Rule #1
Fred Weasley x FemReader
Being best friends with Ginny Weasley was the easiest thing in the world. Or, at least, it had been at the start. The two of you had three simple rules.
#3. Always save each other a seat.
#2. Never lie to one another.
#1. Ginnyâs brothers were off-limits.
It was rule #1 that you found yourself currently in contempt of. But how were you meant to know when youâd made that promise that a few years down the track everything would change?
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You had been best friends with Ginny Weasley for as long as you could remember.
It had started sometime in first year, when you found her crying in the girlsâ bathroom after throwing a book at moaning Myrtle. You didnât ask questions. You just sat next to her, pulled a Chocolate Frog from your bag, and said, âYou donât have to tell me. But if you want to, Iâm here.â That was the moment it began. Since then, your friendship had become a constant in both of your lives. Like the hum of the Hogwarts Express, or the steady whistle of the wind through the trees by the Black Lake.
And there were rules. Unspoken at first, but eventually written down during a sleepover at the Burrow in a notebook charmed to sparkle and float around Ginnyâs room. The most sacred of them all: âDonât fall for one of my brothers. Ever.â
You remembered the moment it was written with almost photographic clarity. Ginny had been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, face twisted with frustration as she doodled angry lightning bolts in the margins.
âHonestly, itâs like every girl whoâs ever spoken to me suddenly wants to be my best mate the second they lay eyes on one of them,â Ginny muttered bitterly, tossing her quill down. âLavender started cozying up to me last year and I thought maybe she actually wanted to be friends. But no. She just wanted to ask if Ron was âas tall in person as he looked from across the Great Hall.â Gross.â
You laughed back then, genuinely amused and a little horrified. âYouâre joking.â
âI wish I were,â Ginny huffed, brushing her hair back with a quick, irritated flick. âThen there was Marietta. She was practically joined at my hip during dinner and the whole time she was working up the courage to ask if Iâd introduce her to George. George!â
âShe couldnât even pretend to care about you, could she?â
âNot for a second,â Ginny snapped. Then her expression softened as she looked at you. âThatâs why I like you. Youâre not here for any of that rubbish.â
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 hadnât intended to fall for one of Ginnyâs brothers, but sometime in the past four years, you had. Something about Fredâs 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.
âIf I ever find out someoneâs only in my life to get to one of them,â she said. âIâll never forgive them. Promise me youâll never do that.â
âOf course,â you had sworn.
You meant it, back then. You couldnât 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 didnât 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 werenât 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.
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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.
âWelcome home!â Molly was fussing as she grabbed each one of them by the face and planted a big kiss on their cheeks.
âGross, mum!â The boys groaned and wiped their faces with their sleeves as they came into the house.
âMy darling girls!â Molly greeted the two of you, pulling both you and Ginny into a tight hug.
âHey, Mrs Weasley,â you greeted with a warm smile. Youâd 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.
âOh, how youâve grown up since the last time I saw you!â The stout woman patted your check affectionately, then stepped back to gesture to the already set table.
âLunch, everyone! On the table, NOW!â Molly Weasleyâs voice thundered through the house with such maternal command it couldâve made a mountain walk.
You hadnât 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 Burrowâs table.
Fred emerged from seemingly nowhere at your side, grinning like heâd just won a prize. âWell, well,â he said in that voice of his, low and amused, with just enough of a lilt to make your stomach flip. âGuess this seatâs mine, yeah?â
He reached for the chair to your left, the one youâd secretly been hoping heâd 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. âThat oneâs taken,â you blurted out a little too quickly.
Fred raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. âBy who?â
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. âBy me, you great big git. Rule #3, remember? Now move!â 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 heâd been wounded. âBetrayed. By my own blood.â
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. âHonestly, youâd think theyâd learn by now that we always sit next to each other. I think he did it on purpose just to mess with us.â
You forced a laugh, stabbing at a carrot with more force than necessary. âItâs exactly the completely irritating thing heâd do,â 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 wouldâve brushed against yours. How his knee mightâve 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 werenât 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 Ginnyâs brother. And you were Ginnyâs best friend. And those two things could never, ever mix.
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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 werenât 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. Heâd not tried again to steal Ginnyâs chair by your side. Youâd worked to memorise his and Georgeâs schedule, knowing what times to avoid the bathroom or the kitchen for snack break. Youâd 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 wasâŠabsolutely 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.
