Better Than You
-Summary: When your boyfriend and Fred Weasley clash, one bold line, “I am better than you” changes everything, revealing who truly sees and values you.
-Word Count: 999
-Pairing: Reader x Fred Weasley
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
You’d always known that Fred Weasley had a way of drawing attention.
It wasn’t just his laugh, though, that alone could make half the Great Hall turn. It wasn’t just his mischief, or his confidence, or the way he carried himself like the whole world was in on a joke only he understood.
No, what made Fred impossible to ignore was how he looked at people.
Like he actually saw them.
And that was exactly the problem.
Because lately, you’d caught him looking at you.
Not in the casual, playful way he looked at everyone else, but in a quiet, focused way that made you feel seen down to the bone. And every time it happened, your chest tightened with something you couldn’t name.
But you had a boyfriend.
And Fred Weasley wasn’t yours to think about.
The argument started on a Friday afternoon, the kind of day where classes blurred together, and tempers ran short. You were walking through the courtyard, your boyfriend’s arm slung lazily over your shoulders. He was talking about Quidditch practice, or himself, or both; you weren’t sure. You were too busy pretending to listen when Fred appeared ahead, his grin wide and effortless as ever.
“Afternoon, love,” he called.
Your boyfriend stiffened immediately. “Don’t call her that,” he said.
Fred raised an eyebrow, but the grin didn’t waver. “It’s a word, mate. Not a marriage proposal.”
“Still,” your boyfriend said sharply. “She’s with me.”
“Right,” Fred said, crossing his arms. “And she’s also capable of speaking for herself, I assume?”
You opened your mouth to diffuse, to joke, to something — but your boyfriend stepped forward before you could.
“Go fuck yourself, man,” he spat. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
The courtyard went silent.
Fred didn’t flinch. His grin faded, replaced by something colder, not cruel, but measured. His eyes, usually full of laughter, sharpened with a kind of quiet fury.
“I am better than you,” Fred said, voice calm, steady. “Because I’d never talk to her the way you do.”
Your stomach dropped. “Fred-”
But he wasn’t finished.
“You treat her like she’s a trophy you get to hold up,” he said, each word deliberate. “Like she’s something you get points for keeping. But she’s not something to keep. She’s someone to see. And you don’t.”
Your boyfriend’s face turned scarlet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fred’s voice softened, but somehow, that only made it hit harder. “I know enough.”
He looked at you, then really looked, and in his eyes, there wasn’t smugness or victory. Just quiet honesty. The kind that leaves nowhere to hide.
Then he turned, walked away, and didn’t look back.
That night, you couldn’t sleep.
You replayed the moment again and again, your boyfriend’s anger, Fred’s voice, the way your heart had twisted when he said I am better than you.
Because it wasn’t arrogance. It was conviction.
And the truth you didn’t want to admit?
You’d believed him.
When you broke things off with your boyfriend later that evening, it wasn’t dramatic. No shouting, no tears, just quiet realization. You were tired of feeling small next to someone who never tried to understand you.
You didn’t go looking for Fred. But somehow, your feet led you toward him anyway.
You found him in the back room of the twins’ workshop, half-finished prototypes scattered across the table, the faint scent of smoke and sugar in the air. He was hunched over a glowing vial, muttering to himself.
He didn’t look up when you entered. “If this one explodes, you’re cleaning the ceiling.”
You smiled softly. “You always assume the worst.”
Fred froze. His head snapped up, and the teasing comment died on his lips. “You came.”
You shrugged, trying to sound casual even as your heart thudded in your chest. “You said enough for both of us earlier.”
He set the vial down. “I didn’t mean to start a fight.”
“Yes, you did,” you said quietly. “You just didn’t mean to be right.”
He blinked, taken aback. “You-what?”
“I ended things,” you said simply.
Fred stared, and for once, he had no quick remark, no witty comeback. Just silence.
Then, slowly, he asked, “Because of what I said?”
“Because of what you made me see,” you corrected. “You were right. He didn’t see me. Not really.”
Fred exhaled a shaky sound that almost made you laugh. “I didn’t say it to get you to leave him.”
“I know.” You took a step closer. “You said it because you meant it.”
For a moment, all you heard was the faint ticking of some enchanted contraption behind him. The room smelled like fireworks and dust and everything that was distinctly Fred.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, for someone who runs a shop full of pranks, I’m not very good at being serious.”
“You were serious enough today,” you said.
He looked at you then, that half-smile returning softer, this time. “I didn’t like seeing someone treat you like that.”
You tilted your head. “And how would you treat me, Fred Weasley?”
His grin returned in full, though it didn’t hide the sincerity in his eyes. “Like you’re the best kind of chaos I’ve ever met.”
You laughed quietly, but it filled the room all the same.
He took a step closer, then another, until there was barely a breath between you. “Can I tell you something?” he murmured.
You nodded.
“I never thought I’d like someone who could outsmart me,” he said, “but I do.”
Your pulse skipped. “And what makes you think you’ve managed to impress me, Weasley?”
He leaned in, voice low, teasing. “Because you’re still here.”
You smiled the kind of smile that came from your chest instead of your lips and whispered, “Maybe I like the competition.”
Fred grinned. “Good. Because I plan on winning.”
And when he kissed you, soft, tentative, and real, it didn’t feel like a victory.
It felt like finally being seen.
