#fred weasley reader insert

“She couldn’t even pretend to care about you, could she?”

“Not for a second,” Ginny snapped. Then her expression softened as she looked at you. “That’s why I like you. You’re not here for any of that rubbish.”

Back then you had smiled and laced your pinky through hers, swearing on it. Now, whenever it was even remotely brought up (like when Angelina tried to hangout with the two of you to get a date with Fred) you had to force yourself to smile, even as your heart twisted.

You hadn’t intended to fall for one of Ginny’s brothers, but sometime in the past four years, you had. Something about Fred’s clever jokes, his chaotic grin, and the way he always found time to check in on you had chipped away at your resolve. You had been entirely helpless to the painful and slow fall into irrevocable affection for the older twin, and you had said nothing, because of the rule. Because you loved Ginny.

You remembered her smile that night, soft and genuine.

“If I ever find out someone’s only in my life to get to one of them,” she said. “I’ll never forgive them. Promise me you’ll never do that.”

“Of course,” you had sworn.

You meant it, back then. You couldn’t have predicted you would genuinely fall for one of them. And you still meant it now, in your own twisted way. You had no intention of doing anything about your feelings. Loving Fred from a distance didn’t count. Did it?

But lately it had become harder to look away. He was noticing you, and not the way he noticed everyone else. Not with the performative charm or cheeky quips he tossed around like fireworks. No, he was watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Catching your eye across the dinner table. Sitting closer than he used to, finding reasons to touch your arm when he laughed. Or maybe you were imagining it.

But you and Ginny had rules.

And you were already breaking rule #1.

———————————————————————

The Burrow was as chaotic as usual. The second you stepped through the crooked front door with Ginny, the scent of fresh bread and stewed onions wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The air was humid with the smell of summer earth and something sugary baking in the oven. A breeze drifted in from the open kitchen window, carrying laughter from the garden and the sounds of someone (probably Ron) grunting as he lugged trunks upstairs.

“Welcome home!” Molly was fussing as she grabbed each one of them by the face and planted a big kiss on their cheeks.

“Gross, mum!” The boys groaned and wiped their faces with their sleeves as they came into the house.

“My darling girls!” Molly greeted the two of you, pulling both you and Ginny into a tight hug.

“Hey, Mrs Weasley,” you greeted with a warm smile. You’d spend so much time here that the Burrow had come to feel like your second home, and the Weasleys like a second pair of parents.

“Oh, how you’ve grown up since the last time I saw you!” The stout woman patted your check affectionately, then stepped back to gesture to the already set table.

“Lunch, everyone! On the table, NOW!” Molly Weasley’s voice thundered through the house with such maternal command it could’ve made a mountain walk.

You hadn’t even had time to protest when Arthur took your trunk before you were swept up in the current of Weasley children charging into the kitchen like a herd of hippogriffs. Chairs scraped, plates clattered and elbows jabbed for better positioning. It was always a game of survival when it came to getting a good seat at the Burrow’s table.

Fred emerged from seemingly nowhere at your side, grinning like he’d just won a prize. “Well, well,” he said in that voice of his, low and amused, with just enough of a lilt to make your stomach flip. “Guess this seat’s mine, yeah?”

He reached for the chair to your left, the one you’d secretly been hoping he’d take, and yet, also dreading he would. You acted on pure instinct in panic and an act of self-preservation when you placed your hand firmly on the back of the chair before he could pull it out. “That one’s taken,” you blurted out a little too quickly.

Fred raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “By who?”

And before your mouth could catch up with your thoughts, before you could invent some excuse or redirect him to the other side of the table, Ginny shoved past Fred, bumping him with her hip. “By me, you great big git. Rule #3, remember? Now move!” she snapped cheerfully, shooting you a triumphant smile as she slid into the seat beside you.

Fred snorted, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he’d been wounded. “Betrayed. By my own blood.”

He dragged himself to the far end of the table with a theatrical sigh, collapsing into a chair beside George. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he stole a bread roll before the basket had even hit the table, catching you looking just in time to shoot you a wink. You felt heat rise to your cheeks.

Ginny leaned over, scooping potatoes onto your plate. “Honestly, you’d think they’d learn by now that we always sit next to each other. I think he did it on purpose just to mess with us.”

You forced a laugh, stabbing at a carrot with more force than necessary. “It’s exactly the completely irritating thing he’d do,” you said weakly.

But your heart was thudding too loudly in your chest to believe it. You had wanted him to sit next to you. Just a little. You could still feel the ghost of where his arm would’ve brushed against yours. How his knee might’ve bumped yours under the table. You could imagine it far too easily. Close enough to smell the spice and smoke of his cologne, to hear every stupid joke murmured just for you.

But then you looked at Ginny, happily chatting to her mum about the drive there, glowing with sun-kissed freckles and full of trust. The guilt returned with full force, crashing like a wave over your ribs. You weren’t going to mess this up. Not this.

You promised yourself right then and there: You would stay away from Fred this summer. No matter how many times he winked at you. No matter how charming his smile was. No matter how much your hands itched to reach for his under the table.

He was Ginny’s brother. And you were Ginny’s best friend. And those two things could never, ever mix.

———————————————————————

Your first few days at the burrow passed without a problem. Ron kept to himself mostly, sending letters back and forth to Hermione and Harry in between practicing quidditch with the twins. When the twins weren’t out in the field zipping about on their broomsticks, they were locked in their room. No one quite knew what they were up to in there, except for the intermittent explosion that shook the house and earned a few lectures from Molly. Percy was off on some sort of internship at the Ministry of Magic. Which of course left you and Ginny to your own devices.

Your plan of avoiding Fred had been going splendidly. The only times you would see him were during meals, and with the buffer of the whole family present there were no issues that had arisen. He’d not tried again to steal Ginny’s chair by your side. You’d worked to memorise his and George’s schedule, knowing what times to avoid the bathroom or the kitchen for snack break. You’d even taken to using the bathroom at the latest possible time, once the house had gone uncharacteristically quiet and you knew everyone else was in bed.

Hence why you were there now. The bathroom mirror was fogged with steam from the shower someone had taken earlier. You deduced it was probably Ron, based on the trail of damp footprints leading down the hall to his bedroom. You stood at the sink in your pyjamas, brushing your teeth, the tap running low to hide in the silence.

You leaned closer to the mirror and wiped a clean patch of glass to check your reflection. Your hair was a bit of a mess from a full day of hanging about the garden. Your skin a little tinged by the sun. The dim golden light from the hallway behind you spilled in from the half-cracked door, soft and flickering like candlelight.

The door creaked further open. You flinched, mid-brush. And then you nearly choked on your toothpaste. Fred stood in the doorway, shirtless, rubbing a towel over his wild and wet hair, a pair of well-worn pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips. Water glistened on his shoulders. His freckles were more pronounced under the soft bathroom light, and his grin was…absolutely illegal.

You turned back to the sink immediately, hoping the toothpaste foam in your mouth would distract from the fact your pulse had just shot up like a firework.

“Evenin’,” he said casually, like this was completely normal.

You didn’t answer, mostly because you couldn’t speak with a mouth full of mint-flavoured panic.

Fred moved behind you, stepping inside without hesitation and reaching for a comb that sat on the bench. You could feel his presence, radiating a warmth that pulsed just inches away from your spine. The tension twisted tighter with each breath. You were practically vibrating.

“You always brush your teeth this agressively?” he asked, his voice low and amused. “Looks intense.”

You spat your toothpaste into the sink and grabbed your cup to rinse. “Just thorough,” you muttered, praying your voice didn’t sound like it was shaking.

Fred leaned on the counter beside you, one arm braced as he turned his body toward you. “Right. Very serious business, dental hygiene. Sexy stuff.”

You gave a tight, nervous laugh and tried not to look at his collarbone, or his chest, or the single drip of water trailing down his sternum. You tried. But Merlin, you were failing.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” you asked, drying your hands quickly, your eyes fixed anywhere but on him.

“I was,” Fred said, tilting his head. “But then I remembered the bathroom gets much more interesting around midnight.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He smiled, cocking a brow. “You’ve been sneaking in here late every night like you’re hiding something. Thought I’d investigate.”

“I’m brushing my teeth, Fred. Hardly a great mystery of the universe.”

He leaned a little closer, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. His voice dropped an octave, teasing but edged with something heavier. “Well, then maybe I’m the one with secrets.”

You hated that your stomach flipped. That your legs felt suddenly unsteady. That this was exactly the kind of moment you’d dreamed about for years, and yet now it was the last thing you could afford.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“And yet here you are,” he said. “Cornered. In a bathroom. With me.”

He was still smiling. But his eyes - those gorgeous hazel eyes - searched yours with something more than just mischief. There was the weight of a hopeful question in them.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Fred, put a bloody shirt on!” The moment shattered like glass.

Ginny appeared in the doorway, her eyes narrowing immediately as she took in the scene. Fred shirtless and grinning, you red-faced and stiff near the sink.

Fred didn’t move. He just glanced at Ginny over his shoulder, as if annoyed to be interrupted. “What?” he asked, unbothered.

“You’re disgusting,” she snapped, elbowing past him. “You can’t just wander around half-naked like some trollop!”

Fred looked delighted by that. “Trollop? Really, Ginny? You wound me.”

She made a face. “Honestly, you’re like a feral cat.” Then, without hesitation, she wedged herself firmly between you and Fred, standing like a barrier. Completely oblivious to the electric tension that had just been vibrating in the room.

Fred smirked at you over her shoulder, lips twitching, like he knew exactly what he’d done.

Ginny turned to you, unaware. “Ready for bed?”

You nodded mutely. Behind her, Fred gave you a lazy wink and finally retreated, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he strolled out of the room like he hadn’t just flipped your entire emotional state upside down.

Ginny looked at you and scrunched her nose. “Honestly. He’s so weird sometimes. Sorry you had to see that.”

You managed a smile, small and tight. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

But as you followed her down the hall toward the room you were sharing, your heart was still racing. Your skin still buzzed from his nearness. Your mind - the traitorous thing - kept replaying that moment when he’d leaned in, eyes soft, voice low.

And you knew then, with a certainty that made your stomach sink, that this summer was going to be really, really difficult.

———————————————————————-

It had been five days since The Bathroom Incident - a title you’d privately christened it with during your increasingly dramatic internal monologues. And for five blissful, tormenting, nerve-fraying days, Fred had been…good. No more shirtless intrusions. No surprise appearances when you were alone. No wandering conversations with too much eye contact and not enough space between your bodies.

Just casual, everyday Fred Weasley. Joking with his siblings, tinkering with George, throwing fruit across the kitchen, absolutely no more cornering you against a sink like he wanted to eat you alive.

You’d convinced yourself it was over. That he’d gotten bored of teasing you and moved on. That maybe you were in the clear.

Until this morning. You’d just woken up, sunlight stretching warm fingers across your face through the open window, when you heard it.

“We’re going into town for the Sunday market!” George’s voice rang out through the hallway. “Come on, grab your shoes!”

You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes as Ginny barged into the room already half-dressed, tying her hair up with a ribbon. “You’re coming too,” she declared, tossing your shoes toward the bed. “It’ll be us and the twins.”

Your stomach turned. Just the four of you. On a sunny day. Walking into town. All together. You, Ginny, George…and Fred.

Before you could argue, Ginny had already bolted back out of the room, mumbling something about losing her favourite jacket.

You took less than five minutes to pull on a cute outfit and brush your teeth before you waked into the hallway, trying not to look like you were internally screaming. At the bottom of the stairs, Fred was waiting.

He leaned lazily against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, dressed in a sweater rolled at the sleeves and worn jeans. Casual and comfortable has never looked so dangerous before. The second he saw you, a slow grin unfurled across his face like a cat who’d spotted a cornered mouse.

“Well, well,” he said, voice soft enough that it felt like it was just for you. “Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get you all day.”

You blinked. “What?”

He pushed off the railing and took a step closer. Close enough that you caught the familiar scent of spearmint and gunpowder. “I mean, I’ve barely seen you all summer. I was starting to worry I’d developed a contagious rash and somehow wasn’t aware.”

You folded your arms. “Maybe you have. Have you checked?”

“Oh, thoroughly. I’m in top condition.” He winked, words dripping with innuendo.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a small smile. He saw it - of course he saw it - and leaned in just a little more.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’d accuse you of hiding from me if I didn’t already know with certainty that you were.”