âEveninâ,â he said casually, like this was completely normal.
You didnât answer, mostly because you couldnât 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.
âYou always brush your teeth this agressively?â he asked, his voice low and amused. âLooks intense.â
You spat your toothpaste into the sink and grabbed your cup to rinse. âJust thorough,â you muttered, praying your voice didnât sound like it was shaking.
Fred leaned on the counter beside you, one arm braced as he turned his body toward you. âRight. Very serious business, dental hygiene. Sexy stuff.â
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.
âShouldnât you be in bed?â you asked, drying your hands quickly, your eyes fixed anywhere but on him.
âI was,â Fred said, tilting his head. âBut then I remembered the bathroom gets much more interesting around midnight.â
You blinked. âExcuse me?â
He smiled, cocking a brow. âYouâve been sneaking in here late every night like youâre hiding something. Thought Iâd investigate.â
âIâm brushing my teeth, Fred. Hardly a great mystery of the universe.â
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. âWell, then maybe Iâm the one with secrets.â
You hated that your stomach flipped. That your legs felt suddenly unsteady. That this was exactly the kind of moment youâd dreamed about for years, and yet now it was the last thing you could afford.
You cleared your throat, stepping back. âYouâre ridiculous, you know.â
âAnd yet here you are,â he said. âCornered. In a bathroom. With me.â
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.
âOh for Merlinâs sake, Fred, put a bloody shirt on!â 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 didnât move. He just glanced at Ginny over his shoulder, as if annoyed to be interrupted. âWhat?â he asked, unbothered.
âYouâre disgusting,â she snapped, elbowing past him. âYou canât just wander around half-naked like some trollop!â
Fred looked delighted by that. âTrollop? Really, Ginny? You wound me.â
She made a face. âHonestly, youâre like a feral cat.â 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 heâd done.
Ginny turned to you, unaware. âReady for bed?â
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 hadnât just flipped your entire emotional state upside down.
Ginny looked at you and scrunched her nose. âHonestly. Heâs so weird sometimes. Sorry you had to see that.â
You managed a smile, small and tight. âItâs fine. Iâve seen worse.â
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 heâd 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.
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It had been five days since The Bathroom Incident - a title youâd privately christened it with during your increasingly dramatic internal monologues. And for five blissful, tormenting, nerve-fraying days, Fred had beenâŠgood. 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.
Youâd convinced yourself it was over. That heâd gotten bored of teasing you and moved on. That maybe you were in the clear.
Until this morning. Youâd just woken up, sunlight stretching warm fingers across your face through the open window, when you heard it.
âWeâre going into town for the Sunday market!â Georgeâs voice rang out through the hallway. âCome on, grab your shoes!â
You sat up, blinking sleep from your eyes as Ginny barged into the room already half-dressed, tying her hair up with a ribbon. âYouâre coming too,â she declared, tossing your shoes toward the bed. âItâll be us and the twins.â
Your stomach turned. Just the four of you. On a sunny day. Walking into town. All together. You, Ginny, GeorgeâŠand 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 whoâd spotted a cornered mouse.
âWell, well,â he said, voice soft enough that it felt like it was just for you. âDidnât think Iâd be lucky enough to get you all day.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
He pushed off the railing and took a step closer. Close enough that you caught the familiar scent of spearmint and gunpowder. âI mean, Iâve barely seen you all summer. I was starting to worry Iâd developed a contagious rash and somehow wasnât aware.â
You folded your arms. âMaybe you have. Have you checked?â
âOh, thoroughly. Iâm in top condition.â 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.
âYou know,â he murmured, âIâd accuse you of hiding from me if I didnât already know with certainty that you were.â
Your heart thudded too loudly in your chest. Before you could deliver a scathing comeback - or worse, blush - Ginnyâs 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.
âAll right,â she said, tossing her eyes toward Fred. âYou better not make me carry everything again.â
âNo promises,â 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 wasnât 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 didnât 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 Fredâs 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 wasnât completely outrageous like the necklace Ginny had peered at with a pigeonâs-egg-sized stone, but it was more than you could justify. You set them down gently.
