinting like diamonds under the morning sun.

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Ten years of this, and you’re just now getting used to it?” You teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Ten years of this,” he echoed, his voice softening as his gaze met yours. “And I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Jane scrunched her nose in playful disgust, stuffing her mouth with a fork full of pancakes with blueberries. “Ew, Daddy. You’re so mushy.”

Fred gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she had wounded him. “Mushy? Me? I’m the definition of ruggedly handsome, Jane.”

Henry, still munching on a piece of cut up banana, giggled and shook his head. “Mum thinks you’re handsome, but you’re just silly.”

You smirked and took a sip of your tea as your kids argued with their father, knowing they were an exact replica of him. You sighed and rested a hand over your stomach, holding back a laugh when Jane stuck her tongue out at Fred.

“I happen to like silly.” You added as Fred stuck his tongue out at his daughter, making you roll your eyes in amusement.

Fred locked eyes with you and waggled his eyebrows. “I guess you're lucky too, love, because you’re stuck with me.”

The morning passed in the easy rhythm of family life—Molly and Arthur doting on their grandchildren, Fred entertaining the twins with wild hand gestures as he retold stories—this time slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect—and you soaking in every moment.

By late morning, you made your way to the beach, the golden sand warm beneath your toes. The twins raced ahead, kicking up tiny clouds of sand as they shrieked with joy. Fred, carrying the beach bag, walked beside you, fingers loosely laced with yours.

“You happy, love?” He asked, squeezing your hand gently.

You turned your face up to the sun, the salty breeze playing with your hair, and sighed contentedly. “More than I ever thought possible.”

Fred grinned and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple before lifting his voice. “Alright, team! Let’s build a sandcastle bigger than the Burrow!”

Henry and Jane cheered, already digging into the sand with determination.

You knelt beside them as you set up the blanket on the sand, laughter bubbling from your lips as Fred made a show of supervising, hands on his hips like some kind of foreman. The hours passed in golden warmth, filled with playful splashes in the sea, shrieks of delight as Fred tossed the kids into the waves, and soft, stolen kisses between you and your husband when the twins weren’t looking.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow, the four of you sat before your grand sandcastle—an uneven, slightly lopsided but utterly magnificent creation.

Jane leaned against you sleepily, her damp, red-curls sticking to her forehead. “This was the best day ever,” she murmured, yawning.

Henry nodded in agreement, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Yeah… Can we do this every year?”

You glanced at Fred, your heart swelling at the sight of him watching your children with so much love it was almost tangible. He met your eyes and smiled, the same boyish, mischievous grin you’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Every single year,” Fred promised, voice full of warmth.

You lean closer to him and give him a quick kiss, eyes shining with your own secret. “Maybe with one more addition to the family,” you whisper.

His eyes widened and looked down toward your stomach, grin widening when you nodded. He pulled you closer to him, in return pulling the sleepy twins along.

And in that moment—with your family nestled together, the waves whispering their lullaby, and the sky painted in fiery shades of orange and pink—you knew that love, real love, was absolutely endless.

Those were the first words Fred Weasley ever spoke to you. He’d been walking down the hall when he saw your books fall to the ground. And despite being eleven years old, and one half of the known prankster team in your year, he was helpful. 

“Sorry,” you apologised, for reasons unknown to Fred. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

After he introduced himself to you and asked your name, those kinds of interactions became common between you and Fred. When you were knocked over by a bunch of ignorant eleven year olds, Fred would help you. 

He watched you for a while, too. Not in a creepy way or anything. He just…noticed you.

He noticed the way you stayed quiet, but always had the right answers written down. He noticed how your eyes would scan the whole of the Great Hall before taking a seat far away from others. He noticed how you pretended not to notice the funny looks people gave you. 

He also noticed how you seemed to talk more with the older students than with students your own age. 

As the years went on, he saw your confidence grow. You grew closer to him and his brother – which was mostly due to the fact that they came running over to you at least four times a term asking for help before they were kicked off the Quidditch team for terrible exam results. 

But, despite the growing changes Fred saw in you, you somehow remained a mystery to him. 

“Oi!” Fred heard his brother just before he felt a ball of parchment hit his head. “Where the hell were you?”

“I’m here. What?”

George looked towards Ron and Harry, before looking towards Hermione with a nod. “Told you. He’s off in dream land.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you bloody well are!” Ron exclaimed. “You’ve been ignoring me for the last five minutes.”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear brother. But that was intentional.”

As Ron’s face dropped, George stood with a laugh. “Don’t take it to heart, Ron. Freddie here just doesn’t want to admit he’s dreaming of Y/n. He does have a massive crush on her, afterall.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!” The Golden trio announced along with George. 

In a rare occasion, Fred couldn’t think of a comeback so fell back into the wooden chair he was lounging in. 

“Come on, Fred. You can admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit, Harry. I do not have a crush on Y/n.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Hermione asked. 

Fred just went redder. “I-I’m not. You’re just seeing things. It’s warm in here. The fire is too hot.”

“The fire’s not even lit.” Ron pointed out, causing Fred to look over his shoulder. 

“Oh,” he said, a little dejected before turning back with full confidence. “The sentiment still stands.”

“Just admit it, you were thinking about Y/n. It’s okay, Fred. It’s just us.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Fred said. “Because I wasn’t thinking about Y/n.”

“Me thinks you doth pretest too much, brother.”

George just got the screwed up parchment launched back at his own head. 

Hermione chuckled. “Come on, Fred. Please. Please just tell us. You’ve been sitting here and barely said two words all day.”

Fred sighed, laying his head back. “She’s still a mystery.”

“Ooh.”

This time Hermione threw a withering look to all three boys who shut up the minute they saw it. George even sat down. 

“Go on, Fred.”

Fred sighed once more. “It’s been nearly six years, and she’s still a mystery.”

George shrugged. “So? That’s just..her.”

“But she shouldn’t be! Not to me!” Fred exclaimed. 

“Even married couples still learn things about each other when they’ve been married for fifty years,” Ron pointed out. “Look at mum and dad.”

“Mum and dad haven’t been married for fifty years.”

Ron shrugged. “Still.”

Fred looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “There’s something else.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked, looking just as worried as the others.

“In potions class today…I could smell her.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “Bit weird but…okay?”

“This isn’t some kind of werewolf trait, is it?”

George sighed, as did Hermione. “Ron.”

“No, you silly git. Don’t you think we’d know if Fred was a werewolf?” George shook his head. 

“Then what’s the big deal? Maybe she was wearing more perfume than usual?”

“You were making Amortentia, weren’t you?” Hermione asked. 

Harry leaned closer. “What- What is that?”

She turned to him. “Love potion. It’s meant to smell different to each person based on what they find most attractive. We won't learn it for another few years.”

Harry looked to Fred. “And you smelled…Y/n?”

Fred groaned and smacked his hands over his face. 

“So what did she smell like?” Ron asked, only to be hit by Hermione. 

“Ron. Fred doesn’t have to keep talking about it, if he doesn’t want to.”

“Freddie?”

Eventually, Fred answered. “Midnight. She smells of midnight. And stardust.”

“So what’s the big deal?” 

“I don’t know why.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “Well, she’s a Ravenclaw, right? They’re up in the Astronomy tower. It’s probably just that. But I wouldn’t worry too much about what she smells like, or why. If I were you, I’d be more focused on the fact that it’s Y/n you associate Amortentia with.”

“Hermione’s right, Fred.” George added. “You won’t be able to ignore her forever.”

“Who says I’m ignoring her?”

George’s face dropped as if to say, “Seriously?”. 

“You practically flew out of Snape’s classroom. You usually sit together at dinner. Instead, you’ve been hiding out here all afternoon.”

Fred knew his brother was right. And he knew Hermione was right, too. 

So, between the tossing and turning in his bed later that night, Fred decided to do what he usually did when he couldn’t sleep. Take a walk around the castle. 

And, for whatever reason. Call it a calling, call it fate, call it an accident; Fred found himself inside the Astronomy tower just as the bells of the clock tower started tolling twelve. 

“What are you doing here?”

Walking around the circle, Fred found the owner of the voice sitting on the edge of the stone window, encapsulated in the glow of the moonlight. 

It was you. 

“Decided to take a walk,” Fred told you. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

“I’m never asleep before midnight. Sometimes I think it’s a curse,” you chuckled. “But then I get to witness things like this and…” You took in a breath as you looked out to the night sky. “I realise just how lucky I am.”

“How poetic.”

You laughed softly as Fred took a seat directly in front of you, one leg bent up on the stone ledge. 

“I didn’t see you today,” you said, looking back towards him. “At dinner. I got worried.”

“Oh, y-yeah. I just…fell asleep in my common room.”

You chuckled once more. “Should have guessed. You did run out of Snape’s classroom pretty quickly, too.”

“Oh, you were there?” Fred faked. Of course he knew you were in that classroom. You would have been partners if Snape hadn’t decided to set the pairs himself. “I-I guess I didn’t see you.”

“I guess so,” you hummed. 

You might be a mystery to Fred, but even he knew when you knew something was up. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked him. “With you? With us? With…anything?”

Fred nodded quickly. “What? Oh, yeah! Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it?”

“Just a feeling…” you said, mostly to yourself but he heard you. 

You might not ask him that night, but you would eventually. And, whenever that day would come, Fred would have to be more prepared and much more convincing before you’d stop worrying over him. 

Only, the more he tried to ignore it, the worse things seemed to get. 