Your heart thudded too loudly in your chest. Before you could deliver a scathing comeback - or worse, blush - Ginny’s footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Fred stepped away with impeccable timing, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning innocently as Ginny reappeared with a cropped jacket and her hair now tied in a messy ponytail.

“All right,” she said, tossing her eyes toward Fred. “You better not make me carry everything again.”

“No promises,” he said, already leading the way out the door.

The walk into town was bright and breezy, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes. Fields blurred gold and green beside you, and wildflowers nodded gently in the tall grass. Ginny was by your side for the most part, until she got into a long conversation with George about quidditch and the two walked ahead, occasionally darting into little bursts of sibling bickering. It left you and Fred side by side more than once, though you always kept just enough space to pretend it wasn’t wanted.

The Sunday market stretched along the village square in a mismatched quilt of tents and booths. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, honeycomb, spiced nuts, and something fried you didn’t dare question. Laughter floated above the hum of shoppers and merchants calling out their deals.

You kept close to Ginny, using her as a human shield against Fred’s increasingly amused glances. The two of you stopped at a table of handmade jewellery, and your fingers drifted toward a delicate pair of crystal earrings shaped like intricate flower clusters. They caught the sunlight just right.

You picked one up, turned the tag over to see a sum that was too much. It wasn’t completely outrageous like the necklace Ginny had peered at with a pigeon’s-egg-sized stone, but it was more than you could justify. You set them down gently.

“Cute,” Ginny said, glancing over your shoulder. “But you’d probably lose them in, like, three days.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Ginny laughed and moved to the next booth, where a ridiculous plaid hat caught her eye. George followed, already pretending to model one for her.

And suddenly, it was just you and Fred again. You glanced up. He was already there, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on yours. He nodded toward the earrings. “Those were nice on you.”

You blinked. “I didn’t try them on.”

“I imagined them on you,” he said easily, his voice low and teasing. “I have an excellent imagination. In fact, I can picture anyone, anywhere in just about any position.”

You rolled your eyes. “You really never turn it off, do you?”

He stepped closer, the crowd bustling around you like a river splitting. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with me all morning.”

You snorted. “I have not.”

Fred tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Okay. Not flirting. Actively ignoring me. Which is basically the same thing, just in reverse. It has the same effect.”

You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You’re impossible to tolerate.”

“And yet you’re still here talking to me.” He leaned in, voice dropping, “What does that say about you?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but then Ginny reappeared, holding up a hat so absurdly shaped it looked like a squashed owl. “Do I look insane or fabulous?”

“Both,” George said immediately.

“Perfect,” she grinned.

Fred stepped back again, and just like that, the moment dissolved.

The walk home was slower, the sun dipping lower in the sky. You carried a small paper bag of sweets Ginny had insisted on buying, and Fred whistled absently as he kicked pebbles down the lane. You didn’t speak again, but you felt his presence the entire way.

Back at the Burrow, the house had returned to its gentle, midday hum. You’d taken a shower first, and Ginny had waited until she heard the water stop before swapping places with you. By the time you stepped out, dried off, and slipped back into your clothes, it was nearly time for afternoon tea.

You returned to Ginny’s room, searching for a brush to untangle your wet hair. And there, sitting neatly on Ginny’s bed, right where your pillow had been, was a small white box tied with a black ribbon.

Your heart stopped. You looked around like someone might leap out from the closet yelling “Gotcha!”

But no one did. You approached slowly, eyes wide, and lifted the box. Inside, tucked in soft tissue paper, were the delicate and dazzling earrings from the market. With them was a folded note in crooked handwriting: Couldn’t let them get away. Thought you might wear them next time you’re trying so desperately not to look at me. - F.

You clutched the box like it might combust in your hands. Footsteps creaked from the hallway. Ginny.

You moved fast, your heart hammering as you shoved the box into your trunk, the tissue and ribbon crumpled in your fist. You nearly tripped getting the top shut before the door opened.

Ginny strolled in, towel around her hair. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the blue shampoo bottle. I think one of the boys messed with it.”

As she unwound the towel, her usually ginger locks dropped around her shoulders in a curtain of green. You forced a smile, heart still galloping, hands still tingling.

“Oh Gin,” you said, covering your mouth, every nerve in your body on high alert. “Let’s get that fixed up. I’m sure your mum will have something to help.”

You took her by the shoulders and led her out of the room, mind still stuck on what you were leaving behind. The earrings were hidden. The note, too. Your secret was safe. Though now, you were technically at risk of breaking another rule.

#2. Never lie to one another.

———————————————————————

The kitchen of the Burrow smelled like butter, thyme, and the kind of warmth only a Weasley home could conjure. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the cooking. You stood at the counter beside Ginny, a cutting board in front of you and a particularly potent batch of onions halfway sliced beneath your trembling hands. Your eyes stung fiercely.

“I swear, I think I’m going blind,” you sniffled, blinking rapidly as tears dripped down your cheeks.

Ginny laughed, pointing her wooden spoon at you. “Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. It’s just an onion!”

“I’m not being dramatic, my eyeballs are melting—” You let out a soft, strangled laugh, wiping at your face with your sleeve and slicing again.

The two of you had been helping Molly for the past hour, peeling vegetables, shelling peas, and listening to Celestina Warbeck crooning softly from the wireless. The afternoon sun cast long strips of light across the warped wooden table, and despite the heat and chaos of the kitchen, it was cozy. Familiar. Safe.

Or at least, it had been, until the back door suddenly burst open with a crash.

“—AND HE SCORES! WHAT A MOVE FROM THE LEGENDARY BEATER!”

“OH, SHUT IT, YOU OVERGROWN GNOME—”

Fred and George exploded into the kitchen like a pair of firecrackers, both sweaty and flushed, yelling in Quidditch commentator voices as they barrelled through the doorway. George had a quaffle tucked under one arm. Fred was lunging for it like a seeker gone mad.

Molly spun around from the stove. “Boys! Absolutely not! Not in my kitchen!”

But it was too late. Fred dodged Ginny, slipped on the corner rug, and stumbled directly into you. You barely had time to gasp before the impact jolted your arm. The knife in your hand slipped.

“OW! bloody hell!” You recoiled instinctively, dropping the knife and clutching your hand. Blood was already rising fast to the surface of your finger, running in a hot, red line down your palm and onto the floor.

“WHAT did I just say?!” Molly’s voice could’ve curdled milk.

“Fred!” Ginny shouted furiously. “You idiot!”

“Oh, shit, you’re crying!” Fred’s eyes widened as he saw your tear-streaked cheeks and the blood on your hand.

You glared at him, though your vision was blurry. “It’s the onions, you twat!”

But your voice trembled. From the pain. From the sheer overwhelming chaos of it all. And - fine - maybe from Fred being way too close again.

Fred looked properly horrified now. “Merlin, I didn’t mean to. I was just…George was…right, c’mere. I’ve got something that’ll help. C’mon.”

Before you could protest, he was already gently but insistently guiding you toward the stairs, his hand warm on your back. You wrapped a kitchen towel around your bleeding finger, trying to keep the pressure steady as you glanced back at Ginny.

“Go, go,” she called, exasperated. “Before you bleed into the mashed potatoes.”

George had dropped the quaffle and was already picking up the knife from the floor, apologizing to Molly in the most unconvincing tone possible.

You followed Fred up the stairs, your heart pounding harder with every creak of the steps. You told yourself it was just because of the injury. The adrenaline. The pain. Not because you were heading into Fred Weasley’s bedroom for the first time.

The door clicked open, and he stepped aside to let you in.

His room smelled faintly of parchment, broom polish, and something warm and boyish and entirely him. It was surprisingly neat for a Weasley. Trunks were stacked in a corner, shelves cluttered with joke prototypes, and Quidditch posters pinned crookedly across the walls. There was a pair of socks hanging off the end of his bedpost. A sweater crumpled on the floor. But it felt lived in, personal. Like stepping into a corner of his world you were never supposed to see.

You froze awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can sit,” Fred said, waving a hand at the bed. “I promise my mattress doesn’t bite.”

You managed a weak laugh and perched on the edge, careful to keep your hands to yourself.

He crouched in front of a trunk and rummaged around. “Right, here. We just finished a batch of this last week. Might sting, but it works miracles.” He pulled out a small tin with a garish orange and purple sticker slapped across it.

You squinted at the label. “WWW? What’s that stand for? ‘Weasley’s Weakest Work’?”

Fred grinned, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Close. Thirty-three percent correct, actually. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George and I, we’re starting a joke shop. After Hogwarts.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, pride sneaking into his voice. “We’ve been designing products for years. We’ve got a whole trunk full of prototypes. Salves, candies, decoy spell crap. You’d love it. You’re basically our ideal test subject - easily injured and highly opinionated.”

“Charming,” You snorted. “So is that what the hexed shampoo fiasco was all about? Ginny was furious. Her hair was green for days.”

“No, that one was just for fun,” Fred sat beside you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm. He gently peeled the blood-soaked towel from your hand, and you hissed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly soft. He dipped his fingers into the tin and dabbed the salve onto your cut.

It was cool and tingly and smelt like peppermint. Within seconds, the pain dulled, and you watched in shock as the raw skin knitted itself closed.

Your mouth fell open. “That’s…actually brilliant.”

“I know,” he said smugly, wrapping a thin bandage around your finger. “And, don’t worry. It won’t scar. Just reapply twice a day.”

“How are you not rolling in money already?”

He laughed and you smiled, until you realised you were still holding hands. Neither of you moved. And the silence that settled between you wasn’t casual anymore. It buzzed. Tense and breathless.

Fred’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his thumb unconsciously brushing over the inside of your wrist. “Why’ve you been avoiding me?”

You blinked. “I haven’t.”

He tilted his head. “You have. You’ve been dodging me like I’ve got dragon pox. Why?”

You tried to smile. To brush it off. “Maybe I just don’t like you, Fred.”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious now. “Or maybe it’s the opposite.”

Your breath hitched. He was so close you could see the golden flecks in his eyes. Count each of the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose

Before you could answer - before you even knew how to answer - the door burst open.

George stood there, eyebrows raised. “Alright, you two, break it up. Dinner’s ready. And Mum’s not in the mood to wait.”

You yanked your hand back, your face going hot.

Fred sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Cheers, George. Great timing.”

George grinned knowingly and stepped aside. You stood quickly, muttering a thanks under your breath and rushing out the door, heart hammering, head spinning.

This summer was going to ruin you. And you finding it a lot harder to mind at all.

———————————————————————

The attic smelled like dust and old wood, warmed faintly by the day’s leftover sun and lit only by a string of enchanted fairy lights that twinkled like stars overhead. The ghoul in the corner moaned softly to itself, chewing on what remained of Fred and George’s bribe - a sticky handful of Drooble’s gum and a crumpled chocolate frog box. For now, it was satisfied. Mostly.

When you climbed through the attic hatch behind Ginny, the stale air hit your face like a wave. Ron, Fred, and George were already sprawled across the mismatched rugs and floor cushions in a circle, a deck of enchanted cards floating lazily in the center.

“There you are,” Fred said as you and Ginny slid the hatch shut behind you. His eyes flicked to yours briefly and he smirked like he had been waiting specifically for you.

You tried not to react, though your stomach was already betraying you with its little flip. He looked far too smug for someone sitting crisscross in moth-eaten socks and a Quidditch tee.

“About time,” George chimed.

“Don’t push it,” Ginny said, elbowing her brother before tossing a pillow to the ground and flopping down.

You settled in beside her, your knees brushing the woven edge of the rug, directly across from Fred. Unfortunately, he was watching you. Still. And you knew he hadn’t stopped.

The bottle of firewhisky came out shortly after. Fred uncorked it with a flourish, holding it up like it was some ancient treasure.

“Compliments of the cabinet behind Dad’s broom collection,” he announced.

Ginny laughed. “Mum’s going to have your head if she finds out.”

“She won’t,” George assured her, “unless someone blabs.”

“Ron,” said everyone at once, and Ron flushed beet red.

The bottle made its way around the circle, and eventually it landed in your hands. You hesitated only a moment before lifting it to your lips. The whisky burned hot, sharp, and smoky as it slid down your throat. You exhaled, eyes watering slightly.

“Easy,” Fred said from across the circle. “Don’t want to fall asleep before the game starts.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, and passed the bottle back, straight to Fred. His hand brushed yours as he took the bottle from your grip. But instead of drinking right away, he rotated it slowly and deliberately in his hand, fingers lingering around the mouth of the bottle. Then he placed his mouth right over the spot your lips had touched and drank without breaking eye contact.