âCute,â Ginny said, glancing over your shoulder. âBut youâd probably lose them in, like, three days.â
âThanks for the vote of confidence.â
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. âThose were nice on you.â
You blinked. âI didnât try them on.â
âI imagined them on you,â he said easily, his voice low and teasing. âI have an excellent imagination. In fact, I can picture anyone, anywhere in just about any position.â
You rolled your eyes. âYou really never turn it off, do you?â
He stepped closer, the crowd bustling around you like a river splitting. âYouâre one to talk. Youâve been flirting with me all morning.â
You snorted. âI have not.â
Fred tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. âOkay. Not flirting. Actively ignoring me. Which is basically the same thing, just in reverse. It has the same effect.â
You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. âYouâre impossible to tolerate.â
âAnd yet youâre still here talking to me.â He leaned in, voice dropping, âWhat does that say about you?â
You opened your mouth to retort, but then Ginny reappeared, holding up a hat so absurdly shaped it looked like a squashed owl. âDo I look insane or fabulous?â
âBoth,â George said immediately.
âPerfect,â 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 didnât speak again, but you felt his presence the entire way.
Back at the Burrow, the house had returned to its gentle, midday hum. Youâd 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 Ginnyâs room, searching for a brush to untangle your wet hair. And there, sitting neatly on Ginnyâs 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 âGotcha!â
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: Couldnât let them get away. Thought you might wear them next time youâre 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. âWhatever you do, donât touch the blue shampoo bottle. I think one of the boys messed with it.â
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.
âOh Gin,â you said, covering your mouth, every nerve in your body on high alert. âLetâs get that fixed up. Iâm sure your mum will have something to help.â
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.
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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.
âI swear, I think Iâm going blind,â you sniffled, blinking rapidly as tears dripped down your cheeks.
Ginny laughed, pointing her wooden spoon at you. âOh come on, donât be dramatic. Itâs just an onion!â
âIâm not being dramatic, my eyeballs are meltingââ 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.
ââAND HE SCORES! WHAT A MOVE FROM THE LEGENDARY BEATER!â
âOH, SHUT IT, YOU OVERGROWN GNOMEââ
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. âBoys! Absolutely not! Not in my kitchen!â
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.
âOW! bloody hell!â 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.
âWHAT did I just say?!â Mollyâs voice couldâve curdled milk.
âFred!â Ginny shouted furiously. âYou idiot!â
âOh, shit, youâre crying!â Fredâs eyes widened as he saw your tear-streaked cheeks and the blood on your hand.
You glared at him, though your vision was blurry. âItâs the onions, you twat!â
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. âMerlin, I didnât mean to. I was justâŠGeorge wasâŠright, câmere. Iâve got something thatâll help. Câmon.â
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.
âGo, go,â she called, exasperated. âBefore you bleed into the mashed potatoes.â
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 Weasleyâs 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.
âYou can sit,â Fred said, waving a hand at the bed. âI promise my mattress doesnât bite.â
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. âRight, here. We just finished a batch of this last week. Might sting, but it works miracles.â He pulled out a small tin with a garish orange and purple sticker slapped across it.
You squinted at the label. âWWW? Whatâs that stand for? âWeasleyâs Weakest Workâ?â
Fred grinned, tossing a towel over his shoulder. âClose. Thirty-three percent correct, actually. Weasleyâs Wizard Wheezes. George and I, weâre starting a joke shop. After Hogwarts.â
Your eyebrows lifted. âWait, seriously?â
He nodded, pride sneaking into his voice. âWeâve been designing products for years. Weâve got a whole trunk full of prototypes. Salves, candies, decoy spell crap. Youâd love it. Youâre basically our ideal test subject - easily injured and highly opinionated.â
âCharming,â You snorted. âSo is that what the hexed shampoo fiasco was all about? Ginny was furious. Her hair was green for days.â
âNo, that one was just for fun,â 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.
âSorry,â 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. âThatâsâŠactually brilliant.â
âI know,â he said smugly, wrapping a thin bandage around your finger. âAnd, donât worry. It wonât scar. Just reapply twice a day.â
âHow are you not rolling in money already?â
He laughed and you smiled, until you realised you were still holding hands. Neither of you moved. And the silence that settled between you wasnât casual anymore. It buzzed. Tense and breathless.