“You know, for being a Gryffindor, you really are a coward,” George told his brother as Fred jumped to hide behind the small stone wall. Fred had spotted you turning the corner, deep in conversation with a Third Year Slytherin student. “Just tell her how you feel.”

“No!” Fred exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “Why-” Fred ducked again until you were clear out of sight. Thankfully, George came through, acting like he was reading back through the Charms essay he’d received back barely an hour ago. 

“Why would I tell her when it could ruin everything?” Fred finally asked his brother. “She’s my friend.”

George nodded. “It still makes you a coward.”

Fred just groaned. “Look at her. She’s gorgeous.” 

George followed Fred’s line of sight which landed on you just before you turned into your next classroom, the Slytherin student rushing down the hall to their own lecture before they were late. 

George nodded and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And all you have to do is tell her.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, we’re gonna graduate and you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life. Especially since she is the reason why we’re able to graduate in the first place.”

Fred groaned. He knew George was right. He just wished he wasn’t. 

“Hey,” you smiled as you took a seat across from Fred. 

He felt flustered, trying his best to hide the heat he could feel spreading across his cheeks. “Hi.”

“Not running away today, I see.”

“R-running?”

“Or hopping over stone walls.”

Fred felt guilty. Extremely guilty. “I-I wasn’t-”

“Relax,” you smiled. “You don’t have to explain it to me. But, as much as you’re still trying to avoid me, I would like to make one thing clear.”

Fred swallowed, hard. 

“I still care about your education. And, so does George. So.” From your bag, you pulled a notebook of revision notes. Colour coded, sectioned and detailed. 

Sliding it across the desk to Fred, he took it carefully. “Everything you need to know for the mocks is in there. And, don’t worry. It’s prank proof. Copying spells did the trick. If you get lost, just come and find me. Or George. I gave him a copy, too.”

As quick as you’d appeared in front of him, you left. And he was barely able to get the words, “Thank you,” and “I’m not ignoring you. I am actually madly in love with you and don’t know how to tell you,” out. 

“Hey!” Hermione called over to him. “Follow her!”

Whatever courage and determination was in Hermione’s voice as she whisper-yelled at him, seemed to transfer over to him. Only, as he managed to catch up to you in the hallway, he wasn’t aware that his heart was just about to be ripped out…because of his own choices. 

“Y/n, wait. I-I should have said something back there-”

Turning around, you looked at him with a knowing smile. “Look, you don’t have to worry about it Fred. I promise.”

“Wo…worry about what?”

With a hardened breath, you sighed. “I know what I’m like. I live with myself 24/7,” you chuckled to yourself. “Course’ I know what I’m like. My point is, it’s okay if you don’t want to be friends with me. I can be…a lot. I know I can be a lot. So, if you’ve been ignoring me because you don’t want to be friends anymore, then…that’s okay.”

“W-what?”

“To be honest, it’s not the first time it’s happened. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. But, again, that’s okay. I’m used to it. So…I’m here if you need help. Same goes for George and the others. But, if you feel any obligation to be my friend because of that, it’s okay. There’s no need.”

“Y/n…”

Again, you smiled. But Fred could see the pain masked behind it. “I hope the best for you, Fred. Truly. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that…

You were gone. 

“And that was it?” Arthur asked from the fire. 

Fred nodded. “What do I do, dad? She won’t talk to me. She thinks I find her…annoying. So she’s taken to ignoring me…for me. But I don’t! I don’t find her annoying.”

“Then tell her, son.” Arthur said. “Look, women can be…tricky. Wonderful, but tricky. Even after more than a thousand years, we still haven’t figured out what the right thing to do is. My advice is…be yourself. You say she knows you?”

Fred nodded. “Before I even do, sometimes. Most of the time.”

“Then she’ll see the real you. All you have to do is show her.”

“Alright.”

Arthur smiled. “It’ll work out in the end, son.”

It took some time, but eventually Fred figured out what to do. 

“Figured I might find you here.”

Looking over from where you were sitting, you were a little shocked. “Fred.”

“I wondered if we could talk?”

Moving your legs from the stone edge, you nodded as he sat down. “Is everything okay?”

“Actually…no. It’s not.”

Fred had always been honest with you. Mostly because you could see right through his lies. So, instead of hiding the truth, why not give you a break from trying to read him? Why not just…come out with it?

“Oh?”

It had been killing Fred ignoring you. But, knowing you were letting him go, free of guilt, because you thought he didn’t want to be your friend? At the same time, telling him you’d be there for him when he needed help despite it all? 

That hurt him more than anything else. 

“You were wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“About you and me. Well, I guess just…me. I wasn’t ignoring you because I didn’t want to be friends with you anymore. Or because I find you annoying. Or whatever reason you managed to cook up in that head of yours. I was ignoring you because…Merlin, this sounds so stupid,” Fred said to himself before taking a breath. 

“Something happened…and it reminded me of you. And that…that scared me. A lot more than anything else ever has. Because we’re friends. Because I consider you to be…well, my best friend.” He quickly added, “Please don’t tell George.”

The light smile that passed by your lips helped relieve some of the weight off Fred’s shoulders. “I swear.”

“And that’s not just because you help me. Or because you help George.” Fred explained. “You’re my friend because I can trust you. You’re not my friend because of what you can do for me, Y/n. You’re my friend because of who you are. And…I want you to know that.”

Relaxing a little, Fred caught a small glimpse of the weight you had been carrying since the beginning. “Thank you, Fred. That…that means more than you could know.”

“I should hex anyone who made you feel like you could only be their friend because you did something for them,” Fred grumbled. 

You chuckled, reaching out for him. “I appreciate that, but I’m better off without them. After all, if I’d stuck by them, I never would have dropped by books outside of class. And you never would have helped.”

Fred’s gaze softened. “You remember when we met?”

You nodded. “Of course, I do.”

Fred gave a smile as you smiled at him, so certain in your memory, it was almost like it was settled inside your bones, too. 

“Mind me asking what it was that scared you?”

Fred’s smile faltered. “I think I’d like to keep that to myself. For now, at least.” Gently, he lay a reassuring hand on your arm. “But, I promise, when I’m ready, I’ll tell you.”

You gave him a gracious but understanding smile. “I can live with that.”

“Thank you.”

For the rest of the night, you and Fred sat on the edge of the Astronomy tower, watching the stars, moon and planets align. And, watching an unknown smile spread across your face, Fred smiled, too. 

He finally knew why you always smelled of Midnights and Stardust. 

Watching the moonbeams cast their familiar glow over your body, Fred watched as small freckles of what could only be considered stardust danced around you. It lifted a glow from you that made him thankful he got to see you like this. 

Peaceful, quiet, but steady. There. As a constant. Not just because you were in his life. But because you were practically written in the stars; made out of the very things themselves. 

“I guess I’ll see you next year?” You asked as everyone stood on the platform, getting ready to board the train back home. 

Fred’s brows twitched. “What’s this about next year? Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

Since the night in the Astronomy tower a few months ago, things had been smoother. Much smoother. Fred hadn’t told you what it was that had scared him, but you were just thankful to have your friend back. 

“What?”

“You’re coming with us,” George said as he stepped behind his brother and boarded the train. 

Watching him confused, you looked back at Fred who just smiled before following his brother. 

“Wait!”

Finally catching up to them and taking your usual seat in their compartment, you looked between both of them. 

“What do you say George? Should we tell her?”

“Tell me what?”

George looked at you with a coy smile. “I don’t know, Fred. Is she ready?”

“Tell me what?”

“Maybe we should-”

You groaned. “Oh, for the love of- tell me before I hex your hair green!”

George shrugged. “I dunno. Think I might suit green.”

“Guys!”

They broke out into laughter. “Okay, okay. Wand away. You’re coming home with us.”

“What? But-”

Fred shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s all sorted. I had Ginny write to your folks, and I wrote to mum. You’re gonna stay with us for a few weeks. Get the true Weasley experience.”

You pulled back a little, worry clear on your face. “Fourth year wasn’t the true experience?”

Both boys smiled at the memory of their epic pranks that landed them in multiple hours of detention in which you tutored them and found out more than you’d have liked to have known about, well…everything. 

“You have no idea,” they both told you. 

One week staying at the Weasley’s told you everything you needed to know about Fred and George as brothers. And, overall, it was a ten star experience. 

Mrs and Mr Weasley loved all their children something fierce, even if each of them did get into trouble every now and again. 

You got to witness the Quidditch strengths of Ginny when the boys weren’t around. Though you’d never tell anyone other than Mrs Weasley and Ginny herself, you wouldn’t be surprised if one day Ginny became a star player. 

Each night, Mr Weasley called you into the sitting room to ask you all about the functions and abilities of muggle items. From a rubber duck and a rotary phone, to an electric stand mixer and a magic erase board. 

“How fascinating!”, seemed to be his favourite saying of all. 

“Bet you don’t get to see this many stars in the city,” Fred said as he approached you. 

You’d been laying outside for hours. In the summer, Mrs and Mrs Weasley left the kids to their own devices, however still maintained the rules of being quiet and safe once they themselves went to bed. 

You shook your head. “Nope.”

Where you lived, there was far too much light pollution to let you look up and see the moon and the stars. But at Hogwarts in the Astronomy tower, or outside The Burrow, you could see for miles. 

Fred joined you on the grass which was somehow still warm from the day’s burning sun. 

For a while, you pointed out the constellations to him, oblivious to the fact he could barely tear his eyes from you. 

All the pictures in the sky didn’t beat the kind of stardust you were made out of. 

Out of the blue, you reached for Fred’s hand and held it tight before you turned to look at him. Merlin…if you weren’t the most beautiful person he’d ever met…

“Thank you for inviting me to stay here…with you.”