The burn in your throat came back tenfold, but for a completely different reason.

He licked a drop from his bottom lip and grinned. “Tastes better this way.”

Your breath caught. Ginny, completely oblivious, was already giggling at something George said. The cards were floating again, but your world had narrowed to that lazy, firewhisky-laced smirk and the way Fred’s eyes lingered just a beat too long.

Goosebumps erupted down your arms.

The moment passed too quickly. You tried to pretend it hadn’t affected you, that you weren’t wondering what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to feel that heat not through shared glass, but skin.

The shuffled deck split evenly amongst them and a chaotic, barely-rule-following game of Exploding Snap ensued. There were chips of lightning, minor burns, and raucous laughter as the ghoul muttered irritably in its corner. A slightly scorched card flew past Ginny’s head and she ducked with a cackle.

Eventually, the ghoul grew bored. With a loud metallic CLANG, it started knocking on the pipes behind it, clearly unhappy that its stash of goodies had run out.

“Right, time to clear out,” George said, already grabbing the cards and stuffing them into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

“I’ll bring more sweets tomorrow,” Fred muttered toward the ghoul, who let out a pitiful moan in reply.

George and Ginny were the first down the hatch. You were about to follow when Ron knocked over an old crate, sending it crashing into a pile of dusty cauldrons.

“Shit,” Fred hissed. You all froze.

Footsteps echoed below. Heavy ones. Then the creak of a bedroom door.

“Mum,” George whispered, eyes wide. “And Dad.”

There was no time to think. There was only enough time for Ron to jump down before George scrambled to shut the attic hatch. Ginny looked back at you from below.

“We’ll come get you when it’s safe,” she whispered, and then, click. The hatch was sealed.

You and Fred were completely alone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft flickers of the fairy lights and the distant, irritable tapping of the ghoul’s fingernails on wood.

Fred let out a breath. “Well, I guess we’re trapped.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous exhale. He held up the bottle of firewhisky. “Still got this. Want to play truth or dare while we wait?”

You tilted your head. “Really? That’s what we’re doing?”

“We’ve got time. And no escape.” He patted the floor beside him.

Despite your instincts yelling at you not to agree, you sat. Not too close, but close enough to catch the cinnamon-heat smell of him, firewhisky and warmth.

“Fine. But I go first,” you said. “Truth or dare?”

He leaned in, elbow resting on one knee, still holding the bottle between two fingers. “Dare,” he replied, too fast.

You rolled your eyes. “Predictable.”

Fred raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you said, drawing your knees up, “you’re always the first to take risks. Always the showman. But when it comes to being genuine? You flinch.”

A beat of silence. Fred’s smile dropped an inch. Not gone, just softened. “You think I can’t be genuine?”

You shrugged, heart hammering. “Prove me wrong, then. Pick truth.”

“Fine,” he said. “Ask me a truth.”

You studied him. The freckles, the messy hair, the too-confident posture covering something far more careful underneath. “Why haven’t you told anyone about the joke shop?”

That made him pause. The flicker in his eyes changed, turning sharper. More focused.

Finally, Fred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because Mum thinks it’s a waste of time. Childish. She wants us to join the Ministry. Be ‘respectable’ like dad. But I don’t want that. George doesn’t either. This—” He held up the firewhisky like it was part of the dream. “—this is the only thing I’ve ever felt is really mine.”

Your chest swelled at the honesty. “I think it’s brilliant,” you said quietly.

He looked at you, something unreadable softening his features. Then he smirked again. “My turn. Truth or dare?”

You panicked. “Truth.”

“Do you like anyone?”

Your mouth went dry. “Yes.”

His eyes glittered. “Who?”

“That wasn’t your question,” you shot back quickly, hiding your fluster behind a smirk of your own.

Fred chuckled. “Alright. Touché.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Truth or dare.”

He yawned dramatically. “Truth. And see, I didn’t even flinch.”

“Are the rumors true about you and Angelina Johnson?” you asked, voice just slightly sharper than intended.

Fred let out a bark of laughter. “What? No. That wasn’t me.”

You raised a skeptical brow.

“It was George,” he said, dead serious. “They got caught snogging in the common room, and everyone assumed it was me since I took her to the Yule Ball.”

You blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Yep. She’s more into sensative gits than charming ones, apparently.” The air between them grew charged. Thicker. He sat up straighter. “Truth or dare?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then answered, “Truth.”

He leaned closer. “Who do you fancy?”

Your stomach twisted, pulse thudding loud in your ears. “I change my mind,” you blurted. “Dare.”

He grinned like he’d won. “Thought you might. In that case…I dare you to kiss me.”

The world stopped.

“I’ll take a drink instead.” You offered, reaching for the bottle.

Fred turned the firewhisky upside down and a single drop ran from the lip of the bottle.“We’re out.” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “What a shame.”

You were frozen in place, mind trying to come up with a fourth option that didn’t seem to exist.

Then, slowly - so slowly - he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair gently behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the edge of your earring - the ones he had bought you from the market. You watched him realise it, watched his lips twitch upward.

“These suit you,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. He was so close now. Close enough that you could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the faint red in his lashes, the faint smell of firewhisky and citrus and boyish heat.

Your cheeks burned. The world felt like it was tilting slightly sideways.

Fred said softly. “All you have to do is give in.”

You wanted to. Oh Merlin, you wanted to. Your lips parted. Your eyes flicked to his. But then the attic hatch creaked open.

“Oi,” George called, voice echoing. “Coast is clear.”

You jumped apart like lightning had struck. Your skin still buzzed where his hand had touched you.

Fred stood slowly, offering you a hand. You took it before you could think better of it.

Nothing had happened. But it had almost happened. And you didn’t think you’d ever stop thinking about that almost.

Neither of you said a word on the way down the ladder. But your ears were still ringing, and yu couldn’t shake the ghost of his voice murmuring, ‘All you have to do is give in.’

———————————————————————

You never usually woke up this early, but sleep had been impossible after last night.

The attic. The firewhisky. His voice, low and teasing, asking if you fancied someone. The way he dared you to kiss him, and the way your body had wanted to obey more than it ever had anyone. You’d never felt anything like that before. That tightrope between longing and fear, between want and wariness. Between what you craved and what you shouldn’t want.

You’d almost done it. Almost leaned in. Almost let yourself fall.

The early morning air was soft against your skin as you walked through the garden behind the Burrow. The grass was cool and damp with dew, the sky still tinted with pale grey and lavender. There was a hush to the world here, like it was holding its breath, just like you were.

You moved slowly between the rows of wildflowers and gnarled trees, trying to clear your head. But all you could think about was him - the fire in his eyes, the way his gaze flicked to your mouth, the smell of firewhisky.

You shook your head, willing the memory away, when a low voice broke through the quiet. “What are you thinking about?”

You nearly leapt out of your skin. “Bloody hell—” you gasped, spinning around. But before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, warm and strong. His hand.

“Shhh! It’s just me,” Fred said, his voice low and urgent as he pulled you further into the field.

You struggled instinctively, swatting at his arm until you were both well out of view of the house. He released you the second you were far enough away, and you whipped around, shoving his chest hard.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” you hissed, your heart thundering in your chest.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was tension under the smirk. “I needed to talk to you. Alone. And you’re a lot harder to pin down these days.”

You crossed your arms. “So you thought sneaking up on me and dragging me into a field was the best option?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You glared, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you catch yourself. “What do you want, Fred?”

He exhaled, the teasing edge dropping as he takes a step closer. “Last night. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Your throat went dry. “We’re not playing truth or dare anymore. I don’t have to answer that.”

“I’m not playing either,” he said. His voice was low now, and earnest. And he was closer. You could smell him again - cinnamon and something warm and boyish, still clinging to his skin.

He stepped forward again and gently took your arm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. It sent a flicker of heat up your spine.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” he confessed. “So why didn’t you?”

You swallowed thickly, knowing this was a dangerous game. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Maybe not. But I think I deserve one.”

You stayed silent, your heart in your throat, body humming like live wire. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist.

“You want to know what I think?” he asked, and you looked up at him, caught in that impossible gaze. “I think you’re just as interested in me as I am in you. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth, but your voice barely came out. “You’re wrong.”

It was shaky. Unconvincing. Pathetic.

Fred lifted a brow, unimpressed. He leaned in until you could feel his breath brush your cheek. “No, I’m not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You couldn’t. Your whole body was screaming to close the distance, to surrender.

“Why won’t you just say it?” he whispered. “I’m standing right here, telling you that I…” His voice faltered for the first time, softens. Vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.“I care about you. I want you. I have for a while now.”

It hit you like a punch to the ribs. The tenderness, the honesty in his voice. Your chest tightened. “I do too,” you admitted, your voice betraying you. “But I shouldn’t.”

Fred frowned, still not understanding what was holding you back. “Why not?”

“Because of Ginny,” you said, the words ripping from your mouth. “Because she’s my best friend. Because I made a promise. Rule number one. Her brothers are off-limits.”

Fred blinked, then let out a sharp breath and laughed under it, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you kidding? That’s what’s stopping you?”

“It matters.”

“Not to me,” he said, stepping closer, impossibly close now. “And Ginny doesn’t have to know.”

Your breath stilled. “Fred…”

“All you have to do,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers grazing the earring he gave you, “is give in.”

You shivered as his thumb traced the shell of your ear. His touch was so soft, so gentle, it was almost unbearable. You should have pulled away. You knew that.

But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in. Just the smallest tilt of your chin. Just enough. But that’s all he needed.

Fred cupped your face in both hands and kissed you. It was everything you imagined and more. It was hungry and hesitant all at once. Warm and desperate, like you’d both been waiting too long. His lips melded into yours like he’d somehow already memorised the shape, and you melted into him without thinking.

The world fell away. There was only the sun-drenched field, the soft birdsong in the trees, and his hands anchoring you like he never wanted to let go.

And for a single, breathless moment, you didn’t want him to.

———————————————————————

The grass was still wet with dew as you and Fred made your way back to the Burrow, your fingers entwined with his, warm and certain despite the slight chill in the air. The morning was quiet. Hushed and golden in a way that made it feel like the world had agreed to keep your secret, if only for a little while.

You couldn’t stop smiling. Neither could he.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you murmured, voice still breathless from the high of it - of him.

Fred glanced sideways at you, that lopsided grin tugging at his lips, his eyes still lazy with affection. “I can,” he said simply. “Been a long time coming, don’t you think?”

Your heart fluttered helplessly. “Have you really felt like this for that long?”

Fred nodded, squeezing your hand. “Since you called me insufferable for making that potion explode in the common room. You had ink on your cheek and told me I was going to fail out of Hogwarts.”

You laughed, a quiet sound that felt like summer. “That was third year.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the way your hands fit together so naturally, like they’d always belonged there. “I wish it didn’t feel so complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond right away. You just walked with him, each step soft and heavy all at once, and the closer you got to the crooked silhouette of the Burrow, the heavier your chest became.

As the back door came into view, you felt Fred’s fingers twitch against yours. You both knew what had to happen. You dropped his hand, carefully, reluctantly. Like letting go of a lifeline.

You reached the back door first and stepped inside.

Ginny was at the kitchen table, flipping through the Prophet, but her eyes flicked up the moment she heard the creak of the floorboards. They landed on you. Then on Fred. Then back to you.

She looked suspicious. “Where were you two?” she asked, casual, but not really.

You didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered too long on the space between your hands. Your stomach twisted.

“I, uh…I couldn’t sleep,” you said quickly. “Went for a walk.” You shrugged as if it meant nothing. “Fred must’ve had the same idea.”

There was a beat of silence. The paper in Ginny’s hands crackled as she slowly turned the page. Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Uh huh,” she said, noncommittal. Then she looked back down at the paper.

You forced a laugh and stepped past her into the kitchen, your heart thudding wildly as Fred moved behind you without a word. You felt his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken questions. Ones you didn’t want to answer.

Because now it wasn’t just Rule #1 you’d broken. You’d lied to her face.

Rule #2. Never lie to one another.

You told yourself it was just a little white lie. A protective one. A harmless one. But it didn’t feel harmless. It felt like the beginning of something you couldn’t take back.