Fredâs eyes lifted to meet yours, his thumb unconsciously brushing over the inside of your wrist. âWhyâve you been avoiding me?â
You blinked. âI havenât.â
He tilted his head. âYou have. Youâve been dodging me like Iâve got dragon pox. Why?â
You tried to smile. To brush it off. âMaybe I just donât like you, Fred.â
He leaned in, his voice low and serious now. âOr maybe itâs the opposite.â
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. âAlright, you two, break it up. Dinnerâs ready. And Mumâs not in the mood to wait.â
You yanked your hand back, your face going hot.
Fred sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. âCheers, George. Great timing.â
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.
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The attic smelled like dust and old wood, warmed faintly by the dayâs 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 Georgeâs bribe - a sticky handful of Droobleâs 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.
âThere you are,â 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.
âAbout time,â George chimed.
âDonât push it,â 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 hadnât stopped.
The bottle of firewhisky came out shortly after. Fred uncorked it with a flourish, holding it up like it was some ancient treasure.
âCompliments of the cabinet behind Dadâs broom collection,â he announced.
Ginny laughed. âMumâs going to have your head if she finds out.â
âShe wonât,â George assured her, âunless someone blabs.â
âRon,â 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.
âEasy,â Fred said from across the circle. âDonât want to fall asleep before the game starts.â
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. âTastes better this way.â
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 Fredâs eyes lingered just a beat too long.
Goosebumps erupted down your arms.
The moment passed too quickly. You tried to pretend it hadnât affected you, that you werenât 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 Ginnyâs 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.
âRight, time to clear out,â George said, already grabbing the cards and stuffing them into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.
âIâll bring more sweets tomorrow,â 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.
âShit,â Fred hissed. You all froze.
Footsteps echoed below. Heavy ones. Then the creak of a bedroom door.
âMum,â George whispered, eyes wide. âAnd Dad.â
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.
âWeâll come get you when itâs safe,â 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 ghoulâs fingernails on wood.
Fred let out a breath. âWell, I guess weâre trapped.â
You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous exhale. He held up the bottle of firewhisky. âStill got this. Want to play truth or dare while we wait?â
You tilted your head. âReally? Thatâs what weâre doing?â
âWeâve got time. And no escape.â 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.
âFine. But I go first,â you said. âTruth or dare?â
He leaned in, elbow resting on one knee, still holding the bottle between two fingers. âDare,â he replied, too fast.
You rolled your eyes. âPredictable.â
Fred raised a brow. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âIt means,â you said, drawing your knees up, âyouâre always the first to take risks. Always the showman. But when it comes to being genuine? You flinch.â
A beat of silence. Fredâs smile dropped an inch. Not gone, just softened. âYou think I canât be genuine?â
You shrugged, heart hammering. âProve me wrong, then. Pick truth.â
âFine,â he said. âAsk me a truth.â
You studied him. The freckles, the messy hair, the too-confident posture covering something far more careful underneath. âWhy havenât you told anyone about the joke shop?â
That made him pause. The flicker in his eyes changed, turning sharper. More focused.
Finally, Fred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. âBecause Mum thinks itâs a waste of time. Childish. She wants us to join the Ministry. Be ârespectableâ like dad. But I donât want that. George doesnât either. Thisââ He held up the firewhisky like it was part of the dream. ââthis is the only thing Iâve ever felt is really mine.â
Your chest swelled at the honesty. âI think itâs brilliant,â you said quietly.
He looked at you, something unreadable softening his features. Then he smirked again. âMy turn. Truth or dare?â
You panicked. âTruth.â
âDo you like anyone?â
Your mouth went dry. âYes.â
His eyes glittered. âWho?â
âThat wasnât your question,â you shot back quickly, hiding your fluster behind a smirk of your own.
Fred chuckled. âAlright. TouchĂ©.â
You narrowed your eyes. âTruth or dare.â
He yawned dramatically. âTruth. And see, I didnât even flinch.â
âAre the rumors true about you and Angelina Johnson?â you asked, voice just slightly sharper than intended.
Fred let out a bark of laughter. âWhat? No. That wasnât me.â
You raised a skeptical brow.