Fred just smiled. “Any time. The Burrow suits you.”

“It suits you, too.”

Fred chuckled. “It is my home.”

Shoving him a little, you looked back to the sky. “You know what I mean.”

Fred smiled, lightly, still unable to tear his eyes from you. “Yeah. I do.”

You didn’t realise until Fred was lifting you in his arms that you’d even fallen asleep beside him. “Come on, sleepy head. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I can walk,” you said, quietly, still half asleep. 

“And I have two arms,” Fred pointed out. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

And that he did. 

Waking up in the morning, you walked down the stairs behind Ginny. If you hadn’t woken up enough to register that Fred was carrying you back inside, you’d have had no recollection of ever coming inside at all. 

You trusted Fred. 

You trusted Fred enough to listen to him, and fall straight back to sleep. 

“Morning sleepy heads,” Fred smiled behind his cup of tea. 

“Ooh, somebody was fighting in their sleep.” George teased Ginny. 

“Shut up.”

“Uh-oh, somebody put on some coffee.”

Ginny just grunted as she passed her brothers to get to the tea pot. 

“How’d you sleep?” Fred asked you quietly as you took a seat beside him. 

“Better than ever,” you answered truthfully back to him. 

You watched as he looked over his shoulder, grabbing the newspaper from the kitchen counter. Your eyes couldn’t leave him. For a guy that looked like he’d just woken up himself, he did look handsome. 

Swiftly looking away before George and Ginny caught you checking out their brother, you looked at the cup of tea Ginny placed in front of you. 

“Thanks.”

“So,” George smiled. “What are the plans for today?”

Ginny groaned again. “You’re far too awake for this time in the morning.” Quickly, she fell onto your shoulder and closed her eyes again. 

With a small chuckle, you patted her cheek twice. “You can go back to bed, Gin.”

You felt her shake her head. “I don’t want to miss out on the bacon.”

Barely five minutes passed before the rest of the Weasley children who still lived at home came tumbling down the stairs, along with Molly and Arthur who started breakfast. 

“Have a good day, dear,” Mrs Weasley kissed her husband goodbye for the day just as you heard all her children groan. 

“You’ll be lucky one day to find someone you can kiss good day to.” Mrs Weasley told them all. 

“I think I’d rather be sick.”

“Just because you don’t have someone you’re madly in love with,” Fred said. 

“What? And you do?”

Most of the kitchen fell silent, everyone looking at each other. Was there something you’d missed? 

Fred just cleared his throat awkwardly and shook his newspaper open. “N-No.”

“What?” Ron seemed confused. “What about-”

“Hey!” George called out. “Who wants some tea?”

Everyone held up their cups, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall onto Fred who suddenly couldn’t make eye-contact. 

Did he like someone?

And he didn’t tell you?

He’d told you about the other crushes, so why not this particular someone he was ‘madly in love with’?

“Who is it?” You asked, finally getting George on his own. 

“What?”

“Who is it that Fred is in love with?”

“Fred’s in love with someone?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. I can see right through you, Weasley.”

“Wasn’t aware I was a ghost.”

Hitting him lightly on the back of his head, you placed your hands on your hips and waited. 

“Okay. Maybe I know something. But…it’s not my place to tell you. You’re gonna have to ask Fred.”

You gave a short sigh. 

“Besides, I didn’t think you were one to snoop. Maybe we’re finally being a bad influence on you.”

“How come he’s not told me about this one?” You asked George. “He’s told me about the others.”

Standing from the small patch of dirt where he’d been digging up some veg for his mother, George leaned down to you. “I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.”

As you watched George walk away, smug as fuck, you felt more confused than ever. “What the hell does that mean?”

It took you until the end of week two of your stay at the Burrow before you gave up, knocking on Fred’s bedroom door and asking him outright. 

Of course, he denied it. 

But you pursued. 

“Were you always this annoyingly persistent?” Fred asked you as you followed him up into the attic to grab some fresh sheets. A task you’d volunteered to help him with when his mother asked him to do so. 

“Yes.” You answered abruptly. “But you love me for it.”

“Don’t I know it,” Fred mumbled under his breath, too quiet for you to hear. 

“Come on. Just tell me. Please?”

“No! Because there is nothing to tell. If I were madly in love with someone – as you say – you would be the first to know.”

You just hummed. 

“Why won’t you believe me?” Fred laughed. 

“Because I know you, Fredrick Weasley.”

Fred sighed. “Please. Not the full name.”

“I can add a middle one to it.”

Fred stopped in his tracks and tried to glare at you. “You don’t even know it.”

“I asked you mum the first day I came.”

Fred glared again, trying to call your bluff. “No, you didn’t.”

“Wanna bet, Frederick Gid-”

“Alright! You’ve made your point.”

“Ah-ha! So there is someone! I knew it!”

Fred couldn’t help but smile at your sense of achievement. 

“So? Who is it?”

Fred paused for a moment. He could tell you the truth. Or…

“I’ll let you figure that one out yourself.” He smiled before brushing past you and heading up the stairs, past Ron’s room. 

“Oh, come on! No fair!”

You heard him laugh again. “Come on. We better get these sheets before mum has our heads.”

“You mean yours.”

“Why just mine?”

“Because she asked you.”

Fred turned around on the step to look at you. Despite the height difference already, Fred leaned down a little more since you were on the step below him. “And you volunteered.”

“Please. She knows the attic freaks me out. She knows I just came up here to interrogate you.”

Fred gasped before turning around. “Fraud!”

“At least I own it.”

“Maybe George was right. We are a bad influence on you.”

By the time you both got back downstairs, Fred was still swiping the cobwebs away from your hair and back, you’d both come to find out that sleeping arrangements had changed for the evening. 

With Bill and Flur in town for the weekend, it meant Ginny’s room was being taken over. And, although Percy’s room remained open, it was only big enough for one person. 

But, along with both yours and Ginny’s fear of the attic, it meant a switch-around was taking place. 

And somehow or other, it landed with you and Fred being situated together. 

“Seriously, Mrs Weasley, I can just go home and save you all of this trouble.”

“Nonsense, dear. We’d be switching around whether you were here or not. It’s all worked out. Ginny will bunk with Ron – Harry won’t be here for another couple of days. He’s visiting his godfather. But his bed is still set up. Ginny can take that. George can take Percy’s room. And, you and Fred can share the Twins room. Well, what’s left of it. 

The suitcase was too big and heavy to fit into Ginny’s room with both Bill and Flur. So that was taking up most of George’s side of the room. 

But Molly did manage to push the beds together. 

“Don’t worry, Y/n.” George smiled as he passed you, far too happy to have his own room for the night. “He doesn’t snore. Too badly.”

“Oi!” Fred shouted before running after his brother. 

“It’s only for a few nights,” Molly assured you. “No need to run home, dear.”

“Are you asleep?”

You’d been staring at the ceiling for the last three hours, tracing the firework burns on the ceiling. “Nope.”

“This is kinda awkward.”

“Yep.”

“Sorry,” Fred apologised. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not you.”

Fred heard something in your tone. “Then what is it?”

You swallowed hard, trusting your gut to tell him, despite what your head was yelling. “I, uh…I’ve never slept in the same bed as someone before so…this hasn’t really been a problem before.”

“What is it?” Fred asked, his voice in a hushed whisper. “Do you snore?”

You chuckled quietly, but it soon disappeared. “No. No, I…Sometimes I have nightmares. They’re…they’re nothing too bad. It’s just…look, when I was ten, I was at a sleepover and I had one and…well, I got kicked out. It was three in the morning and my friend’s mum called my mum to come and pick me up. I said I was okay, but she wasn’t happy I’d woken her or her daughter up so I had to get out.” You felt just brave enough to look at Fred. “And I’ve never had one since.”

“A nightmare?”

“A sleepover.”

Fred furrowed his brows. “What about Ginny?”

You shook your head. “She doesn’t know. But…they haven’t happened yet. I just…I’m worried it’ll happen tonight,”

“And you think I’ll kick you out?”

You shrugged. “It’s just…I dunno.”

Fred, taking your hand gently in his, made you look at him. “Hey,” he said softly. “If you have a nightmare, I’ll stay with you. I won’t kick you out.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I promise.”

You couldn’t find the words, but you swallowed nervously then nodded. “Okay.”

“Alright. Try and get some sleep. No doubt mum will be up at, like, four anyway to clean.”

You chuckled, turning over before saying goodnight to Fred. 

For the first two nights, nothing happened. 

But, after a day of Quidditch before teaching the entire Weasley family some ‘Muggle’ school yard games, a full meal and even an introductory round to ‘Muggle Pictionary’, you were exhausted. 

Which meant that you got the deepest sleep of your life. 

And also a nightmare that wasn’t the kindest to your imagination. 

Shooting up in bed, you felt a cold sweat running over your entire body. Your heartbeat was going so fast, you didn’t know if it was actually beating. And then you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

A gasp left your lungs as you turned in the moonlit shadows to see Fred sat up in bed, too. 

“Fred?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was soft, if a little worried. “I’m here. What’s-”

Suddenly, you wrapped your arms around him. “You’re alive.”

Fred didn’t question what you said, out loud. Instead, he just held onto you tighter, feeling your heartbeat and breathing eventually calm down to match his. 

Once it finally did, he leaned you back with him, keeping his arms around you. 

“I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Hearing his voice as a mantra in your head, you eventually managed to fall back asleep, only waking up when you heard Fred’s bedroom door quietly shut with a click and a set of footsteps disappearing down the hall. 