———————————————————————

You’d spent the whole day glued to Ginny’s side. It wasn’t like she noticed. She just thought you were in a good mood, maybe a little extra chatty, a little too agreeable. But every time she laughed, or looped her arm through yours, or offered you a bite of the plum she was eating on the porch swing, your stomach twisted tighter and tighter.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know what you’d done that morning. That you’d walked into the garden one person and come out another. That Fred had kissed you like he meant it. And worse, that you had kissed him back.

Worse still: you had liked it. You had wanted it.

And now, you couldn’t look Ginny in the eye without feeling like your whole skin was buzzing with guilt.

So you stuck close. You did the dishes with her. Helped her weed the vegetable patch. Laughed too hard when she told you that joke about Seamus Finnigan and the exploding butterbeer. You didn’t so much as glance in Fred’s direction during dinner, even though you could feel him looking.

It was late now. Everyone had gone to bed. You were brushing your teeth with heavy limbs and hollow thoughts, the kind that came from trying too hard to act normal. Your eyes were tired. Your mouth still ached faintly from the press of his.

You reached for the towel when suddenly a strong hand clamped over your mouth. You gasped, but before you could scream, you were pulled backwards, into the tiny shower room, the door snapping shut behind you with a soft click as it locked.

You shoved at the hand, heart racing, until it dropped away. You spun around, your back to the wall, and saw him.

Fred. He was slightly out of breath from the effort, hair mussed, eyes bright.

You glared at him, even as your pulse stuttered. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

He grinned like he’d been waiting all day to see you. “I missed you today,” he said simply.

And then he kissed you. There wasn’t any teasing this time. No playful smirk. Just heat. Sharp and overwhelming. His hands framed your face, and yours found his shirt and fisted there, like maybe you could anchor yourself to him and forget what you’d done.

You kissed him back like you hadn’t been thinking about anything else since sunrise. And for a moment, there was only him.

But then, your hand slid up and brushed against the chain around his neck and your chest cinched tight.

You broke the kiss, breathless. “Fred—”

He looked at you with dazed affection, lips parted. “What?”

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I feel so guilty about Ginny.”

His brows drew together slightly, but he didn’t let go of your waist. “I really don’t think she’d be upset.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know that.”

“I know she loves you,” he said. “And I know if she thought we made each other happy, she’d be glad for it. I think we should tell her.”

You felt the words land inside you like tiny, cruel promises. “No! We can’t tell her,” you said, voice firmer now. “We can’t tell anyone.”

Fred’s hands loosened. “No one?”

You nodded. “Promise me, Fred. Please. You can’t say anything.”

He looked reluctant. “Even George?”

You hesitated, because of course George already knew. He probably knew before either of you did. “Even him,” you said anyway. “If he knows anything already, then you need to make him promise not to say a word.”

Fred exhaled, then nodded. “Alright. I promise.”

You stared at him, heart thudding against your ribs. He reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and smiled gently.

You kissed him one more time. Slow and lingering and filled with the quiet ache of knowing this wasn’t going to get any easier.

And so it began. The start of something you couldn’t name yet. A kiss in the garden. A locked door. A promise made in whispers. The beginning of a secret.

———————————————————————

You’d gotten so used to hiding it, you almost started believing you could keep it hidden forever.

It became a rhythm. A dance you and Fred had perfected over the past few weeks. A series of glances and touches and moments stolen between the cracks of your everyday life. You lived for the quiet thrill of it. The way your heart leapt when he leaned in just a little too close in the hallway, or the way your pulse skittered when he brushed your pinky with his under the table at dinner.

Sometimes, he’d manage to sit beside you, his thigh pressed against yours beneath the tablecloth, warm and steady like a secret only you were allowed to keep. His hand would rest casually on his knee until it inched over to yours, fingers tapping, tracing lines across your skin no one else could see.

And when he couldn’t sit beside you, he’d claim the seat directly across, his foot nudging yours under the table until it became a full-on game of footsie that had you biting your lip and looking anywhere but at him. Every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d grin like he was proud of himself. Like he was daring you to keep playing.

You were hopelessly smitten. And for the first time in a long time, really happy.

Fred made you laugh when things felt heavy. He kissed you like he meant it, even in the briefest snatched moments. He told you you were brilliant, and brave, and beautiful in all the ways no one ever had before. And you believed him.

It was dangerous, yes. But it was yours. Until the day it wasn’t.

It was late afternoon, the sky hanging heavy with sun and heat, and most of the Weasleys were outside flying or napping or doing chores. Ginny had been reading on the porch when you told her you needed to grab something you’d forgotten in the backyard.

That was a lie. Fred had told you to meet him in the broom shed.

You slipped away quietly, past the rose bushes and around the back of the house where the old wooden shed waited beneath the trees. The door creaked as you opened it and there he was, leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you.

You didn’t even make it two steps before he pulled you in.

His kiss was warm, familiar, and tasted like the honey biscuits Molly had made for tea. You melted into it, hands sliding into his hair, your body fitting against his like it belonged there.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” he murmured against your mouth.

You smiled into the kiss. “What if someone finds us?”

“They won’t.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw. “George is on Ginny duty. We’ve got time.”

You were about to respond - about to tell him you’d missed him too - when the shed door flew open.

You jolted back like you’d been burned. Ginny stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, lips parted in silent disbelief. Behind her, George winced and muttered, “Shite.”

“I knew it,” Ginny said, her voice low and trembling. “I bloody knew it.”

You stared at her, frozen. Every part of you was suddenly cold.

“Ginny—” Fred started, stepping forward.

She didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were locked on yours, betrayal carved into every inch of her expression. “How long?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

George stepped forward. “Sorry mate, I tried to stop her—”

“You knew?!” she rounded on George like a storm, her fists balled at her sides. “You knew and didn’t say a word?!”

“I only found out recently,” he said, holding up his hands. “And it’s not my business—”

“Not your business?!” she shouted. “She’s my best friend, Fred is my brother, and you’re my other brother! How is this not our business?!”

“Ginny, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice soft, cracking. “I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”

“But you didn’t!” she shouted. “You lied to my face. Every single day. Do you think I’m stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No, Gin, I never—” You stepped toward her but she stepped back.

Her face was red with fury, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. “I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone.”

Fred reached for her, voice low. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t defend her. Don’t pretend this was nothing.” She looked at you again, and it nearly broke you. “You broke our rules.”

And then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the shed. George gave Fred a grim look, then jogged after her.

And just like that…it was over.

The warmth, the secrecy, the giddy, fluttering joy that had filled you so completely. It all shattered in the space of ten seconds.

Fred turned to you, hands raking through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

You were shaking. “I didn’t know what to say. I froze.”

He pulled you into his arms, held you like it might fix things. “She just needs time.”

You nodded against his chest, but your heart wasn’t so sure. Because you hadn’t just broken the rules. You’d broken Ginny’s heart.

———————————————————————

You tried for days. Tried to talk to her, to explain, to say something, but every time you got close, Ginny slipped away like smoke.

You followed her into the garden the next morning, calling her name as she picked harshly at the overgrown mint leaves along the back fence. She didn’t turn around. When you got close enough to speak, she stood up and walked inside without a word.

Later, you found her in the kitchen, arms folded tight, back resting against the counter as Molly spoke to her in a low voice. You hovered in the doorway, unsure, heart thudding against your ribs. Ginny met your eyes for a second - just one second - and then looked away like it hurt.

You tried again on the stairs, whispering her name as she passed. She didn’t even glance at you.

You hated this. You hated how silent everything felt. How your chest ached with things unsaid.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the hills on the third day and the Burrow settled into its evening hush, you were exhausted from trying. And Ginny still hadn’t said a single word.

You crept up to your shared bedroom slowly, quietly, like maybe she’d be soft again if you just approached the right way. You reached for the doorknob, turned it gently.

Locked.

You knocked. “Ginny?”

Silence.

You knocked again, a little louder this time. “Ginny, please. Can we just…can we talk? Please?”

Nothing. Not even a shuffle from the other side. You pressed your forehead to the wood, eyes stinging.

After a long minute, you sighed and padded back down the stairs. The Burrow was quiet now. Most of the lights were off, save for the soft, golden glow from the living room. You curled up on the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the worn knitted blankets, tucking your knees to your chest. This was where you’d been spending your nights lately, not wanting to bother Molly or Arthur about other sleeping arrangements.

The silence felt louder than Ginny’s anger. It echoed. You must have sat there for almost half an hour before you heard soft steps on the stairs.

Fred. His hair was a mess, like he’d been lying in bed unable to sleep too, and his eyes found yours with immediate concern.

“You okay?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.

“She locked me out again,” you murmured. “She won’t even look at me.”

Fred’s brow furrowed as he sat beside you, draping his arm over your shoulders and tugging you closer. “I’m sorry.”

You let your head fall onto his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen her this mad. She’s not even yelling anymore. She just…won’t see me.”

Fred let out a breath, warm against your temple. “She’ll come around. Ginny’s stubborn, but she’s not heartless. She just needs space.”

You nodded, letting the quiet settle between you again. It wasn’t the happy silence from the shed, or the secretive warmth you were used to with him. It was heavier. But his presence still helped. Still steadied you.

He rubbed circles into your arm, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You closed your eyes. “I hope so.”

And then the bottom step squeaked. You both turned.

Ginny stood in at the bottom of the staircase, holding an empty glass. Her eyes landed on you curled beside Fred. You saw the moment it hit her. The twist of disgust, the flick of her lip curling as she scoffed softly.

She didn’t say anything. Just rolled her eyes, and turned on her heel.

You threw the blanket off and jumped up. “Ginny, wait!”

She was already halfway up the stairs, empty glass still in her hand.

“Please, can we talk?” you called, following her up.

She didn’t even pause.

“Ginny—”

She reached the bedroom door, yanked it open, stepped inside. You made it just in time to catch the door slamming in your face. The sound echoed through the Burrow like a curse.

You stood there for a moment, fingers resting on the closed door, throat tight, heart cracking a little more. You didn’t even knock this time. You just turned and walked back downstairs.

Fred was waiting. His expression softened as he saw your face. “She slammed it again?”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice not to break.

He opened his arms. You walked straight into them. And for the rest of the night, the two of you stayed curled up on the couch. Not saying much. Just holding on.

———————————————————————

The next morning was unbearable. You sat between Fred and George at the breakfast table, the tension thick enough to slice with a wand. Ginny was across from you, lips pressed into a thin line, her toast untouched. She didn’t look at you. Not once. She didn’t even speak. Not to Fred. Not to George. Not even to Molly when she asked if she wanted more pumpkin juice.

Fred’s knee bumped against yours under the table. You didn’t move. But you didn’t lean into him either. You were ashamed. It hurt, having Ginny’s silence weigh this heavy on your chest.

After breakfast, Ginny stood without a word and disappeared up the stairs, her braid swinging sharply behind her. The door to her room slammed moments later.

You didn’t follow this time. You knew better now.

Fred glanced at you, eyes soft. “Come on,” he said. “Walk with me.”

You let him lead you outside into the warm morning light, the sun stretching long and lazy over the Burrow’s messy backyard. The garden was overgrown in the loveliest way. Wildflowers sprawling into vegetable patches, vines curling along the fenceposts. Fred brushed his fingers against yours as you walked, and when he caught your eye, his smile was crooked and bright like he was trying to make things better without saying it out loud.

You stopped in front of Arthur’s old work shed.

Fred pushed the door open and gestured inside with a dramatic bow. “Milady.”

You rolled your eyes. “What exactly am I meant to be admiring in here? The rusted rake or the giant spider in the corner?”

He grinned. “Neither. Just trust me.”

You stepped inside cautiously, brushing past hanging tools and stacks of flower pots, turning just in time to see him still grinning at the threshold.

“Fred?”

“Sorry,” he said in a singsong voice, and with a swift flick and a slam, the door shut. The lock turned with a click.

“FRED!” You pounded your hand on the wood. “This is not funny!”

But footsteps were already retreating. You waited - furious - for him to open it again. But the minutes passed. The shed was warm and full of the smell of soil and sun-dried wood, and you were trying to decide whether you were more angry or confused when the door creaked again.

You stood quickly, hope flickering. “Finally.”

But it wasn’t Fred. It was Ginny. She stepped in with a suspicious scowl, looking over her shoulder. “What—?”

Before she could finish the thought, slam. Click.

You both lunged for the door.

“FRED!” Ginny shrieked. “GEORGE!”

“LET US OUT!” you yelled right behind her, slamming your fists against the wood.

But their voices were muffled and maddening on the other side.

Fred called, “Not until you talk!”

George chimed in, “Properly! No hexes, no storming off!”

