#jealous!fred

It didn’t help that Cormac never introduced you to anyone either. You weren’t “his girl” at Gryffindor parties; just some girl hanging around him until someone asked who you were. You weren’t on his arm, weren’t in his conversations, and apparently weren’t important enough to even walk with to Hogsmeade.

You were Cormac McLaggen’s girlfriend in the way someone might say they “have a cat” and never feed it.

So, yeah, sitting in the stands while he zoomed around like a headless Hippogriff? It was just your Tuesday.

Sighing, you opened a book, frowning at the pages in front of you. You might as well get comfortable. It would be a while.

Below you, Fred and George Weasley stood, getting gear on to begin practicing. It was a gorgeous day and some of the Quidditch players actually had a solid reason to get out and practice.

Because again, only some had a productive spot on the team.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing down, you saw Fred. You rolled your eyes as he waved at you, wiggling his fingers in a flirtatious fashion.

You knew Fred and George. Everyone did. Every girl especially: they were tall, muscular, Quidditch stars, and incredibly easy on the eyes. You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks at his wave, despite how much you tried to ignore it.

You also tried to ignore the girlish excitement you felt. You were spoken for after all. What would you look like entertaining another man? A right slag, that's what. Waving back nonchalantly, you turned back to your book.

Fred sighed, clipping his helmet onto his head.

“Shame,” he addressed George. "That is a right shame. A crime, really."

George cocked a ginger eyebrow as he adjusted his gloves. “What is?”

Fred nodded subtly toward the stands. “Her. All alone. Looking like that. For him.”

George followed his brother’s gaze, lips tugging into a smirk once he spotted you. “McLaggen’s girlfriend?”

Fred glanced back up at you. You were back absorbed into your book, e/c hair blowing in the soft wind. Every once in a while, you glanced gloomily at your boyfriend, who once again didn't spare you a single ounce of his attention.

"She's the fittest girl at Hogwarts. Easily. Why is she with McLaggen?"

George scoffed under his breath. “Because looks clearly aren’t everything. Or maybe she’s got a savior complex.”

Fred frowned.

"He's not even good at Quidditch! He's bloody awful. Look at him," He gestured to the pitch, where Cormac was wobbling about on his broom. "Doesn't even look like he's playing. Looks like he's doing an interpretive broom dance."

George burst out laughing, nearly dropping his bat. “Merlin’s beard, you're not wrong. That’s not flying, that’s flailing with purpose.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “And somehow that is the bloke she waits around for every damn day like he’s the bloody star player.”

George snorted. “You’ve been keeping tabs, then?”

Fred gave him a look. “You telling me you wouldn’t notice her? Sitting there every day, looking like a dream and getting treated like a backup broomstick?”

“She’s not our problem, mate.”

Fred didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked slightly as he watched you glance up at Cormac again, a flicker of hope in your eyes - one that died almost immediately when he didn’t so much as wave.

“She could be someone’s world,” Fred said quietly. “Instead she’s waiting for scraps.”

George eyed his brother, something more serious settling between them. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “I’m just saying… if it were me, she wouldn’t be sitting up there alone. She’d be on the broom with me. Or on my shoulders. Or.. hell, anywhere but forgotten.”

George paused, then smirked again. “So what’s the plan, Casanova?”

Fred grinned, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Easy. Show her the difference between being looked at and being wanted.”

He kicked off the ground again, but this time with a different kind of determination.

He was set to embarrass the shit out of McLaggen. One, for being ungrateful. And two.. He was kind of hoping you'd get the ick.

George cackled as Fred shot into the air, weaving expertly through the sky while McLaggen hovered below like a confused Bludger.

“Oi, McLaggen!” Fred called loud enough for half the pitch to hear, voice full of feigned cheer. “You practicing for the ballet? Thought Quidditch involved a Snitch, not pirouettes.”

A few laughs echoed from the other players. Even George barked a laugh, tossing a Bludger up with a wicked grin.

Cormac scowled from midair, wobbling slightly as he turned toward Fred. “Bugger off, Weasley!”