But when you eventually opened your eyes, you found Fred in front of you. His arms still wrapped around you, your legs intertwined with his own. 

That was when everything from the night before flashed across your head, giving you the worst headache in ages. 

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked you. 

You closed your eyes, “Like I was hit by a train.”

Lifting his hand, he laid it on the side of your head. It blocked out some of the light flooding in from his window which helped. 

“Thanks.”

“Wanna talk about it? According to dad’s muggle book, it’s better to talk about it than bottle it up.”

You nodded. “I don’t think you wanna know about this one.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t wanna even know about this one.”

“Hey,” Fred said, softly. “I’m right here. It was just a nightmare. Tell me about it. Please?”

“You were in it,” you told him. “And it wasn’t good.”

“Anymore?”

Taking a steadier breath than last night, you told him everything. From waking up on the floor of the Forbidden Forest, to finding your wand broken by your side. You told him about how you knew someone was after you so you started running. Someone hit you on the back of your head and you woke up in a dungeon. 

From there, you were physically dragged by your hair back through the forest, watching people scream for their lives before an executioner came along. By the time you were thrown to the edge of the forest, you saw everyone lined up on an executioner platform. 

From a masked man, you were given the option; give yourself up, or watch them die one by one. 

You screamed for the first option but the masks just smiled and started killing people anyway. The others went by quickly, but they took their time when it came to Fred. You were screaming until there was no voice left in your lungs. 

“I woke up just as they killed me.”

Fred took a breath and hugged you. “Told you, you didn’t wanna know.”

Fred shook his head as he held you. “I’m sorry the nightmare gods put you through that. Are they always that bad?”

You swallowed again before pulling back to look at him. “That’s been the worst one.”

Brushing the hair from your face, Fred leaned his forehead against your own and closed his eyes along with you. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. And that we’re both alive.”

“So am I.”

For the first time as you looked at Fred, you felt the room fall static. The noise from downstairs disappeared, the birds that were singing outside became white noise. All you were aware of was the feeling of Fred’s hands against your face and lower back. And the fact your legs were still completely tangled with his own. 

Your heartbeat started picking up, and for once, it wasn’t due to a nightmare. 

But, just as you felt yourself shift a little closer as Fred’s eyes flicked between your own and your lips, a large crash came to the window. 

Errol. 

And then the door to Fred’s room burst open. 

Both you and Fred shot up in bed, separating yourselves from each other swiftly. 

“What the-”

“Good morning, love birds. And Errol.” 

“George,” Both you and Fred groaned as he waltzed over to the window.

“Don’t mind me, just collecting today’s post.” George smiled, clearly knowing he’d interrupted something. “Y/n, there’s one for you.”

“Thanks.” 

George threw the letter over to you before taking the rest of the post out of the room with him. 

“At least close-” George turned back as he heard Fred’s voice. 

“Sorry. As you were, love birds.”

As the door closed behind him, Fred groaned. 

“He’s got great timing,” you said, sarcasm laced in your voice as you carefully tore open your letter. 

“What is it?” 

Reading over the letter twice, you quickly pulled yourself from bed and started getting changed. 

“What is it?”

“My folks need me back home.”

“Why? What happened?”

Throwing a jumper on in order to hide the fact you were putting a t-shirt on underneath, you were soon pulling your shoes on. 

“Do you think your mum would let me travel from your fireplace?”

“Of course, but, Y/n- hey.” Fred reached out to slow you down before you raced out of the room. “What happened?”

“There’s been a flood on my street. The basement and…everything is damp or leaking or damaged. I need to go home.”

Tearing the covers from himself, Fred got up, too. “I’ll come with you.”

“No-”

“You’re gonna need some help. I’m coming.”

“Okay.” You didn’t have time to argue. “Be quick.”

Five minutes later, you were hugging Mrs Weasley goodbye before jumping into the fireplace with Fred and appearing back inside your home, completely unaware the jumper you were still wearing was, in fact, Fred’s. 

“Mum? Dad?” You called out from the fireplace as you and Fred stepped out. 

“Darling? Is that you?”

“Yeah! I-I brought some help. I know there isn’t much we can do but I thought-”

“No, that’s great, darling! We’re down here!”

Squelching through the kitchen towards the back stairs, you and Fred were quickly ankle deep in water. 

“Bloody hell.”

Both your mum and dad looked up to figure out who the male voice belonged to. 

“Mum, Dad, this is Fred. Fred, these are my parents.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too, son. Just wish it was under different circumstances.”

What followed was enough muggle talk to make Arthur Weasley faint with excitement, as well as wading through murky basement water in order to try and salvage some different things. 

But an even bigger surprise came a few hours later when Molly, Bill, Arthur and Flur Weasley all stepped through your fireplace in order to help with the leaks with a little magic. 

Your mum cried, hugging them all tightly with huge thankyou’s. You dad made the promise to cook them all a meal for their help which he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. 

And, somewhere between the salvaging and fixing and cleaning and preparing, you and Fred had collapsed onto your bed in pure exhaustion. 

“Thank you for helping me today. It-it means a lot. More than you know.”

Fred nodded. “I’ll always help you.”

Reaching for his hand once more, you smiled. “But I am sorry.”

“What on earth for?”

“For this morning.”

Fred swallowed hard. “Oh.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry we got interrupted.”

Fred didn’t mean to not hide his hopefulness. “Oh.”

You smiled. “I…I might be completely wrong. And if I am, please just tell me-”

“It’s you.” 

You looked at Fred, trying to hold back your smile. “What?”

“It’s you,” he confirmed. “The one that…that I’m madly in love with.”

You fell silent, but not because it was bad. 

Turning onto his side, Fred reached out for you. Not that he had to reach very far. 

“That’s why I’ve been so weird this year. After Snape’s class…it scared me. Because we’re friends. You’re my best friend. And…I didn’t want to ruin that. But then I did.”

“But then you got me back.”

Fred smiled. “Then I got you back.”

Letting your hand gently rest against his cheek, you swiped your thumb against his cheek before lightly pulling him into you. 

And so you had your first kiss with Fred Weasley. 

“It’s you for me, too.” You told him when you found enough strength to stop kissing him. 

“What?”

“In Snape’s class. The Amortentia. Firework dust, parchment and something else I couldn’t place until I walked into The Burrow.”

“And that was?”

“Home.”

Smiling brighter than ever, Fred leaned in and kissed you again. 

“Thank Merlin!” Was the cry from George when he stepped into your home the next day and found you kissing his brother in the once empty kitchen. 

It might have taken what felt like forever, but eventually you and Fred got your happy ending. 

It just took a lot of patience and trust. 

“Y-Yeah?” You nodded, helping him stand. “I am so sorry. I should have been watching where you were going.”

He chuckled, wiping the snow from the back of his legs. “That makes two of us.”

Despite the man’s kind smile and light laughter, you still felt incredibly guilty. “I really am sorry.”

“No need,” he shook his head. “Call it a happy accident. It’s not everyday I get knocked down by a beautiful woman.”

You chuckled, not fully hearing him. “No, I guess…what?” Was…was he…was he flirting? Was that flirting?

Sticking out his hand, he smiled. “I’m Fred. Fred Weasley.”

Eyeing him a little cautiously, you shook his hand. “Y/n. Are-are you sure you’re alright?”

Again, he chuckled. “I’ve got brothers. I’ve survived through worse, believe me.”

“Oh,” you nodded, finally understanding something about the stranger in front of you. Only, as you finally did, the clock tower rang through the square. Shit. “I’m gonna be late. I-I really have to run. Again, I’m…terribly sorry.”

Rushing off before he could say another word, you tried your best to focus on not crashing into any more handsome strangers in the street before finally sliding across a small bridge and (not so) gracefully gliding yourself into the local post office. 

“Morning Sam!” you called out. 

From around the desk, a woman came rushing over. “It’s about bloody time. The van will be here any minute.”

From your bag, you pulled out the two care packages. “First class to Hogwarts, please.”

Sam gave a short sigh, but smiled anyway. “How are the kids enjoying it?”

You smiled. “They’re loving it. I wanted to get these to them before Christmas. Since it’s their first, they decided they want to stay up there.”

“Cutting it a little close to the wire, don’t you think?”

“I would have been here sooner if only I maybe, kinda, accidentally ran into someone. Knocked them flat on their arse.”

Sam sighed. “Of course you did.”

“It wasn’t intentional. Really. I wasn’t watching where I was going then there was a sheet of ice and wham! Just…straight into him.”

“Him?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, wipe that look off your face. He’s probably married, or with someone.”

“Might not be.”

“Sam.”

“Y/n.”

“No.”

Sam scoffed. “Urgh, fine. Anything else you want to send?”

You shook your head. “Not today. And I, uh, I might not be back for a while.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve,” you cleared your throat. “I’ve got a new job.”

“I thought you had a job.” Sam said. “Teaching.”

You nodded. “I’m still teaching but I had a letter the other day. From Hogwarts, actually.”

“What on earth can you teach at a magical school?”

“That was my first thought, too.” You told Sam. “But apparently they’re in dire need of an actual Muggle Studies teacher. And the kids volunteered, well, me.”

Sam nodded. “Well, it should be an adventure.”

You nodded. “Teaching magical students, without magic. It should be fun.”

Sam scoffed again. “You’ll do great. Oh-” Spotting the delivery van outside, Sam quickly turned around and threw the two boxes on top of the ‘rush’ pile before the driver noticed. 

“Thanks again, Sam.”

“No problem. And good luck with the new job.”

“When do you start?”

“After Christmas.”