“Absolutely mental,” Ginny muttered, crossing her arms as she turned her back to you and marched to the far end of the shed. She plopped down on an overturned bucket, staring hard at the dirt wall.

You stayed near the door, arms folded just as tightly, silence stretching between you like a curse.

It must’ve been hours.

The heat in the shed grew heavier, sun filtering through the tiny window above. Your legs began to ache from standing, but sitting felt too vulnerable.

And then, finally, Ginny broke it. “If you wanted to snog my brother that badly, you could’ve at least warned me,” she said coolly, not looking at you.

You bristled. “It’s not just snogging.”

“Oh, please.” She barked a laugh. “You’ve been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers and I found you in a bloody broom cupboard. What else is it supposed to be?”

“It’s real, Ginny.” You stepped closer. “We actually care about each other. It’s not some fling, this means something.”

She turned sharply, fire in her eyes. “And that’s supposed to make it better?”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s worse,” she hissed. “It’s worse because you didn’t just hook up with him. You fell for him. And then you hid it from me. Lied to me. Every single time I asked where you were or what you were doing—”

“Okay, did lie,” you interrupted, chest tightening. “I did…and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” Ginny snapped. “You just didn’t want to deal with the fallout.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” your voice rose. “Look at how you’re reacting! You won’t even listen—”

“Because you went behind my back!” she shouted. “I told you everything. Every crush, every stupid thought I had about Harry or Michael, or whoever, and you were pining over my brother the whole time!”

You stared at her, stunned by how deep her voice cut.

“I just…I thought…” Her voice cracked. “I thought we were friends.”

That one hurt the most. “We are,” you said, stepping forward. “Ginny, I love you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to risk you thinking this was some betrayal. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know I did. I just…I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to fall for him. It just happened. And for years I kept it a secret because I refused to act on it so what was the point? And then it just got worse. And I hate that I made you feel like this. I never meant to. You mean too much to me.”

She looked at you for a long time. Then she sighed, sitting down heavily on a crate. “So…how long has it been happening?”

You hung your head low. “Since last week.”

She raised a brow. “Seriously? That’s…actually not as bad as I was expecting.”

You nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but he was so persistent, and…I gave in. And it’s been…honestly, it’s been amazing.”

Ginny pursed her lips. “And he’s serious?”

“Completely,” you said. “He treats me like I’m the most interesting, maddening person he’s ever met. He actually listens. And he makes me feel—” you paused, blushing a little, “—happy. Really happy.”

She let that hang in the air. Then she exhaled. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“I mean,” she shrugged, “I still think you’re an idiot. But I can live with it.”

You smiled, hesitantly at first, and then fully when Ginny rolled her eyes and opened her arms. You nearly knocked her over hugging her.

“I’m still mad,” she warned into your shoulder.

“I deserve that,” you admitted. “Completely.”

You stayed like that for a long moment. Then Fred’s voice piped up from outside, smug and singsong: “So! All good now?”

Ginny shouted, “If you ever lock me in a shed again, I swear I’ll turn your ears into flobberworms.”

George snorted. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

The door clicked open. You and Ginny stepped out, blinking in the afternoon light, shoulder to shoulder again.

Fred looked at you like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. You gave him a small smile and nodded.

All was not perfect, but it was healing. And that was enough for now.

———————————————————————

Dinner at the Burrow felt normal again.

The clinking of cutlery, the smell of roasted vegetables and gravy, the soft hum of conversation. It was like everything had fallen back into place. You sat beside Ginny again, your shoulders occasionally brushing. She’d even nudged your arm when you reached for the salt before her, and when you made a joke about Ron’s plate being stacked like a tower, she actually laughed.

It was subtle. Soft. But genuine.

From your other side, Fred was watching you with that familiar twinkle in his eye. His foot tapped yours beneath the table like it couldn’t stand not touching you, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

Molly glanced between you and Ginny, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as she set down a fresh loaf of bread. “Well,” she said, voice light, “I must say it’s nice to see you two getting along again.”

Arthur looked up from his stew and nodded. “Things were a bit frosty there for a while.”

Ginny gave a dramatic eye roll and stabbed a potato. “Yeah, well…I got over it,” she muttered, shooting you a sideways smirk.

Ron frowned and pointed his fork between the two of you. “Wait. What were you even fighting about in the first place? You’ve been whispering to each other all evening. Did I miss something?”

Fred, sitting beside you, let out a soft breath - part exasperation, part amusement. Then, without warning, he reached beneath the table and gently laced his fingers through yours. His palm was warm, calloused and familiar. It made your chest tighten, just a little.

And then, just as Ron took another bite of chicken, Fred lifted your joined hands into the air. Like some kind of victory signal.

Everyone froze. Ron choked. Ginny groaned. Molly gasped, then squealed so loudly that even the ghoul in the attic probably heard her.

“Oh! Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!” she cried, practically launching herself out of her seat. Her chair scraped back as she rushed around the table, arms outstretched like she might hug the both of you into oblivion. “You’re together?! You’re really…! Oh I’m just so happy!”

“Mum,” Fred muttered, ducking his head as you laughed and tried to brace yourself for impact. “Breathe, yeah?”

She didn’t listen. Her arms were around your shoulders in a second, pulling you into a tight, motherly hug that somehow managed to be both suffocating and comforting.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said to you, eyes misty as she cupped your cheek. “I always hoped it would be you.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized how badly you’d wanted her approval until that very moment.

Across the table, Ron raised his eyebrows at Fred and gave him a slow, impressed nod. “Well, you actually pulled it off,” he said, clearly trying not to smirk. “Didn’t think you had it in you, mate.”

“I aim to surprise,” Fred said, squeezing your hand gently under the table again.

You leaned into his side, heart fluttering. Ginny rolled her eyes again, but this time…she smiled.

“To make myself clear, rules two and three are still applicable,” She pointed between the two of you with a warning glare that held to real heat behind it.

“And rule number one?” You clarified.

“To hell with rule number one. It was stupid anyway,” she shrugged, and you beamed.

———————————————————————

Fred jumped at the opportunity to stay home, saying that his back had been sore from all the heavy lifting at the shop — clearly a lie, his wand was the one who did all the work — but you didn’t question it. In fact, staying home sounded ideal right about now.

The heavy rain pattered against your small cottage as you watched through the window, the small plants and flowers in the garden probably adoring another day of water. Fred was up in the shower — after you had joked he should shower under the clouds — and left you downstairs to make tea and toss the pre-made cookies in the oven.

He had promised you a movie day, and he’d be damned if he didn’t live up to his word.

Your baggy sweater kept you nice and warm as you padded quietly into the kitchen at the beeping of the oven, sliding on an oven mit before taking the tray of cookies out of the oven. You placed them next to the two steaming mugs of tea, hoping that Fred would at least be out of the shower in time to enjoy it while it was still warm.

The sound of the rain hitting the roof was lulling, soothing beyond belief as you felt a small rub against your leg.

Your cat, Dobby, (whom you and Fred had named in honour of the house elf) had been rather grumpy when stepping out into the wet soil this morning, and was now rubbing against your ankle with her soft fur before she hopped up onto the counter, sniffing at the cookies.

“Not for you, princess,” you gave her a small poke, “This’ll upset your tummy.”

She gave a small purr before hopping off of the counter and finding her spot on the couch, curling up into a little ball and causing you to chuckle.

“Well, look at you,” Fred’s voice came from the living room before he stepped into the kitchen, hair still slightly damp but his dark shirt and sweatpants made him look so warm and comfortable, you wanted to just lay him down on the couch and then lay yourself on top of him.

“She nearly nicked at the cookies, she did,” you pointed an accusatory finger at the curled up cat, whose eyes were already closed. She wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to you whatsoever.

Fred chuckled, stepping closer to the counter and picking up a cookie himself, “That’s not very nice of her.” He looked you up and down, “You’re wearing my sweater.”

“Oh — yeah, it was on the bed and smelled like you,” you grinned sheepishly, feeling suddenly warm under his stare, “I guess I don’t need the sweater if you’re here, because you smell like you.”

It hardly made sense, but your words kind of got the point across.

A smirk made its way onto Fred’s lips and he placed his cookie down onto the counter, hands finding your hips and pulling you close to him, “I rather like it.”

You tugged at the hem, “Obviously you like it, you git. You wouldn’t have bought it if you didn’t.”

“Oh, my god,” Fred rolled his eyes and tossed his head back, “Love, I like it on you.”

You snapped your eyes up, locking them with his, and furrowed your eyebrows, “Really? I thought you might want to wear it — it’s kind of chilly. Though I suppose we could turn on the fireplace, I don’t know why I didn’t — oof.”

Fred had placed his hands under your thighs and lifted you onto the counter, thankfully avoiding the steaming tray of cookies, and cut your ramblings short. He used his hands to open your legs and proceeded to step between them, his warmth reaching you in a second.

“Oh,” you finally caught on, noticing the mischievous little glint in his golden eyes, “Oi, you promised me a movie day, you. Don’t go changing plans because you’re dirty-minded.”

“Always dirty minded around you, love,” he mumbled, lips coming to meet your jawline before he started to press light kisses against your skin. His lips were so warm — godric, how did he do it? He was always so warm, it was nearly impossible to say no to him.

You instinctively lifted your hands and ran them through his still damp hair, tilting your head back ever so slightly to give him better access. You really doubted he had a sore back, considering the way he was leaning over the counter to reach your exposed skin.

“Not very nice of you,” you teased as his lips met your throat.

He hummed, hands gripping your thighs and giving them a small squeeze causing you to let out a squeak. Which ended up causing him to laugh, lips still trailing lightly against the skin of your neck.

“Sure you still want to watch that movie?” he asked, voice slightly lower than it had been just a mere moment ago.

You nodded, “Absolutely. There’s no better way of spending a rainy day in, in my humble opinion.”

“I think I can show you another fun way to spend a rainy day in.”

Your light teasing and joking was clearly not being heard as his hands slid from your thighs to your hips — and it was at this point you had completely forgotten about movie day. His touch was so soft, yet so commanding and sensual that you swore the temperature in the room had gone up a few degrees. It was the only thing your foggy mind could focus on.

You were thankful for the heavy rain pattering against the roof that was drowning out the sound of your pounding heart. Fred could probably feel it under his fingertips and it was no doubt just edging him on so much more.

“What do you say, should we move this elsewhere?” he removed his lips from your skin to ask the question, his eyebrows wiggling in a childish manner.

You let out a laugh and wrapped your hands around his neck, your way of answering him, before he lifted you off of the counter. You couldn’t see where he was taking you, your head in the crook of his neck placing little kisses, but you trusted he’d carry you safely.

It wasn’t until you felt the soft touch of fabric under your thigh, the cushiony feeling of the couch under your bum alerting you that he really hadn’t taken you far. That was how eager he was.

“Freddie, not the couch!” you placed your hand on his chest and moved away from him, “Dobby is literally sitting right bloody next to us. That’s awkward.”

“You’re right. Fair point,” he nodded, giving the cat a look, “This isn’t for your eyes.”

You sat up and linked your hand in his, the warmth of skin against yours a comforting feeling as you walked towards the bedroom, your man following hot on your heels.

Yeah, it was safe to say movie day was no longer happening.

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“Y/N, come on up! I wanna show you something!” comes the unmistakable voice of Fred from his room on the second floor.

You startle, but quickly pull on a sweater and start to head up the stairs. “I’m coming, Freddie, just a minute.”

You were visiting the burrow over Christmas break along with Harry and Hermione at the request of Mrs. Weasley, who’d wanted to meet you ever since you and Fred had first started dating, and you were having a blast. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both just like their children, fiercely loving and loyal, not to mention generous, despite what little they had. And… Mrs. Weasley made the best meals you had ever tasted, even better than the ones at Hogwarts.

But your favourite part about staying at the burrow was of course, a certain red-headed twin who happened to be a beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team AND as of recently, your boyfriend.

Despite your relationship being in its early stages, you’d both liked each other for a long time before, it had just taken a while for Fred to finally gather his courage and ask you out. Needless to say, you said yes, and your first date was an extremely fun afternoon in the fields near Hogsmeade, where Fred had set up a little picnic for you both. It was amazing, and far more thoughtful than you had thought it was possible for the Weasley to be, making you fall even more for him.

Shaking your head, you grinned, and headed upstairs, no doubt towards a new invention Fred had been dreaming up.

When you got there however, you were surprised to find that his room was quite normal. Well, as normal as a teenage boy (and wizard!)’s room could be. So what had Fred called you up for?