âIt was George,â he said, dead serious. âThey got caught snogging in the common room, and everyone assumed it was me since I took her to the Yule Ball.â
You blinked in surprise. âWait, really?â
âYep. Sheâs more into sensative gits than charming ones, apparently.â The air between them grew charged. Thicker. He sat up straighter. âTruth or dare?â
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then answered, âTruth.â
He leaned closer. âWho do you fancy?â
Your stomach twisted, pulse thudding loud in your ears. âI change my mind,â you blurted. âDare.â
He grinned like heâd won. âThought you might. In that caseâŠI dare you to kiss me.â
The world stopped.
âIâll take a drink instead.â You offered, reaching for the bottle.
Fred turned the firewhisky upside down and a single drop ran from the lip of the bottle.âWeâre out.â He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. âWhat a shame.â
You were frozen in place, mind trying to come up with a fourth option that didnât seem to exist.
Then, slowly - so slowly - he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. âDonât worry. Iâll make it easy for you.â
You couldnât 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.
âThese suit you,â 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. âAll you have to do is give in.â
You wanted to. Oh Merlin, you wanted to. Your lips parted. Your eyes flicked to his. But then the attic hatch creaked open.
âOi,â George called, voice echoing. âCoast is clear.â
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 didnât think youâd 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 couldnât shake the ghost of his voice murmuring, âAll you have to do is give in.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
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. Youâd never felt anything like that before. That tightrope between longing and fear, between want and wariness. Between what you craved and what you shouldnât want.
Youâd 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. âWhat are you thinking about?â
You nearly leapt out of your skin. âBloody hellââ you gasped, spinning around. But before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, warm and strong. His hand.
âShhh! Itâs just me,â 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.
âWhat on earth is wrong with you?â you hissed, your heart thundering in your chest.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was tension under the smirk. âI needed to talk to you. Alone. And youâre a lot harder to pin down these days.â
You crossed your arms. âSo you thought sneaking up on me and dragging me into a field was the best option?â
âIt worked, didnât it?â
You glared, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you catch yourself. âWhat do you want, Fred?â
He exhaled, the teasing edge dropping as he takes a step closer. âLast night. Why didnât you kiss me?â
Your throat went dry. âWeâre not playing truth or dare anymore. I donât have to answer that.â
âIâm not playing either,â 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.
âI wanted you to kiss me,â he confessed. âSo why didnât you?â
You swallowed thickly, knowing this was a dangerous game. âI donât owe you an explanation.â
âMaybe not. But I think I deserve one.â
You stayed silent, your heart in your throat, body humming like live wire. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist.
âYou want to know what I think?â he asked, and you looked up at him, caught in that impossible gaze. âI think youâre just as interested in me as I am in you. Tell me if Iâm wrong.â
You opened your mouth, but your voice barely came out. âYouâre wrong.â
It was shaky. Unconvincing. Pathetic.
Fred lifted a brow, unimpressed. He leaned in until you could feel his breath brush your cheek. âNo, Iâm not.â
You didnât move. Didnât breathe. You couldnât. Your whole body was screaming to close the distance, to surrender.
âWhy wonât you just say it?â he whispered. âIâm standing right here, telling you that IâŠâ His voice faltered for the first time, softens. Vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.âI care about you. I want you. I have for a while now.â
It hit you like a punch to the ribs. The tenderness, the honesty in his voice. Your chest tightened. âI do too,â you admitted, your voice betraying you. âBut I shouldnât.â
Fred frowned, still not understanding what was holding you back. âWhy not?â
âBecause of Ginny,â you said, the words ripping from your mouth. âBecause sheâs my best friend. Because I made a promise. Rule number one. Her brothers are off-limits.â
Fred blinked, then let out a sharp breath and laughed under it, like he couldnât believe what he was hearing. âAre you kidding? Thatâs whatâs stopping you?â
âIt matters.â
âNot to me,â he said, stepping closer, impossibly close now. âAnd Ginny doesnât have to know.â
Your breath stilled. âFredâŠâ
âAll you have to do,â he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face, his fingers grazing the earring he gave you, âis give in.â
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 didnât. Instead, you leaned in. Just the smallest tilt of your chin. Just enough. But thatâs 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 youâd both been waiting too long. His lips melded into yours like heâd 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 didnât want him to.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 couldnât stop smiling. Neither could he.