Sam smiled. “They kids will love it.”

“One can only hope.”

Despite starting after Christmas, you were moved into the school just before. Which, although completely terrifying, was…an adventure. 

“Y/n!” 

You were hanging a couple of posters on the door to your classroom when you heard the voices of your nephew and niece. Twins who couldn’t have been more polar opposites if they tried. 

Your nephew, Zak, placed in Hufflepuff. He was usually a quiet and shy lad, before people got to know him. 

Then there was your niece, Rosie, placed in Gryffindor. When she had to be quiet, she was. But most of the time she was a dare-devil filled with energy. 

Both of them running to you at full speed, you just managed to keep your balance as they collided against you, wrapping you in an air-tight hug. 

“You’re here! I can’t believe you’re actually here. At Hogwarts!”

“Neither can I,” you smiled. “Though it would have been nice to know you’d offered me up for a job before I got the acceptance letter.”

Rosie just stood back. “Yeah, sorry about that. But I knew you were the right fit! Didn’t I, Zak?”

Zak nodded. “She did.”

“I hope you two have been keeping out of trouble.”

“We have. I swear.” Rosie dramatically laid her hand over her chest. 

You chuckled. “Good.”

In the two hours that followed, Rosie told you all about her first term at school, all the friends she’d made and the lessons she loved the most. Zak told you about his Herbology and Charms lessons and the few friends he’d made with the help of Rosie. 

But the consensus from them both was that they loved the school completely. 

“Oh, you must go to Diagon Alley!” Rosie smiled. “There’s a bookstore there that sells all kinds of magical books. They might be able to catch you up on our world.”

So, after being pestered for a further three hours about going to Diagon Alley, you finally agreed to go. 

“Have fun!” Rosie smiled. 

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

She shook her head. “We’ve got our lessons today. But I want to know all about it when you get back. So does Zak.”

Zak smiled. “Yes.”

Little did any of you know, you’d have a much longer story to be telling them by the time you got back. 

Rosie had been right. The bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, sold a book on practically everything. So, after explaining your predicament about what you needed to learn, you were finally situated in the correct section of the store. 

“Hogwarts: A History,” a mysterious but oddly familiar voice said from beside you. “I hear it’s a good read.”

Looking at the tall man leaning against a rather precarious bookshelf, your jaw dropped. “You?”

“And you,” he beamed. “I thought I recognised you. Madam V told me you’re one of the new teachers up at the school. How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

You raised your brow a little confused. “Should you have seen me before?”

Fred smiled. “There is only one magical school in all of the UK. I’ve got a lot of siblings and you don’t seem that much younger than me. So, yes. I should have. But I haven’t.”

You nodded. “I’m not…magical. My niece and nephew, they’re attending the school which is apparently in dire need of a Muggle teacher who knows what they’re doing.”

“And that is you,” Fred finished. 

You nodded, again. “That is me.”

“Well,” Fred motioned to the book. “That is actually a decent read from what I hear. But, you might want to also look at…” Fred slipped past you before scouring the randomly set out shelves. Eventually he pulled out a set of four books he was looking for. “They explain a little more about the history of magic and how the school started.”

“Great, thanks.”

He smiled. “Anytime. Oh, and, uh, if you need any more help. You know, maybe from a dashing red head. Just, uhh, pop across the square. I’m usually at the store.”

“Which one?”

Fred smiled once more. “The one with the top hat. Have a nice day, Professor.”

You smiled back, thankful he was too far to spot the flush in your cheeks. 

“Top hat?” Zak asked before gasping. “Weasley? As in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?”

You were utterly confused. “I-I guess so?”

“Oh, my god!” 

“What?”

Running over to the bookshelves, Rosie pulled out one of the newer books compared to the rest that accompanied it on the shelves. With a heavy thud, it landed on the table and you watched as her and Zak flipped through the pages. 

“They helped stop The Dark Lord.”

“What? Who?”

Rosie scoffed loudly. “I thought you read!”

“Not about wizards!” Turning the book around, you let your eyes skim the pages. “How the hell is this school still open?” 

“It’s alright,” Zak told you. “He’s really gone now. Harry Potter stopped him.”

“With the help of a few friends. Including,” Rosie pointed out. “The Weasley Twins.”

“There’s two of them?”

Zak beamed. “Like me and Rosie.”

“Two peas in a pod,” Rosie smiled and she pulled her brother into her side. 

You smiled at your niece and nephew. You were glad, after everything that had happened, they still had each other. 

“I can’t believe you’ve met him. Twice.”

That night you read up on everything you could. From the history of Magic, to the first Great Wizarding War and beyond. By the time morning came around, the only thing left to study was the Castle itself. 

Which, surprisingly, there was a solution to. 

“There used to be a map,” Neville, the Herbology Professor, told you. “I think that’s still with Harry. But I know a couple of people who might be able to make another one.”

“Really?” You asked. “Aren’t there…blueprints?”

Neville shook his head. “The magical world is pretty advanced but-”

“But you still use quills and parchment.”

Neville nodded with a polite smile. “Exactly.”

“Who is the cartographer then?”

Neville was already heading towards the door. “Give me a couple hours, I’ll find someone.”

“Okay, well…thank you!” You shouted after him as he left. 

There was one week left before lessons started again, and you were still getting your classroom ready. You were kneeling on a rather high table, trying to ensure the posters you were hanging up were all level, when you heard a voice. 

“You know, I’m sure if you were to ask, someone with a wand might be able to help.” You turned around to see Fred standing by your classroom door. “Magic does make a lot of things quicker.”

You smiled, turning back to the movie poster. “Yes, but I think there’s something fun about still being able to do the normal things. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were in need of a map.”

Trying to make your way safely down to the ground, you looked at Fred, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You’re a cartographer?"

He chuckled a little. “No. Not exactly. But my brother and I had an enchanted map in our possession for a while. Showed us every place we needed to go.”

Fred held out his hand to help you down the unbalanced wooden steps. You took it gently, thanking him quietly once your feet hit the ground. “This one isn’t enchanted, is it?”

Fred laughed. “No. You don’t have to worry about that.”

You smiled. “Okay, good.”

Opening up the map, you were greeted with every different level to Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds. 

“Wow.” It almost took your breath away. You knew Hogwarts was big. It took nearly twenty minutes to walk from your cottage on the grounds of the school, to your classroom itself. You just didn’t realise how big. “This is amazing, Fred. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

That was when you both heard giggling outside of your classroom. “That’ll be Rosie and Zak.”

“Niece and nephew, right?”

You nodded with a quietly proud smile. “You’re somewhat of a celebrity to them. They’ve told me…practically everything about you.”

Fred smiled. “Glad to see I have fans.”

With a smile, you called out to the two behind the door. “I thought you two were busy all day?”

Pushing open the door a little, Rosie and Zak stepped inside. “We were- are. Are too busy. Far too busy to help.”

“But not too busy to spy on your aunt?” 

The two nodded at Fred. “I just think you’re, like, one of the coolest wizards ever!” 

“Rosie.”

Fred just smiled. “It’s alright. Well, that’s lovely to hear. Thank you, Rosie. And you must be Zak?”

The young boy nodded. 

Fred sat and talked with them directly for ten minutes, giving them his undivided attention. He answered all their random questions about his joke shop and his creations and even his other, slightly more, famous siblings. 

“I want to be just like her one day,” Rosie explained as Fred agreed that she was the best Quidditch player ever. 

“Okay,” you chuckled. “I think that’s enough interrogation for one day. Go play before I make you help me set up here.”

Both kids gasped before making a direct exit for the door, but not before turning around and thanking Fred and waving goodbye. 

“They’re cute kids.”

You smiled. “Sorry about all the questions.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to see that kids know only joy while they’re here.”

You nodded. “I read the books you told me about…did all of that really happen? You- sorry. You don’t have to answer-”

“No, it’s okay.” Fred said. “It was…tough to say the least. We lost a lot of people. Good people. We also had our fair share of just terrible, terrible teachers.” Fred went on to explain to you one of his final teachers he ever witnessed at Hogwarts. 

You shook your head. “I still don’t know how the school didn’t get shut down because of that.”

“George and I might have had a couple of things to do with that.” Fred shrugged. “It might also have been when we started our business.”

“You didn’t.”

Fred couldn’t hold back his laughter or his smile. “During exams no less.”

“Oh, my god.” You chuckled before turning back to look at the photo collage you were creating on the wall. The room was starting to look less like old castle walls, and more or less the inside of the average muggle school. 

“So, how did you get into teaching?” Fred asked you as he helped. 

“I, uhh, well, I was pushed a lot. Academically. As a kid. Mostly by my family. They wanted nothing less than excellence. And, it was okay, for a while.” You said. “Until the stress started mounting up. Disappointed looks for getting anything less than an A. My parents used to host weekly parties. They pretended I didn’t exist for an entire month because I got a D.”

“What?”

You nodded. “But,” you smiled. “I had this really amazing teacher at school. Mrs Bane. She was there for me when I struggled, and when I succeeded. And, when I told my family that I wanted to be a teacher just like her…she was the one who was at my graduation.” 

“Not your parents?”

You shook your head. “No. And, if we’re divulging secrets, I hadn’t spoken to them since the day I left school for University.”

“What changed?”

Despite the sadness behind it, you still smiled and Fred could see the happiness in your eyes. “Rosie and Zak got accepted here. I got a call from my parents that I needed to come and pick them up right away. My sister and her husband were too freaked out at the fact their children weren’t ‘normal’ to make the ‘sane’ decision. So, they dropped them off at my parents. But letters kept coming.”

“So…they called you?”