“What’s up, Freddie?” you ask, confused. You glance up at him, “what did you want to show me?”

Instead of answering, Fred drops down onto his bed and pulls you in. The abruptness of this movement makes you stumble a bit, before falling onto him, and you blush furiously as you try to right yourself.

The boy dons a smirk at the sight of you, all red cheeks and messy hair.

“Huh, Y/N, didn’t think you’d be so forward… but go on, you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

“Shut it, you idiot,” you shoot back, as you finally push yourself back up to a standing position, fighting a smile.

Fred grins; “ah, well it was worth a try.”

“I guess it was,” you agree, climbing back onto the boy and looping your arms around his neck, this time on your own accord, “because it worked on me.”

The Weasley laughs out loud this time, and holds you tight, “I have no idea how you got wooed by me, but I’m so happy you di--”

“Fred, mum wants you downstairs for something!” cuts George, pushing open the door of the room.

Catching sight of you and Fred on the bed, George makes a show of covering his eyes and acting absolutely disgusted, “oh for Godric’s sake, can you two get a roo-- ..”

“George, we are in a room, in case you haven’t noticed,” Fred snaps.

“Yeah, Georgie, the door was closed too,” you giggle, adding on.

“Ok, well it was MY room too, and why on earth wasn’t the door locked,” George counters, looking quite miffed, “what if I needed to come get something for.. for school?”

“YOU, preparing for school?” Fred fakes a gasp, and you morph your face into an astonished expression. “I doubt that, unless it was a dear old dungbomb for our lovely Filch.”

George huffs, but you could tell he wasn’t really mad. “Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that. You two are just so disgustingly cheesy, I can’t stand it. In fact, I need to leave right now before I get infected. And Fred, I wasn’t kidding, Mom will have your head if you don’t head down in the next 5 minutes.”

You feign offense as George pushes the door open to go back outside, and just before he leaves, Fred can’t help but quip, “maybe you’d do well to be a lil infected, I don’t think Angelina would mind much.”

And as you and Fred both burst into laughter thinking of your quidditch playing friend, you catch a tinkling chuckle coming from out the door.

“So… back to it?” Fred prompts, winking at you.

“Back to what exactly, Freddie?” you raise an eyebrow, “don’t you remember George’s message? I’d like for you to keep your head, please.”

“Oh, come on!” Fred exclaims, grabbing onto your waist again, “you can’t be serious.”

In one smooth move, you hop off of the Gryffindor and pull him off the mattress. “Oh but I am, Freddie. Dead serious.”

But even so, a giggle escapes from you as you shove him out the same door as his twin.

“Don’t worry love, I can’t disapparate yet, I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to.”

“Right, yeah, how very reassuring,” huffs Fred, crossing his arms, “the things I do for this household.”

But the ghost of a grin brushes over his face as he turns to look at you one more time, before setting out to do a surely grueling task assigned by Mrs. Weasley.

******

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If the room hadn’t gone so eerily still at your comment, you never would have noticed the small jab to the hip George gave his twin. Fred grunted a bit and stifled a cough. “Oh, no worry -- George already said he’ll take the floor.”

Fred earned himself an eye roll and another jab.

You waved them both off and blew on your tea. “Don’t be silly! I’ll take the floor. You two’ve just got to battle it out for who gets the bigger bed.”

As if on queue, George immediately hoisted his bag back over his shoulder. He began walking away and pointed toward your very tiny spare bedroom off of the kitchen. “This one here, yeah? Thanks again, Y/N, really appreciate you letting us escape the wrath of our aunt -- I’m absolutely knackered, hope you two don’t mind if I turn in!” and with a quick wave to you and Fred, George closed the door and you both almost immediately heard very loud snoring. You and Fred exchanged a laugh.

You made sure everything was in order for Fred before leading him to your room. But you noticed he hadn’t brought his stuff with him -- you saw his belongings near your front door. With a wave of your wand, you brought it forward.

“I’m really okay to sleep on the couch,” he told you, pointing back toward the front.

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the couch,” you replied, shaking your head. “Besides -- you’re not staying out there. I might be a bit dramatic, but the couch is too close to the windows and the front door, and though I’ve been safe here for a while..” you voice trailed off a bit, and you swallowed down the nerves bubbling up inside of you. “Just -- we never know where the Death Eaters are. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

You patted Fred’s shoulder, ready to head back out to your front room, when he took your wrist in his hand and whirled you back around to face him. “If I’m not allowed to take the couch, neither are you.”

You crossed your arms and swallowed. “Fine,” you replied with a grin. “Have got tons of extra pillows and a massive blanket here somewhere -- let me go and fetch it. Go on then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Merlin, you are being thick today,” Fred chuckled, and you noticed traces of the young boy you grew to love. He caressed small circles on the back of your hand. “Would you just sleep in your own bed?”

“But --” your breath caught in your throat. You glanced at your own bed, easily big enough for two, maybe even three, and went against your better judgement before you could overthink it. “Just share with me, then. Nobody takes the floor.”

A hint of nervousness flashed across his features before twisting into a cheeky grin. You continued on when he stayed silent, “What’s the matter, Freddie? You’ve been my best mate for the better half of the last twenty years. I mean, I’ve seen you in your bunny slippers, for Merlin’s sake --” Fred flinched uncomfortably at the memory of you catching him, late one evening in Gryffindor tower, in bunny slippers his mum had knitted for him as a child. You had never let him forget it.

His grin deepened alongside the crimson red colour of his cheeks. “Listen, woman, they are soft and keep me nice and toasty, alright?”

“Whatever you say,” you replied before sliding yourself underneath your warm blanket. You patted the other side of the bed in an accidental sensual way and realized how that must’ve come across. You quickly cleared your throat and turned off the light before you could see his reaction. “Erm -- there are extra pillows on the couch if you need.”

You felt his body slide in next to yours, and you could still make out some of his facial features from the faint light of the lightning strikes outside. He was definitely still grinning. “I’m fine, really.”

You figured out quite quickly that neither of you were able to sleep, especially because it was only eleven p.m. and because of the wild wind and rain that were howling outside of your window. The words were spilling out of you before you could help it. “Fred?”

He turned on his side to face you. “Yeah?”

You were laying on your back, looking up at your ceiling in the darkness. “Are you afraid?”

When he didn’t answer right away, you turned your head to face him too. Each time the lightning struck it was bright and vibrant, and highlighted his features in a more intimate way than ever before. He threaded his brows together and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I am.”

It was weirdly comforting hearing him say that he was afraid. The man who didn’t have a serious bone in his body was actually scared. It was strange and unnerving and brought a sense of solace to you all at once.

You sucked in a breath, worried that your normal evening anxiety would show solely through the look in your eyes. You turned away to glance toward the ceiling again when you felt Fred brush his fingers gently against yours under the covers. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“I think it’ll be okay though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I suppose I can’t..” it was so weird, hearing him speak like this. He shifted again. “I just think.. we’re more prepared than before. Think there’s more of us this time. Besides, we’ve done our studying, and we’re all brilliant wizards.”

A smile tugged at the edges of your mouth. “You are kind of brilliant.”

“Wow,” he breathed, and it was almost a whisper. You noticed the way the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Care to return the compliment first?”

“Hang on,” he replied, placing his hands behind his head in a bit of a relaxed state. “I need to bask in this for a moment.”

“Oh shove off, you git!”

You playfully swatted him before he retaliated. Soon enough you were both sitting upright, thwacking one another with pillows and laughing into the darkness of the night. Fred fell to the floor with a dull thump, and you stifled lots of giggles and shushed him as he slid back into bed next to you. “You’re going to wake up George!”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were swatting at one another. It could’ve been hours, or perhaps days. But then the storm grew more fierce, and you found yourself scooting closer to him in bed. Fred always had a way of making you forget about everything going on around you. It was always surprising to you how you’d be able to drown out the rest of the world, as long as you listened to him talk, or as long as you watched him work on his inventions with gentle hands. Even in lessons, back in school, when he’d teasingly wink at you from across the classroom, you were pretty much rendered completely useless for the rest of the day. When it was just you and him, the rest of the world might as well not even exist.

He must’ve noticed how you zoned out, because he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

You turned on your side to face him fully this time. “Just reminiscing.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“Remember when we bumped into one another in the corridors during our fourth year -- I was sneaking sweets up from the kitchens, and you were attempting to sneak into one of the classrooms to finish working on inventions?” You smiled at the memory. “And then Filch was roaming around, and we nearly got caught?”

Fred laughed. You were happy that he remembered. “Never sprinted back to the common room so quickly in my life. That ruddy cat of his was clawing at my ankles.”

“Between the fact that I’d hardly gotten any sleep that night and the adrenaline rush, I was bloody exhausted.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, you fell asleep in the armchair next to the fire almost immediately when we returned and began to snore rather loudly, if my memory serves me correct.”

You grinned, not skipping a beat. “Yeah, my snoring is almost as embarrassing as those slippers of yours.”

You expected him to groan and throw another pillow in your direction, but instead he just deepened his smile and reached out and placed his hand next to yours on the edge of his pillow, your fingers almost touching. “I dunno -- I thought it was cute.”

You really hoped the steady drumbeat sound of your heart was drowned out by the sounds of the thunder outside. You weren’t so sure though. “Yeah?”

He wet his lips and nodded. “I remember having to wake you up because it was nearly four a.m. -- fire had died out and you looked so uncomfortable in that armchair -- I just wanted to carry you upstairs. Except..” Yeah, jinxes by the professors at each respective staircase. Boys weren’t allowed in the girls dorms, and vice versa. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you, so you gently moved your fingers a few centimeters before you slowly intertwined them with his. He didn’t flinch. Your voice was softer than you expected. “What else do you remember about that night?”

It was an opening -- you didn’t want to be so blatantly obvious about it, but Fred could always read you like a book. You hoped he still could, after all these years. Luckily for the both of you, nothing had changed. He took the opening. “I remember wanting to kiss you.”

You bit your lip, hoping to suppress the nerves that were bubbling up inside of you like fizzy champagne.

Fred laughed cheekily. “Never got a chance, though.”

Before you could think more on it, you nudged his leg with your toes and scooted closer to him. You could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, you were so close. “Then kiss me now.”

His mouth parted slightly in surprise, but nevertheless he inched forward and caught your lips with his. They were soft -- softer than you ever could have imagined, and so was the kiss itself. He tasted faintly of mint, and and you found yourself breathing in deeper when he trailed one solitary finger across your jawline and down your neck. The feel of him against you warmed up your entire body in a way that the common room fire never could.

He sighed against your lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Mmm we should’ve been doing this the entire time,”

You laughed softly and brought your fingers to your lips, hoping to still feel that electricity. “Yeah, we probably should have.”

All thoughts of the war seemed to subside as he leant in to kiss you again. Somehow, being with him, your limbs entangled together -- it was enough to make you forget about the war on the horizon, everything that was about to happen. As far as you were concerned, as long as Fred was beside you, tangled in the covers of your bed, everything would be alright.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice was rough and sensual and soft all at the same time as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for inviting me to sleep in your bed.”

You grinned and raked your bottom lip through your teeth. “Yeah, well, like you said -- we should’ve been doing this the entire time. Figured I’d get a jump start on what we’ve missed.”

You stormed through the hallway, heading straight to the dining hall. It was late, and you barely anybody would be in there, but you knew he would be. 

You stopped in the doorway, scanning over the tables until your eyes landed on a familiar mop of red hair. Locking your eyes on your target, you stomped over, clutching your bag tightly in your right hand.

“Oh shit- what did you do this time?” You heard Lee whisper to Fred, as you got closer, but you paid him no mind, eyes locking with Fred’s, who had that same stupid smirk that he always did. It made your blood boil.

“Good evening love, how’s your night going?” Fred asked nonchalantly, as if you were friends and not life long enemies.

“I have to say, it was going quite well, until I found this” You seethed, slamming your bag onto the table in front of him. “Say, does this bag look familiar to you?”

“Nope, can’t say it does” Fred shrugged, but the glimmer in his eye said differently.

“Really? Why don’t you take a closer look” You insisted, grabbing the bag off the table, flipping open the top, and flipping it upside-down, causing an eruption of water to fall from the mouth of the bag.

The water continued for what felt like forever, pieces of paper and pens falling out with it as the contents emptied out onto the floor, soaking yours and Fred’s shoes, but neither of you made a move.