âI canât believe that just happened,â 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. âI can,â he said simply. âBeen a long time coming, donât you think?â
Your heart fluttered helplessly. âHave you really felt like this for that long?â
Fred nodded, squeezing your hand. âSince 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.â
You laughed, a quiet sound that felt like summer. âThat was third year.â
âExactly,â he said. âI didnât stand a chance.â
You bit your lip, glancing down at the way your hands fit together so naturally, like theyâd always belonged there. âI wish it didnât feel so complicated.â
âIt doesnât have to be,â he said gently.
You didnât 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 Fredâs 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. âWhere were you two?â she asked, casual, but not really.
You didnât miss the way her eyes lingered too long on the space between your hands. Your stomach twisted.
âI, uhâŠI couldnât sleep,â you said quickly. âWent for a walk.â You shrugged as if it meant nothing. âFred mustâve had the same idea.â
There was a beat of silence. The paper in Ginnyâs hands crackled as she slowly turned the page. Her gaze didnât waver.
âUh huh,â 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 didnât want to answer.
Because now it wasnât just Rule #1 youâd broken. Youâd 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 didnât feel harmless. It felt like the beginning of something you couldnât take back.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Youâd spent the whole day glued to Ginnyâs side. It wasnât 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 didnât know. She didnât know what youâd done that morning. That youâd 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 couldnât 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 didnât so much as glance in Fredâs 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. âWeâve got to stop meeting like this.â
He grinned like heâd been waiting all day to see you. âI missed you today,â he said simply.
And then he kissed you. There wasnât 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 youâd done.
You kissed him back like you hadnât 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. âFredââ
He looked at you with dazed affection, lips parted. âWhat?â
âI canât,â you whispered, voice shaking. âI feel so guilty about Ginny.â
His brows drew together slightly, but he didnât let go of your waist. âI really donât think sheâd be upset.â
You shook your head. âYou donât know that.â
âI know she loves you,â he said. âAnd I know if she thought we made each other happy, sheâd be glad for it. I think we should tell her.â
You felt the words land inside you like tiny, cruel promises. âNo! We canât tell her,â you said, voice firmer now. âWe canât tell anyone.â
Fredâs hands loosened. âNo one?â
You nodded. âPromise me, Fred. Please. You canât say anything.â
He looked reluctant. âEven George?â
You hesitated, because of course George already knew. He probably knew before either of you did. âEven him,â you said anyway. âIf he knows anything already, then you need to make him promise not to say a word.â
Fred exhaled, then nodded. âAlright. I promise.â
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 wasnât going to get any easier.
And so it began. The start of something you couldnât name yet. A kiss in the garden. A locked door. A promise made in whispers. The beginning of a secret.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
Youâd 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, heâd 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 couldnât sit beside you, heâd 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, heâd 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 wasnât.
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 youâd 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 didnât 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.
âIâve been waiting to do this all day,â he murmured against your mouth.
You smiled into the kiss. âWhat if someone finds us?â
âThey wonât.â He pressed a kiss to your jaw. âGeorge is on Ginny duty. Weâve got time.â
You were about to respond - about to tell him youâd missed him too - when the shed door flew open.
You jolted back like youâd been burned. Ginny stood in the doorway, eyes blazing, lips parted in silent disbelief. Behind her, George winced and muttered, âShite.â
âI knew it,â Ginny said, her voice low and trembling. âI bloody knew it.â
You stared at her, frozen. Every part of you was suddenly cold.
âGinnyââ Fred started, stepping forward.
She didnât even look at him. Her eyes were locked on yours, betrayal carved into every inch of her expression. âHow long?â she demanded. âHow long has this been going on behind my back?â
You opened your mouth but nothing came out.
George stepped forward. âSorry mate, I tried to stop herââ
âYou knew?!â she rounded on George like a storm, her fists balled at her sides. âYou knew and didnât say a word?!â
âI only found out recently,â he said, holding up his hands. âAnd itâs not my businessââ
âNot your business?!â she shouted. âSheâs my best friend, Fred is my brother, and youâre my other brother! How is this not our business?!â
âGinny, please,â you finally managed to say, your voice soft, cracking. âI wanted to tell you. I swear I did.â
âBut you didnât!â she shouted. âYou lied to my face. Every single day. Do you think Iâm stupid? Did you think I wouldnât notice?â
âNo, Gin, I neverââ You stepped toward her but she stepped back.