“When you’re about to cast out two young kids, but it’s not legal to do so, where do they go?”

“So what did you do?”

“Got there as quick as I could, picked up their letters, told them to pack everything they could and brought them home with me. They both cried for a week straight thinking that something was wrong with them.”

“But there isn’t! There isn’t!” Fred exclaimed. “There’s nothing wrong with being a witch or a wizard.”

You nodded. “I know that. And, eventually, that message got through to them. Especially when McGonnagall turned up one evening. I’ve never seen them look happier than when she told them about Hogwarts. Because of my job, I couldn’t take them to get their things but McGonnagall said she had everything sorted out for them.”

Fred smiled. “I’m glad they have you. I think they’ll really excel here.”

You smiled. “So do I.”

Fred helped you set everything else up around your classroom, which was how you came to find out his dad continuously worked with enchanted muggle artifacts, some of which he was yet to identify the true meaning of. 

“If he ever wants some help, I’m always here.” You told Fred. “I might not have any magical capabilities, but I am a muggle.”

Fred looked around the room. “I don’t know about that. I’d say this place looks pretty magical.”

Looking around, you took in everything. From the photo collage wall filled with pictures of different muggle items and what they all do, to the large movie posters that remained still, along with the matching DVDs underneath the cabinets below them. There were muggle fairylights strung across the ceiling (placed up with a little help from Fred and his magical capabilities). 

There was even an old stereo which surprisingly got decent signal for being in the Scottish Highlands. 

Even more surprisingly, you started to see more and more of Fred Weasley at Hogwarts, despite his shop being in London. 

In the week before lessons started, he offered to show you around Hogwarts as well as the surrounding smaller villages. Then, during the first match of term, you met him and his brother inside the teacher’s box during Quidditch. 

“Bloody hell,” George exclaimed. “That niece of yours could give Ginny a run for her money.”

You chuckled, but beamed proudly as you watched your niece – the youngest girl to ever join a Quidditch team – zip around on her broom. You had to admit, it did make you nervous, seeing her and knowing she could have fallen off at any given moment. 

But thankfully she didn’t. 

And when she got out of the changing rooms, she came running over to you waving a letter in the air like she’s just won the lottery. 

“It’s a letter! I got a letter!”

“I can see that,” you smiled. 

“Not just any letter. It’s from Ginny Potter!” Rosie showed you. “Look. She wrote to me.”

“Did you know about this?” You asked, quietly to Fred. But he just shook his head and looked at his brother. 

“This is amazing, Rosie.”

Rosie held the letter like the last golden ticket. “This is so cool!”

It wasn’t until during the feast in the Great Hall that you found out McGonnagall had written to Ginny to tell her husband that his record for being the youngest on the team had finally been beaten. 

Rosie was buzzing with excitement for at least a month after it. And, every once in a while, she would bring it back up during Sunday dinner. And each time you would smile, happy that her and Zak were finally happy, too. 

Eventually, those Sunday dinners began to include a certain red-headed Weasley. At first, it was by accident. He was in Hogsmeade on business – potentially expanding to be closer to the school – when he thought he’d drop by and see if you were in. 

It didn’t feel awkward, inviting him to stay. And, after seeing both yourself and Fred interact some more, both your niece and nephew didn’t feel it was awkward in the slightest to invite him the following week. 

It wasn’t long before whispers started filling the halls. Whispers that very quickly turned into rumours when a small bouquet of very normal flowers found their way onto your desk one afternoon without you having any idea of how or why. 

You’d asked Neville, but with a shy, very knowing smile, he asked you if you’d checked the note before bidding you a good day. 

Nearing the end of term, your not so secret admirer turned up just as your final lesson of the day was wrapping up. 

You smiled, seeing his face again despite having seen him barely three days ago for Sunday dinner. 

“Ooh,” some of your students sang. “Your boyfriend is here, Professor.”

You smiled, trying not to show your excitement or slightly proud embarrassment too much. “Yes, thank you, Lena. I’m sure you’ve all got better things to be doing with your time.”

Ushering the rest of your students out of the classroom before closing the door behind them, you turned back to Fred. 

“For dinner,” he smiled. 

“You brought some on Sunday.”

Fred nodded. “Yes. They’re not for that dinner. These are for a dinner I haven’t asked you about yet.”

“Fred?”

“Look, I don’t know if you’re going to say yes, but I wanted to ask anyway. I’d like to take you on a proper date. This Saturday. Neville mentioned they’re holding an end of year feast, so all the kids will be busy so you don’t have to worry. Would you like to go…with me? On a real date?”

You felt your heart swell with excitement as you nodded. “I’d love to.”

A sigh of relief fell from Fred’s chest. “Great. That’s really…really great. You have no idea how many times I rehearsed that coming up here.”

You chuckled before leaning up and pressing a light kiss to his cheek before watching him blush heavily. 

“Well, um,” he spluttered, nervous as a school boy asking his crush out. “I-I’ll pick you up. One o’clock.”

“Okay,” you smiled, chuckling a little as he awkwardly made his way out of the classroom. 

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, both Rosie and Zak had been waiting around the corner of the hallway, watching as Fred left your classroom with a huge smile on his face. 

“Yes,” they quietly yelled before high fiving. 

Your first official date with Fred Weasley was unlike any other you’d been on before. And not because it was some huge adventure, or at some fancy restaurant. But because he quietly showed you the parts of himself you had a feeling not a lot of people got to see. 

Newspaper articles, old school log books – any piece of writing about Fred Weasley portrayed him to be exactly who he showed them. A sometimes boisterous but always kind man that, at heart, loved his family and his friends fiercely. 

But during your date, you got to see the quiet sides of him. The ones that took in the world around him, the ones that soaked up every moment he talked to someone, the ones that – when sitting on the edge of a hill, overlooking the Castle – didn’t have to forcibly fill the silence between you both. 

Fred Weasley, despite having seen all of the bad the world had to offer, lived long enough to see the beauty of it again. 

“Thank you for showing me this.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come with me.”

It was on that quiet hill’s edge that you and Fred shared your first kiss. It was also on that hill’s edge that you sealed your fate to forever being intertwined with Fred Weasley. 

And you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. 

It was a few months later, during the summer, that you met the rest of Fred’s family. 

It started off with George and his wife, Angelina. They came for Sunday dinner at the cottage. Rosie asked Angelina every question under the sun about Quidditch. 

During the week, you’d received a very urgent note from the Ministry of Magic asking for your presence at a meeting. Taking Rosie and Zak along with you, you eventually found the office you were looking for. 

“Can I help you?” A receptionist asked. 

“Yes. I- we’re,” you corrected, holding both children in front of you. “We’re looking for Arthur Weasley’s office.”

Finally given the correct directions, you stood outside the office door. You raised your hand to knock, only for it to be torn open and for you to meet Fred’s father in a rather unconventional manner. 

“I am sorry about sending it so urgently, but it seems the Muggle world has been updated and– hello, children-” Rosie and Zak waved and smiled a little shyly. “But Fred mentioned you taught at Hogwarts and-”

“Mr Weasley, it’s alright. What do you need my help with?”

It was during that same day you met one of Mr Weasley’s daughters-in-law: Hermione Granger. 

Zak was in complete awe of her. 

“Brightest witch of her age, that one,” Arthur smiled. “Hermione, this is Fred’s girlfriend and her delightful niece and nephew.”

Hermione smiled politely and introduced herself, to which Rosie boldly introduced both herself and her brother, before mentioning Zak was also a massive book nerd. 

Hermione chuckled before asking Zak about his schooling. Zak was typically quiet, but if someone got him talking about school, it was like he was a whole other kid. 

By the end of the day, both Rosie and Zak were exhausted and falling asleep on Arthur’s sofa. More than likely, they were in the deepest sleep of their lives just as Fred came through the door, kissing you on the cheek. 

“Sorry, love. Ron just told me Hermione saw you here. Is everything alright?”

You nodded with a smile as you folded the final box shut. “Everything is perfect. Your dad needed some Muggle help.”

“Hopefully it’s not been too traumatic. My family…I love them dearly but they can be, well, a lot.”

You just shook your head, holding your boyfriend steady before quickly kissing him. “Everything went smoothly. How was work?”

“Packed. Apparently everyone decided today was the best day to get their school supplies before September.”

You chuckled softly. 

Bidding Arthur good evening, you and Fred lightly woke up your niece and nephew. Within seconds, all four of you were transported back into your cottage through the floo network. 

You shook your head as you stepped out. “I have no idea how you get used to that.”

“Do it a couple hundred times and your head stops spinning.”

“Whoa,” you muttered, the room finally slowing down. 

As Rosie and Zak headed towards their bedroom, collapsing onto their beds for a well deserved nap, you collapsed onto the sofa. 

“How do you feel about some tea?”

“Later,” you told him as he sat down beside you, pulling you inside his side. “Right now, I just wanna nap.”

Fred chuckled, “I won’t argue with that.”

Around two hours later, you woke up to spot Fred moving around in your kitchen, humming a light tune as he cooked. When he eventually stood still at the stove, you quietly walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle before ducking under his arm. 

“Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes?”

“For tea?”

Fred chuckled. “It’s the best thing I can make, besides a cup of tea.”

“You’re an inventor, surely you know how to cook?”

“Explotions, yes. Edible food, no. Although, Professor Sprout did once tell me that I might have a career in baking.”

You smiled, leaning into Fred. “The kid’ll love them.”

Fred smiled back, pressing a kiss to your head just before he flipped the pancake over. 

Two weeks later, you met the rest of his family. 