After the water had finally stopped, you threw the bag into his lap, causing him to look down at it, a thoughtful hand on his chin.

“You know, now that I’m looking more closely at it, it does look a bit familiar” He said simply, and judging by the nervous looks on George, and Lee’s face when they saw you, you for sure had steam coming out of your ears now, but you kept your composure.

“Oh, well that’s good. You see, I’m trying to solve a bit of a mystery of who could have done this. Would you have any ideas?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of you.

By now, most of the cafeteria had cleared out. They have seen you and Fred get into heated arguments before. But this was different.

This was going to be fatal.

“No clue, but I have to say whoever thought of it is a bloody genius” He complimented, giving you a grin.

“Genius you say? So you think, flooding my one bag, and ruining all my homework, as well as my ten page essay that I’ve been working on all month, that’s due tomorrow... is Genius?” You asked, the calmness in your voice adding a coldness to the room that shot straight to everyone's bones.

And judging by the now terrified face Fred wore, he was feeling the effects of your voice as well.

“Oh, I see there's been a mix up, I’m actually George-”

“You are fucking not! Don't get me caught up in this” George interrupted, standing along with Lee to flee the scene 

“So sorry about him, Y/N, he can’t be helped. Try not to go to hard on him-” Lee started, but a quick glance his way shut him up instantly “Actually on second thought, do what you see fit, see ya Fred”

With that, George and Lee practically sprinted out of the dining hall, leaving you standing over Fred, who suddenly felt very small.

“I swear, I had no idea your essay was in there, if I had known I wouldn’t have-” Fred started apologizing, but was quickly cut off when your hand slammed down on the table beside you.

“You see Fred” You said, taking a seat on the bench next to him. “I think you did know. We’re in the same class, you’ve seen me working my ass off trying to get this essay done, and you’ve even asked for my notes, which I refused because of this kind of shit you pull” 

Fred swallowed thickly, his heart beating out of his chest at your anger. He had seen you angry before, and he’s been cross with you a few times as well, but those died down fairly quickly, and most of the time there weren't to many hard feelings. And you were right, he had seen you working on that essay, both in class, and at two in the morning in the library.

“Now” You continued “We’ve had out little quarrels in the past, you prank me, I prank you, you hit me with a quaffle at quidditch, I hit one back at you, nothing too serious. But this” She paused, picking a sopping wet pile of papers off the floor, and plopping it in front of him “Is really really fucking low. Did you know, I was already failing this class?”

The question put Fred on the spot, and he felt his heart sink to his stomach. He had always known you to be extremely smart and quick minded, so to hear you weren't doing so well in that class came as a surprise.

“Yeah, I’m failing because, fun fact, I’m fucking exhausted. I’m staying up till three in the morning every night, trying to get caught up in classes. I’m writing back and forward to my family constantly because they’re going through financial problems again, Umbridge is constantly writing me up for no reason, and on top of all of that, I still need to be worried about this” 

Your voice was beginning to shake a bit, and you both knew you were about to cry, but you were determined to keep the tears in until you were done. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“So... Fred, consider this little rival, or fight, or whatever the fuck this is, over. I’m done, you win, just please, for the love of fuck, leave me alone” 

With that, you stood up and left the dining hall, quickly wiping the stay tear that snuck out on your way. All the while, Fred sat in shocked silence. He had always seen your little back and forwards as friendly competition, and had even thought they were a bit flirty at times. In fact, you two had been getting a bit closer these last few months, and had even started hanging out as friends. But now, he had royally fucked that up, and he needed to fix it.

The next day, you were exhausted. You had spent a lot of the night crying, which you hated but all the pent up emotions just came flooding out. Yes, you were absolutely pissed at Fred, but most of all, you were hurt. In the last few months, you’re arguments had died down a bit, and you found yourselves hanging out from time to time, always accidentally, but you enjoyed his company none the less.

You had even begun to like him a bit, maybe even more than a friend. He was nice, and charming, and wicked funny, and always tried to make you smile, but now, after seeing how careless, and almost mean he had been, you knew you needed to shove those feelings down. So you did. 

Your first class was potions, which of course you had with Fred. He sat behind you, and for a while, he made the class bearable, passing notes back and forward. But now you were absolutely dreading it.

Fred was sat in his usual seat, waiting for you to walk in. He had come in early, hoping to get the chance to talk to you, but when you walked in just as class began, he knew he would need to try a different approach.

Not even five minutes into the class, you felt a piece of paper land beside your elbow on your desk. You looked down, finding a folded up piece of paper, which you immediately knew was Fred's.

You could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head, but instead of turning around, you simply flicked the paper off your desk, returning your gaze to the chalkboard. A few minutes later, another piece of paper, this time on top of your notebook. Again, you flicked it off. 

Finally, five pieces of paper later, you smacked your quill down and picked up the newest piece of paper from your desk, unfolding it and looking it over, Fred watching you closely as you did

Can we please talk? I’m sorry

You finally turned around to meet the boys gaze, his eyes instantly lighting up at the change, but his spirits quickly fell when he saw your face, not angry, or frustrated, but sad.

You had had enough, facing the boy, you placed the paper back onto his own desk right as the professor dismissed the class, quickly slipping out of the room before Fred could follow you.

You avoided him like the plague the rest of the day. You didn’t have many other classes with him, and the ones you did share you made sure to find an empty seat far away from him, you even skipped lunch, choosing instead to read in your next class. 

You even skipped the class where your essay was due, not wanting to show up and hand over nothing, you decided to spend the rest of the day alone, and try to redo your assignment, even if you now only had a day to do it.

Fred only saw you again after class by the forbidden forest. He had found you pretty easily, you weren’t in any of your usual spots, so he knew this would be the next best spot to check. As he approached you, he found you had changed out of your uniform and were now in some joggers and a sweatshirt, sitting with your back against a rock as you scribbled in the notebook in front of you.

You chewed your lip as you tried to rewrite your essay, looking to your textbook and back every few second, before messing up on a word. Frustrated, you scribbled out the paragraph you had been working on and threw your notebook and quill to the side, resting your elbows on your knees as you held your head in your hands.

You quickly snapped out of it though when someone behind you cleared their throat, getting your attention and making you jump out of your skin. Panic surged through you, expecting a teacher, or worse, Umbridge, but the fear was soon replaced by irritation when you made eye contact with none other than the very red head you had spent all day trying to avoid.

“What do you want Fred?” You asked, turning back to face the forbidden forest, away from him. 

He didn’t answer, instead you were met with the sound of grass shuffling beneath his feet as he got closer, taking a seat before holding something out to you, causing you to look over at him.

It was your bag from yesterday, but now completely fixed and dry. It looked like brand new. 

You took the bag from him and looked it over, going over the seams and the straps before finally opening it, finding your notebooks, pens, and homework assignments all neatly tucked inside.

“How did you- When did-” you rambled trying to find the words and you shuffled through your belongings, finding them all intact and dry before finally turning to look at him “Why did you do this for me?”

Fred wasn’t expecting that question, but he still answered, looking down at the grass.

“I felt really bad after yesterday, and not just because of that stuff you... anyway, I know I went too far, and I shouldn't have done it in the first place, but I wanted to have a reason to talk to you I guess, and I did it in the worst way possible, and I wanted to make it up to you. I’m sorry”

You looked at him, before turning back to the bag, noticing there was something missing, but before you could say anything Fred continued.

“I was also able to save your essay, it took a while but it was all there. I was going to give it to you in class, but you didn’t show up so I turned it in for you and said you were sick. I got to read some of it by the way, its really good and I would be surprised if you-”

Fred was cut off by you moving your bag to the side and turning to face him, wrapping your arms around him to pull him into a hug. 

Fred was too shocked to move for a second, but quickly found himself returning the embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you closer. You sat like that for a minute, your face buried in his neck as a thousand emotions flooded over you. Finally, you pulled away, looking him in the eye.

“I’m not saying I’m not entirely grateful” you started “But you could have just come and talked to me, why did you feel you needed to do that to talk to me?”

At this, Fred’s face began to heat up a bit and he looked back down, fiddling with the grass. He was hoping to fix your friendship and move on, maybe one day growing to be something more, but now he was faced with the choice to tell you his feelings, or lie, and he didn’t want to deny it anymore.

“We’ve always had our little competitions and stuff, ever since we were kids, and for a while we really hated each other. But then, these last few months I got to know you a lot more, and I always knew you were funny, but you’ve got a wicked sense of humor, and you’re super smart, and are always helping people, and you’re always kind to everyone you meet, and I thought I might have had a crush or something. And I didn’t really know how to interact with you in a not competition way, and I didn’t want to freak you out, but after the bag, seeing how it hurt you, it broke me. And I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought I did”

Fred looked up at you, waiting for your reaction. Were you angry, upset, happy? Your face wasn’t giving him any signs, but then, a small smile crept to your lips, and despite how hard you tried to fight it.

You laughed.

“I’m sorry” You started, trying to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest “I’m not laughing at you, I’m not, it’s just-” Another laugh. “God were just a bunch of idiots aren't we?”

Fred was looking at you like you’d gone crazy

“What do you mean?”

“I like you too dumb ass” You confessed.

“You... oh... Oh!” Fred exclaimed, finally putting the pieces together. “Wow, I really fucked up didn’t I”

“Oh for sure” you nodded, causing Fred to let out a groan, shaking his head before looking back to you, a smile on his face.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the rest of the space between you and pressing your lips to his. Fred returned the action, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to pull you in closer, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds, you both pulled away, each with goofy smiles on your faces.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Fred asked.

“Only if you promise to never do it again” you said

“Deal” Fred answered quickly, holding out his pinky to you, which you wrapped your own pinky around, shaking on the agreement.

“Wow a pinky promise, that's some hard core shit” You joked in a serious tone.

“Hey, if it means I get to spend more time with you, I’d pinky promise to anything” Fred replied, to which you gave him a feigned shocked expression.

“Anything?! Aww, you like me like me” you teased, laughing as Fred playfully pushed your shoulder.

“Shut up you like me like me too” Fred argued

“That is true” you nodded, before smiling and grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him into another kiss, smiling as he pulled you even closer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Heeey, so I was hit with the biggest surge of motivation today and I literally got two weeks of homework done, deep clean my room, and wrote this, so if I go dark for a few months its probably because I’ve used my adrenaline budget for the year lol.

But seriously, I know this fic gets a bit... deep ig? Idk, I’ve been going through it recently and I wanted some angst that would actually reflect how I would react in that situation if you know what I mean? Like I see a long of angsts where the love interest does something really mean, but a simple apology solves everything and yeah. No hate if that’s your writing style, its just not my thing, and I wanted to express my emotions through here, because nobody directly fucked up an entire month of my work but it certainly feels that way sometimes.

“Y/N, if not for yourself, do it for us!” Angelina pleads, shooting you a puppy dog face over her glass.

Alicia mimics her, “Merlin, please! I don’t care if you interact with people or spend the whole night taking notes in the corner, I just want to know what goes down.”

“Gringotts party Y/N?” George asks, sliding into the booth next to Angelina. “Bill says they’re legend.”

“Yeah, I dunno...I think I’d rather skip it honestly.”

“What, why?!” Fred slides in next to you, his hand stopping midair over the basket of fries.

“I just don’t like big parties, that’s all.”

“You liked the Yule ball.”

“Yeah, because you three snuck firewhisky in for us in your flasks” you laugh, dragging your finger between Lee, Fred and George.

“Okay, so just take a few shots before you go. Problem solved.” Lee shrugs.

You shake your head, pausing to swallow your butter beer before answering. “It’s my first big work party, I can’t be drunk.”

“Who said anything about drunk? A few shots and you’ll still be coherent. Hey, I’ll even go with you.” Fred grins, slinging his arm over your shoulder.

“What, like as my date?” You tease.

“I wouldn’t mind having you on my arm” he winks, sending shivers down your spine. While George and Lee whistle and Alicia rolls her eyes, your best friend remains composed, eyeing you quietly as she sips her drink. Angelina has graciously listened to years of you secretly pining after Fred, encouraging you to make a move--which you’ve never had the guts to do. You and Fred flirted constantly, and he had a tendency to bring you small gifts he’d nicked from the kitchens or Filch’s office, or even little inventions being tested for the shop. But you’ve always chalked it up to his personality and your close friendship, a bond you weren’t ready to lose once you spilled your guts and he let you down gently. But now, whether from Angelina’s pointed  stare or the way Fred’s gently tracing circles into your shoulder, you’re thinking the party may not be that bad if Fred were to go with you. So you down the rest of your drink before grinning back at him, “Okay, sure.”