Her face was red with fury, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. âI trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone.â
Fred reached for her, voice low. âShe didnât mean to hurt you.â
âDonât.â Her voice was sharp enough to cut. âDonât defend her. Donât pretend this was nothing.â She looked at you again, and it nearly broke you. âYou broke our rules.â
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 thatâŠit 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. âBloody hell.â
You were shaking. âI didnât know what to say. I froze.â
He pulled you into his arms, held you like it might fix things. âShe just needs time.â
You nodded against his chest, but your heart wasnât so sure. Because you hadnât just broken the rules. Youâd broken Ginnyâs heart.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 didnât 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 didnât 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 hadnât said a single word.
You crept up to your shared bedroom slowly, quietly, like maybe sheâd be soft again if you just approached the right way. You reached for the doorknob, turned it gently.
Locked.
You knocked. âGinny?â
Silence.
You knocked again, a little louder this time. âGinny, please. Can we justâŠcan we talk? Please?â
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 youâd been spending your nights lately, not wanting to bother Molly or Arthur about other sleeping arrangements.
The silence felt louder than Ginnyâs 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 heâd been lying in bed unable to sleep too, and his eyes found yours with immediate concern.
âYou okay?â he asked gently, already knowing the answer.
âShe locked me out again,â you murmured. âShe wonât even look at me.â
Fredâs brow furrowed as he sat beside you, draping his arm over your shoulders and tugging you closer. âIâm sorry.â
You let your head fall onto his shoulder. âI donât know what to do. Iâve never seen her this mad. Sheâs not even yelling anymore. She justâŠwonât see me.â
Fred let out a breath, warm against your temple. âSheâll come around. Ginnyâs stubborn, but sheâs not heartless. She just needs space.â
You nodded, letting the quiet settle between you again. It wasnât 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. âWeâll figure this out.â
You closed your eyes. âI hope so.â
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 didnât say anything. Just rolled her eyes, and turned on her heel.
You threw the blanket off and jumped up. âGinny, wait!â
She was already halfway up the stairs, empty glass still in her hand.
âPlease, can we talk?â you called, following her up.
She didnât even pause.
âGinnyââ
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 didnât even knock this time. You just turned and walked back downstairs.
Fred was waiting. His expression softened as he saw your face. âShe slammed it again?â
You nodded. You didnât 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.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 didnât look at you. Not once. She didnât even speak. Not to Fred. Not to George. Not even to Molly when she asked if she wanted more pumpkin juice.
Fredâs knee bumped against yours under the table. You didnât move. But you didnât lean into him either. You were ashamed. It hurt, having Ginnyâs 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 didnât follow this time. You knew better now.
Fred glanced at you, eyes soft. âCome on,â he said. âWalk with me.â
You let him lead you outside into the warm morning light, the sun stretching long and lazy over the Burrowâs 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 Arthurâs old work shed.
Fred pushed the door open and gestured inside with a dramatic bow. âMilady.â
You rolled your eyes. âWhat exactly am I meant to be admiring in here? The rusted rake or the giant spider in the corner?â
He grinned. âNeither. Just trust me.â
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.
âFred?â
âSorry,â he said in a singsong voice, and with a swift flick and a slam, the door shut. The lock turned with a click.
âFRED!â You pounded your hand on the wood. âThis is not funny!â
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. âFinally.â
But it wasnât Fred. It was Ginny. She stepped in with a suspicious scowl, looking over her shoulder. âWhatâ?â
Before she could finish the thought, slam. Click.
You both lunged for the door.
âFRED!â Ginny shrieked. âGEORGE!â
âLET US OUT!â you yelled right behind her, slamming your fists against the wood.
But their voices were muffled and maddening on the other side.
Fred called, âNot until you talk!â
George chimed in, âProperly! No hexes, no storming off!â
âAbsolutely mental,â 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 mustâve 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. âIf you wanted to snog my brother that badly, you couldâve at least warned me,â she said coolly, not looking at you.