Fred had been pacing up and down the top of the path, leading to your cottage for twenty minutes. Rosie and Zak had gone to visit Hagrid for the day, learning about all the magical creatures that lay on the ground. 

And, instead of prepping slides for your classes next term, you were watching your boyfriend psyche himself up. 

“What is he-” From behind you, you heard a quiet screech before something slammed into the window. 

An owl. 

“Oh, good lord.” Rushing to the window, you helped the owl stand before taking the letter it handed you. Usually, owls tend to wait for a reply, but this bird just looked to your front door before flying off. 

You had just enough time to read your letter before Fred knocked on your door. 

“Okay, we- we need to talk. And not the muggle ‘we need to talk’,” Fred was trying to hold his nerve, but he was about to ask you to come to dinner to meet all of his family. Every sibling, every niece and nephew, every in-law. 

“Your mother’s inviting me to dinner.”

Fred didn’t hear you. “My mother wants to invite you to dinner.” Then it clicked. “Wait.”

You smiled, holding up the letter. “She sent an owl. I do hope he’s okay, though. He kinda just…crashed into the glass.”

Fred nodded. “He’ll be fine. He’s odd, but he’s always been like that. So…so you know?”

You nodded. “She sent a list of everyone’s names. You’ve got a big family.”

“If you don’t want to go, I can make up an excuse and we can hang out here just the four of us. I can make sure you meet them individually-”

You shrugged. “I’ve already met three members of your family, I think I’d like to meet the rest.”

Fred tried to contain his smile before you took another look at the long list of names and changed your mind. “R-really?”

You nodded, certain of your decision. “Really. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun,” Fred chuckled. “Is an understatement.”

He couldn’t have been more right. 

Molly had insisted that you brought Rosie and Zak, so making sure they were dressed tidily but practically, Fred apparated outside your home, pulling both yourself, Rose and Zak through the tunnel with him. 

Within seconds, you were standing outside of Fred’s family home. And, just as you stopped spinning, you were suddenly engulfed in a warm, motherly bear hug by Molly Weasley. 

“And you must be-”

“I’m Rosie,” she smiled, sticking out her hand to shake Molly’s. “And this is my younger brother, Zak.”

“Only by three minutes,” Zak mumbled. 

But Molly couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fred and George were just the same.”

Fred barely had time to introduce you to the family members that filed out of the Burrow to come and greet you before Molly was ushering you and the kids inside to show you around. 

Hermione asked about Zak’s studies and if Neville had given him the new Herbology addition she had sent him. Zak nodded politely and thanked her for doing so. But, as Zak started coming out of her shell, you watched Rosie go into hers. 

She was in complete awe of meeting Ginny. And, it took a little time, but she eventually started opening up, talking more about school and Quidditch. 

Before you knew it, you were watching Rosie zip through the air with the rest of Molly’s grandkids. As she took a dip in the air, but still completely in control, you had to turn away for a moment. 

“God, Molly, how do you do it?” You asked her. 

She just chuckled and patted your arm. “Have enough kids fall off their brooms when they’re little, you get used to it.”

“You’ve got one hell of a flyer, Y/n.” Ginny smiled as she came to your side. You smiled, proudly. 

“Is Zak not interested? Hufflepuff has a great team.”

You shook your head, watching him across the field as he sat with Hermione in the allotment, identifying different plants. “Rosie’s tried, I’ve tried, even Fred has. Just to see if he’d enjoy a game or two but…” You smiled, watching him happier than ever. “He prefers his feet on the ground.”

As the day went on, you answered more questions than even Rosie and Zak had asked you when they noticed you had feelings for Fred. 

How did you first meet? 

“She crashed into me.”

“What?!”

You panicked. “Not on purpose! It was a pure accident-”

“Happy accident,” Fred smiled. 

You chuckled, softly. “Happy accident. I was running to the post office to send Rosie and Zak their Christmas presents when I…well, I slipped on a sheet of ice and-”

“Crashed into me.”

“Crashed into Fred.” 

More questions followed. 

When did you meet again? What was the school like on your first day? Neville told me Fred sent you flowers? 

But, the more people talked, the more stories you got to hear. About Fred’s childhood, and days in school. 

After dinner, when everyone was sitting out in the backgarden, you leaned against Fred as you watched your niece and nephew teach a few muggle school yard games to the rest of the kids. Mostly, it consisted of ‘stuck-in-the-mud’ and ‘tag’. 

“If you don’t mind me saying, Y/n,” Arthur said to you long after he, and some of the others, joined you on the grass. “I don’t know what happened for those children to-”

“Dad,” Fred warned. But, holding onto Fred’s leg, you looked at him with a soft smile. 

“It’s okay. Go on, Mr Weasley.”

Arthur smiled. “They’re lucky to have you, Y/n. Harry was in a similar predicament when he was young. Terrible family he had. Ron once stole a car with the twins to go and break him out of his aunt and uncle’s house.”

You gasped. “You stole a car?!”

Fred just shrugged. “He needed a getaway driver.”

Arthur chuckled. “Harry came here, and thankfully, he’s still here now. What I’m trying to say is, there’s someone out there, grateful that those kids are with you. They love you dearly.”

You smiled, tearing up a little. “I love them dearly, too.”

“They really are wonderful kids,” Hermione smiled. 

“I’d say ‘thank you’, but…it’s all them,” you admitted. “Rosie’s always been a firecracker, and Zak’s always been bright.”

Leaning down from behind you, Fred whispered quietly. “I can see you in them.”

Leaning into him a little more, you smiled constantly. You’d had a ‘normal’ family when you were young. But it had never been warm; physically or emotionally.

Not in the way the Burrow was. Inviting and nurturing, no matter your age. And certainly not in the way Molly, Arthur or even Fred was. And not just with you, but with everyone else, too. 

When Molly had hugged you, it had been a shock to your system. But a nice one. 

When you found yourself being dragged away by the girls, you felt yourself laugh like you’d found people you could hopefully one day call sisters. 

And, later that night, as you felt Fred wrap his arms around you for the nth time, you felt yourself feeling like you were finally home. 

“Did you hear the screaming?” A cadet whispered to Floch, voice barely above a breath, yet just enough to make Armin and Jean glance over.

Floch scoffed, arms crossed. “Who didn’t? Sounded pathetic.” Then, with a sneer, he added, “Did you catch the smell on her? Disgusting.”

“Are they talking about Y/N?” Sasha asked under her breath. Armin only shrugged, uncertain as a beta, but Jean gave a slight nod—so small it was almost imperceptible, careful not to draw attention.

“She needs to learn her place,” someone muttered through clenched teeth, the words laced with quiet resentment, as if the situation irked them more than it did Captain Levi himself. “If she were my omega, she wouldn’t even think of stepping out of line like that.”

The men murmured their agreement, though none dared to raise their voices. No matter how much they sneered at the Captain’s supposed weakness, none of them were stupid enough to let him hear.

Armin sighed, his exhaustion laced with quiet sympathy, while Sasha murmured uneasily, “So… they’re still fighting?” The tension had lingered in the air since their return from the capital.

Nearby, Levi stood, papers in hand, issuing orders as he scanned the lists before pointing ahead. Yet his focus wavered. His mind was elsewhere—everywhere except here.

“Sir.” A cadet approached briskly but without urgency, saluting politely. Levi gave a curt nod, granting permission to speak.

“We retrieved the supplies from your chambers as ordered, sir.”

Another nod.

“Uh…” The cadet hesitated, hands clasped behind his back, legs stiff in a formal stance. His voice wavered as he searched for the right words. “Your… wife.”

The last word came out uncertain, as if the young man sought confirmation.

“Yes,” Levi replied, clipped and impatient, unwilling to waste time on semantics.

“She insists that the pet be taken with her.”

“Yes.”

Silence settled over the group like a thick fog. Several scouts exchanged glances, some rolling their eyes. Even among those who had transferred into the Survey Corps from other divisions—many seasoned soldiers—doubt simmered beneath their obedience.

“Sir…” One of the older soldiers stepped forward, his voice calm but edged with unspoken challenge. “If I may speak freely?”

Levi didn’t grant permission. He simply stared, dead-eyed, daring the man to continue.

The soldier swallowed but pressed on. “The horses may not take well to the animal’s presence.”

More silence.

“And… she doesn’t know how to ride. This could slow us down.”

Levi remained silent, letting the words hang, waiting—because he knew the real reason behind this sudden concern. And sure enough, the soldier cracked under the weight of his stare.

“I’m only suggesting, sir, that if you need us to step in and handle the matter—”

“Are you implying I’m incapable of handling it myself?”

Levi’s tone was flat, unimpressed, yet laced with quiet danger. One hand rested on his hip while the other held up the clipboard, flipping through pages as if this was any other mundane conversation.

A flicker of unease spread among the men. They weren’t stupid. Levi knew better than anyone how quickly rumors spread about high-ranking officers. The moment he raised his voice, the moment he let this conversation turn into an argument, it would become fuel for the fire already burning around him.

He could already hear it. Every alpha who had come across her since their return had caught on to the scent. And Levi… Levi was in no mood for this nonsense. He hadn’t been for months.

His ego had taken a hit—whether he admitted it or not. And no matter how much restraint he practiced, he wasn’t about to let vultures circle, thinking they could pick at his pride like scraps.

“We’re only making a suggestion, sir,” the soldier tried again, this time more cautious.

Levi’s gaze sharpened.

“Limit yourself to doing what you’re told,” he bit out, each word precise and edged with resentment. His patience was already paper-thin, and after recent events, it had only frayed further.