                                          -----------------------------

Standing in front of your mirror on the night of the party, you can’t really identify how you’re feeling. On the one hand, this is not going to be your scene. On the other , you get to spend the evening with Fred, and you’re going to look hot while doing so. Your black dress hugs your body, laced with subtle gems which gleam whenever you move under the lights. You look like the night sky come alive, your hair and makeup done up to your liking. Fred meets you outside your apartment, slack jawed and grinning. He’s wearing a crisp dragonhide suit, the emerald cut pairing nicely with his sharp jawline and  flaming hair. 

“You clean up nice, Y/N.”

“Not half bad yourself, Freckles.”

He beams, not even caring if you can see the blush on his cheeks. “Here, this is for you.” He pulls his arm from behind his back, a plum jewelry box sat in his palm. “Fred, you shouldn’t have.” “Just open it.” he nudges your arm, eyes trained on your face as you undo the ribbon.

“Freddie…” You gasp. Sat inside is a silver chain bracelet, little green gemstones braided into the metal. “Fred, how expensive was this?” 

“Hey don’t worry about it.” He smiles at your stunned expression, “Half of it’s repurposed anyways...recognize the jewels?” You lift the bracelet from the box, jaw dropping when you realize the green gems are the same ones that used to sit in a framed photo of you and your Mom. Fred had gifted you an early version of the punching telescope, which had repeatedly smashed the frame to smithereens when you tossed it onto your nightstand. You had saved the photo with a simple repairo, but the frame was too far gone. Fred had apologized profusely, and though you assured him it was alright he never stopped feeling guilty. That picture frame had sat next to your bed for as long as he’d known you, and he couldn’t stand that you’d lost it because of him. 

“Now you’ll have it with you wherever you go. Can I?” Fred takes the bracelet from you to clasp on, goosebumps rising from where his fingers touched your skin. “Perfect.” He admires, taking your hand in his. 

“This might be the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you Freddie.” 

You feel like you’re melting inside, hoping Fred doesn’t see how your legs have turned to jelly. If he does notice, he doesn’t say so, kissing your forehead and asking, “Ready to go?” Right. The party. You had completely forgotten about it while caught up with Fred’s gift, and now your nerves return in an instant. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand, sending sparks up your arm. “Whisk me away then, Weasley.” Fred grins, kissing your forehead once more before you two aparate away.

When you emerge from darkness you're standing in a vast field, lightly covered in glittering snow, white unicorns lounging on the outskirts. The hub of the party is in the center, enchanted beams of blue flame encircling the area and keeping out the winter cold. Beyond the circle, an expanse of snow and ice sculptures flow into a miniature village garden, the stone trail lined with winter roses and snowdrops. Hundreds of tiny Fairies fly overhead, sprinkling silver and gold fairy dust above the party guests, a fair few nicking treats and mulled wine from the dessert table. The guest themselves are a wide array of people--pop stars, ministry officials, ancient wizard families aiming to make an appearance and not a tabloid. The unicorns avoid the crowd for the most part, but some of the babies inch closer to the food tables, eagerly taking strawberries from the young witches cooing at them. A couple of drunk fairies fly recklessly towards where you and Fred stand, belching out champagne-scented “Welcome!”s before upturning their empty fairy pails over your heads.  

“I can’t believe you talked me into this” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

 “Come off it Princess, this will be fun. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date here.” He winks, and you pray he can’t feel how sweaty your palms have gotten. 

Fred leads you into the party, not making it two feet without being recognized by one of the shop’s investors. A small, pompous old man dressed in so much jewelry he resembled a plum pudding and his tall wisp of a counterpart dressed in a crisp gray suit, his opposite in both stature and dress. They’re a duo whom you’ve seen around the bank from time to time, often discussing portfolio forecasts with your boss. At the bank, they carried themselves with a snootiness which told you never to expect more than a small grunt of acknowledgement, but here they both reek of rum, smiling kindly at you once Fred introduces you as one of his closest friends. 

“Good to know a chap like this, eh Y/N? An in to the party of the year!” The short man, Octavion, bellows. You smile tightly, “I actually work at the bank, in Danburry’s office. We’ve met a few times.” “Are you certain, my dear? It would be rare for Octavian not to notice a beauty like yourself.” the tall man scoffs condescendingly as Octavian frowns at you. But before he can say a word, Fred cuts him off, “Well, it would be rare for Octavian had he not have to constantly choose between peering over his own stature and around yours, don’t you think Walters?” At once Octavian breaks into a booming laugh, all his pocket watches and jacket jewelry bouncing from the vibration. Walters slowly cracks a sly smile, his display of amusement matching his dress. You and Fred spend a few more minutes talking with the men, Fred’s schoolboy charm and wit melding seamlessly into the businessmen he’s now become. It makes you swoon, head spinning to the point that you have to tighten your grip on his arm.

“Hey, everything good?”  Fred whispers in your ear.

“Perfect” you smile sweetly, stomach clenching when he smiles back.

“Good. Because I’d really like to have this next dance—Weird Sisters?

You grin, nodding as the sound of a familiar tune picks up and Fred sweeps you away from the investors and onto the dance floor. You get lost mimicking your moves from the Yule Ball, not at all formal but in tune with the other party goers who’ve chosen to dance to the number. Afterwards he guides you to a table to get a drink, perhaps some iced wine. “Having fun, Y/N?” “I am, actually,” you smile, “I didn’t expect--”

“Y/N!” You’re cut off, spinning to see Simon, an analyst from your office who’s asked you to coffee a few times (both of which you’ve declined). He’s cute, and nice enough, but if you were honest with yourself he just didn’t compare to Fred. But his presence startles you, makes you realize you were about to say I didn’t expect to fully enjoy this date, but this wasn’t a date, was it? That had been a joke, and Fred had played along. You and Fred are friends, nothing more. You blink back into the conversation, catching the tail end of Simon asking if he can steal you for a dance.

“Yeah sure,” You swallow, “Fred and I are just friends.” You said it outloud more for yourself than anything else, but you catch how Fred’s face falls, the dip in his brow mimicked in your gut. Before you can apologize or attempt to explain yourself, Fred is waving it off and telling you to have fun, mumbling about how he still needs to say hello to Bill. Simon whisks you away without another word, your mind still reeling with the image of Fred so crestfallen. Was it just a joke...or was this actually a date? You’re not really listening to Simon, tuning in once more as he tentatively holds the small of your back with one hand, and your hand in his other. The formal stance is such a contradiction to your wild dancing with Fred that it feels awkward and you giggle to yourself.

“Something funny?”

“What? Oh—no, sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Simon asks, twirling you to the beat.

“Hmm? Uh, Nothing...sorry”

You don’t tell Simon, but you’re apologizing for the way your thoughts are consumed with Fred. How relaxed you felt when with him, the opinions of these high society people, your boss and coworkers nowhere near your mind. You felt right next to him, walking in with him, getting a drink with him. It didn’t even feel like a big formal party, just ...being. Being with Fred. And it felt right, like you should have been with him all along.

Fred’s eyes stay trained on you from his vantage point next to Bill and his friends, the bracelet he gave you shimmering next to Simon’s hand. He didn’t really know what he felt. Jealous bile? Forlorn queasiness? Smitten anguish? Most likely all three, but whatever the cause he feels sick. When George had told him Angelina made some suggestive comments about tonight, he’d dared to hope that maybe his long-time crush wasn’t unrequited. Maybe all these years of flirtatious banter was more than just a game, and tonight would actually be a date. A first date of the many he’s fantasized about taking you on, your hand in his all the while. 

But you had been so quick to brand you two as just friends, shoving his ego down further than it’s ever been before. Yet despite the humiliation, he can’t help but to watch you, a small voice defying the pain to suggest that maybe you didn’t mean it. Maybe you want this to be a date, but assumed he’d just been joking? He thought the bracelet would be enough of a hit but maybe he was wrong. There are a lot of maybes when Fred thinks about you with him, but he knows for sure that the posh bloke you’re dancing with now is not to your taste, chuckling quietly when you step on Simon’s foot.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry” you rush, grimacing as Simon winces in pain.

“It’s alright Y/N, no worries.” Luckily the song’s ended, and you help Simon to sit down so he can examine his foot. 

“Hey Simon,” You haven’t been the most graceful dance partner, and you’re not sure how to put this delicately. “So—”

“You’re into the redhead. The Weasley.”

“I....yeah. Yeah, I am.” You grow warm, fiddling your fingers.

“Figures,” Simon chuckles, rubbing his ankle, “He’s been staring at you throughout our entire dance.” Simon indicates over your shoulder, and you turn to lock eyes with a flush-faced Fred. “Simon I’m so sorry,” you start.

“Stop apologizing! Really—it’s alright. Just go tell him, and don’t step on another poor bloke on your way.” You grin at Simon, waving goodbye before pushing your way through the crowd. Between the crowd and drunk fairies haphazardly sprinkling glitter everywhere, it takes you longer than you’d like to find Fred. The next act is about to begin, the shaking drums and absence of Fred’s presence threatening your resolve.

“Hey you.” Fred catches your wrist, his touch burning your skin.

“Hey,” you smile up at him and take a deep breath, “I need to tell—” but just then the band picks up, drowning your words in the process. Fred laughs at your babble, tilting his head towards the snow sculptures. You nod, moving your hand to hold his as he leads you away from the dance floor. It’s taken eight years for you to build up the courage for this, and you’ll be damned if a rock band gets in your way.

You lean into him as you walk, Fred humming when you do. Despite the weight of your unspoken confession growing heavy on your chest, you’re relieved to be with him again. There’s an ice bench covered in wool throws not three feet off of the flowered path, and Fred intertwines your fingers as he leads you to it. “A seat for the lady?”

“Actually....I really...Fred, I need to tell you something.”

“Really? Is it okay if I sit anyways? Just so that you won’t step on my foot, ya know” he laughs and you lightly shove him, surprising both of you with your strength as he falls onto the bench. He doesn’t let go of your hand though, the gesture keeping the smile on your lips. “What do you have to tell me, princess?” He playfully swings your hands between you two, eyes never leaving yours. You open your mouth to speak, breath hitching when you realize just how fucking beautiful Fred looks right now. The lights and fairy dust dancing across his face, broad shoulders blanketing his frame. And those freckles, like kisses of cinnamon across his rosy cheeks, neck and hands.

“Y/N?”

“I’m in love with you.” You exhale.

“W-What?” Fred stares at you, dumbstruck.

“I’m in love with you. I’m, I mean, I’m pretty sure.” You stutter, realizing his hand has gone slack in yours. “I’ve been into you since third year, and I realize how insane this must be and I’m so sorry to ruin your night and I understand completely if you don’t feel the same and don’t want to be friends with me anymore that’s okay I get it, but I can’t not tell you anymore ...imsosorry.” You finish in a whisper. Your monologue was half gibberish, and for the first time since you’ve left the fires, you feel the full gust of the winter cold. It bites at you, icicle fangs ripping into your skin just as Fred’s blank expression is tearing into your heart. What have you done? 

You shudder as embarrassment washes over you, moving to pull your hand from Fred’s and run away, but before you can take one step his grip tightens, pulling you back around.

“Fred—”

You’re cut off with his lips on yours, his other hand holding you tight against him at your waist. Fred’s kiss starts off gently, but grows into full blow desperation when you kiss him back. His fingers burn into your hip, his warmth, scent and touch wading off the winter chill. You’re on fire with him, his tongue licking into your mouth like a flame after vengeance. Fred pulls back to nip at your lower lip, and you whimper, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. You both hold onto each other, eyes closed and  panting in the moonlight.

“I’m in love with you too.” he mumbles against your lips.

“What....did you just say?” You smile, Fred’s lips still on yours.

“I said, I’m in love with you too, Y/N.” He opens his eyes, the flutter of his lashes cuing you to do the same. “I am in love with you. And I’ve been into you from the moment we met. Though, admittedly was too stupid to realize it straight away.”

You release his hand to throw both your arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another kiss. Fred smiles into it, giggling when your noses knock together. The breeze picks up and you lean into Fred’s chest, his hands running up your back as you shiver.

“Are you cold?” He asks, dark eyes mirroring your own.

You shake your head, “Not so much anymore.”

“Pity, I was going to say we could go make hot chocolates at mine....so long as you don’t mind missing the party?”