You bristled. âItâs not just snogging.â
âOh, please.â She barked a laugh. âYouâve been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers and I found you in a bloody broom cupboard. What else is it supposed to be?â
âItâs real, Ginny.â You stepped closer. âWe actually care about each other. Itâs not some fling, this means something.â
She turned sharply, fire in her eyes. âAnd thatâs supposed to make it better?â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âItâs worse,â she hissed. âItâs worse because you didnât 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 doingââ
âOkay, did lie,â you interrupted, chest tightening. âI didâŠand Iâm sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didnât know how.â
âYou knew exactly what you were doing,â Ginny snapped. âYou just didnât want to deal with the fallout.â
âAnd I was right, wasnât I?â your voice rose. âLook at how youâre reacting! You wonât even listenââ
âBecause you went behind my back!â she shouted. âI 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!â
You stared at her, stunned by how deep her voice cut.
âI justâŠI thoughtâŠâ Her voice cracked. âI thought we were friends.â
That one hurt the most. âWe are,â you said, stepping forward. âGinny, I love you. I didnât tell you because I didnât want to lose that. I didnât want to risk you thinking this was some betrayal. I didnât want to hurt you.â
âBut you did.â
âI know,â you said quietly. âI know I did. I justâŠI didnât know what else to do. I didnât 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.â
She looked at you for a long time. Then she sighed, sitting down heavily on a crate. âSoâŠhow long has it been happening?â
You hung your head low. âSince last week.â
She raised a brow. âSeriously? ThatâsâŠactually not as bad as I was expecting.â
You nodded. âI didnât mean for it to happen, but he was so persistent, andâŠI gave in. And itâs beenâŠhonestly, itâs been amazing.â
Ginny pursed her lips. âAnd heâs serious?â
âCompletely,â you said. âHe treats me like Iâm the most interesting, maddening person heâs ever met. He actually listens. And he makes me feelââ you paused, blushing a little, ââhappy. Really happy.â
She let that hang in the air. Then she exhaled. âOkay.â
You blinked. âOkay?â
âI mean,â she shrugged, âI still think youâre an idiot. But I can live with it.â
You smiled, hesitantly at first, and then fully when Ginny rolled her eyes and opened her arms. You nearly knocked her over hugging her.
âIâm still mad,â she warned into your shoulder.
âI deserve that,â you admitted. âCompletely.â
You stayed like that for a long moment. Then Fredâs voice piped up from outside, smug and singsong: âSo! All good now?â
Ginny shouted, âIf you ever lock me in a shed again, I swear Iâll turn your ears into flobberworms.â
George snorted. âWeâll take that as a yes.â
The door clicked open. You and Ginny stepped out, blinking in the afternoon light, shoulder to shoulder again.
Fred looked at you like heâd 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.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
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. Sheâd even nudged your arm when you reached for the salt before her, and when you made a joke about Ronâs 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 couldnât 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. âWell,â she said, voice light, âI must say itâs nice to see you two getting along again.â
Arthur looked up from his stew and nodded. âThings were a bit frosty there for a while.â
Ginny gave a dramatic eye roll and stabbed a potato. âYeah, wellâŠI got over it,â she muttered, shooting you a sideways smirk.
Ron frowned and pointed his fork between the two of you. âWait. What were you even fighting about in the first place? Youâve been whispering to each other all evening. Did I miss something?â
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.
âOh! Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!â 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. âYouâre together?! Youâre reallyâŠ! Oh Iâm just so happy!â
âMum,â Fred muttered, ducking his head as you laughed and tried to brace yourself for impact. âBreathe, yeah?â
She didnât 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.
âOh, sweetheart,â she said to you, eyes misty as she cupped your cheek. âI always hoped it would be you.â
Your throat tightened. You hadnât realized how badly youâd wanted her approval until that very moment.
Across the table, Ron raised his eyebrows at Fred and gave him a slow, impressed nod. âWell, you actually pulled it off,â he said, clearly trying not to smirk. âDidnât think you had it in you, mate.â
âI aim to surprise,â Fred said, squeezing your hand gently under the table again.
You leaned into his side, heart fluttering. Ginny rolled her eyes again, but this timeâŠshe smiled.
âTo make myself clear, rules two and three are still applicable,â She pointed between the two of you with a warning glare that held to real heat behind it.
âAnd rule number one?â You clarified.
âTo hell with rule number one. It was stupid anyway,â she shrugged, and you beamed.
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
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