He had explained it to her once—the night they first met. Being Humanity’s Strongest had its perks. One of them was that he couldn’t care less what people whispered behind his back. But another was that very few had the guts to say anything to his face.

That had been true—until now.

For the past two months, the whispers hadn’t stopped. His name, her name, their relationship—it had all become the military’s favorite new topic.

She’s still unclaimed.

She comes and goes as she pleases.

Her scent isn’t his.

It smells like someone else.

The rumors even reached the higher-ups. The military board had questioned whether he was being “demanding enough.” His own soldiers whispered that he was too weak to keep his own mate in line.

For a long time, he had considered himself her only ally in all this. Perhaps she didn’t see it that way.

And maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t have minded enduring the scrutiny, the judgment, if he felt they were working toward something together. If he believed they were striving for mutual understanding.

But now?

Now, his instincts were livid.

‘Walking up to me, stinking of that brat.’

His inner alpha snarled. The same part of him that had allowed her freedom, that let her choose what she wanted from the kitchen, that had tolerated her sitting beside him during training—because she had willingly smelled like him once.

That same part of him was now furious.

Brat. That was all the younger, lesser alpha was to him. Barely past adulthood, and yet still bold enough to challenge him for her.

And she let him.

She had asked for freedom. He had given it. And in return, she had betrayed it. And now, openly, she was challenging him.

His rational mind should have focused on his duties. But instincts didn’t listen to logic. His alpha was restless, pacing like a caged lion, ready to lash out.

Somewhere, the distant part of him—the one that still functioned as a human rather than a territorial beast—whispered that he needed to sit her down and talk. Rationally. Like adults.

But that voice was distant. Faint. Like an echo in a dream that held no weight, no power.

Maybe this was why. Maybe it was the years without a mate. The ruts that came and went without relief. The absence of an Omega in his life.

And now?

For his body, a potential mate in the peak of her youth had waltzed into his territory, an he had provided for her. He had made space for her. He had given her security.

She had shown signs of choosing him.

And then, another alpha—younger, weaker, insignificant—had walked in, pissed on his territory, and acted like he had a rightful claim.

‘You’re one lucky bastard I don’t have you within arm’s reach.’

Alpha monogamy was a curse to some, a blessing to others.

To Levi, at this moment, it was nothing but a slow-burning rage.

Inside Levi’s chambers, the air was thick—not with tension, but something heavier. Something that sank into the skin, clung to the bones.  

Y/N sat on the window frame, perched like a defendant waiting for sentencing. Absentmindedly, she broke off a few crumbs of her bread, leaving them near the sparrow’s nest she had once drawn. The first bit of art she had created here. Now, it held three newborn pigeons, fragile and unaware of the world beyond their small sanctuary.  

She watched the courtyard with a slow, detached melancholy. The sheer number of soldiers outside was surprising—only a few years ago, the Scouts had never been this many. Her gaze trailed to the office, where Levi’s door swung open and shut like a revolving door. Soldiers came and went, carrying boxes, blueprints, stacks of reports.  

They moved freely.  

She hated it.  

Perhaps it was the way they carried themselves—so sure, so certain of what to take. Of what belonged to them. Perhaps it was the simple fact that they had a freedom she couldn’t even dream of.  

A scoff escaped her lips, bitter and quiet. Her forehead pressed against the glass, its cool surface slightly uncomfortable, probably leaving an oily smudge that Levi would notice. That would probably irritate him.  

But by the time he returned, this window—this entire room—would be nothing but a memory.  

She let the thoughts settle, accepted them even as they cut deep. She had ignored every warning sign, every uneasy shift in the air. Maybe a wiser woman would have noticed it sooner.  

A wiser woman—or a better wife?

Wives always knew, didn’t they? The old stories said so. They knew from a stain on a shirt, a change in scent, a hidden bank account.  

Would a better woman—a better mate—have realized that Levi had been planning this all along?  

What was I supposed to compare him to?

The Levi of the past two months was the only Levi she had ever known. There had been no “before” for her to measure against. No habits to track, no patterns to decipher.  

If he changed his scent, how could she be sure it wasn’t just preference?

If he came home late, wasn’t that just his duty?  

If he hid something, how would she even know where to look?  

If Levi had a secret account somewhere, she wouldn’t even know the name of the bank.

But just then, she remembered her last fiancé. A smile tugged at her lips — not one of joy, but of bitter amusement, as if laughing at herself.

‘Maybe I really am as foolish and naive as everyone says.’

Even all of Levi’s wisdom, she thought, might never have led her to any different conclusion.

‘I never thought I’d miss this place.’

Not this place exactly. She had packed quickly, but most of her belongings had remained untouched since the day she arrived. Nothing here had ever truly belonged to her. It all felt borrowed, like slipping into her mother’s heels as a child—too big, too foreign, an illusion of something she was supposed to grow into. Usually kids forget that dream by the time they grow old enough to fill them.

Except this time her mother had long since sold those shoes, and the dream had been lost with them. The dream had vanished before she could outgrow it.

She wouldn’t miss these chambers. What she would miss was the fragile hope that one day, she might have fit into them.  

And now, it was happening all over again.  

The same suitcases. The same hairstyle. The same clothes. The same long journey to yet another unknown destination.  

It was like reliving a nightmare she couldn’t outrun.  

A small bag of essentials sat at the base of the window, packed and ready for the trip. She hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, curled in on herself, knees to her chest, fingers gripping the letters from her siblings.  

‘I’m doing this for you.’

The words echoed in her mind, but the strength they were supposed to bring never came. 

Then, the door swung open.

The shift in sound was subtle, but enough to pull her out of her thoughts. Slowly, she turned.

Levi stepped inside, appearing distracted as he moved toward his belongings, intent on putting away the last of them before their departure. When their eyes met, he opened his mouth—only to close it again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable.

He hated this. Hated being met with teary eyes and resignation. Anger, he could handle. Defiance, frustration, even hatred—those were easier. But this? This quiet, lifeless acceptance?

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.  

“You done packing?”  

His voice was steady—too steady. The forced calm surprised even him. Avoiding the conflict was either intentional or instinctive. Addressing it would require emotions he didn’t have the time—or the willingness—to offer.  

Too angry to talk.  

Too tired to pretend.  

“Yes, sir.”  

The words made him freeze.  

For the first time in a long time, his body went completely still. A sharp, unbearable frustration clawed its way up his throat. For a moment, an absurd, childish urge consumed him—to throw himself on the floor, kick, scream, cry like a sleep-deprived toddler.

‘I wish I could just sit there, with watery eyes and expect the world to fix itself. But since I can’t—since I don’t—I'm the bad guy.

Fine. Whatever.’

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”  

Y/N slid off the windowsill, her feet meeting the ground. Levi moved around the room, checking everything—closing doors, locking windows, securing whatever was left behind.  

She stood in the middle of the office, watching him move, just as she had on the very first night.  

Curious eyes, like a kitten watching something it didn’t understand.  

Back then, she had stood in this same spot, watching as he rushed around, setting things up. Now, she watched as he dismantled it all.  

Hidden drawers she had never noticed before appeared as he pulled them open, retrieving money, keys, and even a gun. Small things, tucked away in places only he knew existed.  

The only sound breaking the quiet was the restless scratching of her cat in its carrier, desperate to be freed.  

Levi slung his pack over his shoulder, shutting the last of the windows. As the room fell into darkness, the finality of it settled deep in her chest.  

This was it.  

She bent down to grab her bag—but before her fingers could close around the strap, Levi’s hand shot out, gripping it first.  

“Give me that,” he said, hoisting up both her luggage and the pet carrier without waiting for an answer.  

She hesitated before moving toward the door, glancing back to see if he was following. He was—only pausing briefly to shut off the master valve in the bathroom.  

With a final patting at his pocket for the keys, he stepped out into the corridor and locked the door behind them.  

She stood there, waiting.  

It was an odd, familiar feeling. The uncertainty of standing in a hallway, waiting for someone to tell her where they were going.  

‘Like a pet.’

One that would develop an inexplicable fear of luggage.  

‘Or more like a dog,’ she corrected bitterly. ‘One whose only trick is to wait and follow.’  

As they moved through the halls, soldiers instinctively moved aside, pressing themselves flat against the walls as Levi passed. Some carried heavy crates, others stacks of paperwork, but the entire facility buzzed with urgency.  

Outside, the courtyard—once a training ground—had transformed into something else entirely. Carts. Horses. Boxes upon boxes of supplies waiting to be loaded. It was chaos. A military carnival.  

“Wait here,” Levi instructed before disappearing into the crowd.  

‘See? I just need a leash.’

The thought was sharp and cruel, cutting through her remaining pride like a dull blade.  

She watched the organized disorder unfold around her. Soldiers had direction, purpose. Even the ones running back and forth with last-minute additions knew where they were going.  

She did not.  

She was just standing there. Again. Watching life happen around her, but never to her.  

The comparison shifted from a cruel coincidence to an outright insult to her sanity. Levi had left—probably to retrieve the horses—and she was still here.

Just there.

It felt eerily familiar. Like standing on the chapel porch that day—only there was no chapel this time. No empty streets of a forgotten town. No rain.

Instead, the world had been replaced with this—a bustling military facility, an endless sea of strangers, the scorching heat of early summer or late spring (whichever name you preferred).

And this time, there was no blissful ignorance to shield her.

This time, she knew.

She knew that Levi would not—could not—suddenly pull a pretty house out of nowhere. That there was no hidden well of romance waiting to spill from him. That any unconfessed devotion was likely never there to begin with.

At least… that’s what she told herself.