Fred cupped a hand around his ear. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of mediocrity!”

You peeked over the top of your book, startled by the sudden exchange. You tried to hide your amusement, but Fred caught the slight twitch of your lips. His chest swelled with triumph.

Phase One: Humiliate the knob. Phase Two: Make her smile. Phase Three: …Well, he hadn’t figured that bit out yet. But he would.

Fred flew another circle around Cormac, performing an exaggerated, showy dive that ended with a perfect landing - just below the bleachers where you sat.

He pulled off his helmet, glancing up at you with that telltale grin.

“Hope you’re taking notes,” he called, slightly breathless. “In case your boyfriend ever wants to learn how to actually fly.”

Your mouth parted slightly, a laugh escaping before you could catch it. “Are you always this cocky, or is today special?”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Only on Tuesdays. And when a pretty girl’s watching.”

He winked, then turned and jogged back onto the field, leaving you flustered, smiling despite yourself, and just a little less devoted to the prat in the air.

You didn’t know it yet, but Fred Weasley had just started rewriting your entire love story.

Of course, Cormac had opted to go over plays in the locker room after the incident at the pitch instead of walking back to the dorms with you. Typical.

You walked back alone, carrying your book and pulling your jacket tighter, the wind had started to get chilly as the day went on. You hummed to yourself as you got closer to the castle.

“Oi! Bookworm!”

You turned, startled, and there he was: Fred Weasley, jogging up beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hair was windblown, his cheeks still pink from the chill, and his smile was… well, unfair, really.

“Didn’t think it was nice to let you walk alone,” he said, matching your pace. “Seems your rogue Bludger of a boyfriend forgot where the castle was.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling. “He’s not my Bludger. He’s just... my boyfriend.”

Fred made a face. “You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, choosing not to respond right away. The path toward the castle was quiet, apart from your footsteps on the gravel and the low whistle of the wind. It felt weirdly intimate, the kind of silence that made you feel seen.

Fred didn’t push. Just walked with you, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You know,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “I wasn’t joking earlier.”

“About what?”

“About you being the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly. “That so?”

“Swear on George’s life,” he said solemnly. “And I only say that when I really mean it. He’s very dear to me.”

You laughed again, surprised at how warm it made you feel.. not just the compliment, but the effort. The way he noticed you, even in a moment as small as this.

“I’m not used to people saying things like that to me,” you admitted quietly.

Fred slowed his pace slightly, studying you. “Well, get used to it.”

You looked at him, brow raised. “Why?”

He smirked. “Because I’m not done saying them.”

And as the two of you crossed through the castle doors, brushing shoulders, warmth blooming where he accidentally touched your arm, you realized something:

You hadn’t thought of Cormac once since Fred showed up.

"I have a boyfriend, Weasley," you snorted. "I doubt he'd take kindly to you doing this."

Fred just grinned, undeterred. That infuriating, charming grin of his, the kind that made your stomach twist in a way Cormac's never had.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, all wide eyes and mock-surprise. “Walking you back? Complimenting you? Being decent? Merlin forbid.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

Fred leaned in a little, voice lowering - not teasing now, but sincere, softer. “I know. And I know you’re with him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see what he doesn’t.”

You blinked, startled by the seriousness that slipped into his tone.

“He takes you for granted,” Fred continued, holding your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I have to.”

The hallway was suddenly too quiet. Too warm. You opened your mouth, but you weren’t even sure what you were going to say - luckily, Fred filled the silence with a familiar crooked smile, stepping back and releasing the tension.

“But hey,” he added, casual again, “if he ever stops being the luckiest git alive... I hope I’m first in line.”

Then he winked, not flirty this time, not entirely, and turned toward the Gryffindor staircase like he hadn’t just lobbed a Confundus charm straight into your chest.

And Merlin help you...

You kind of wished he already was first in line.

—

The first Common Room party of the year always hit immediately after the first Gryffindor quidditch win.

Only 6th and 7th years were invited, of course; there was Firewhiskey and other alcholic beverages involved. If the younger students were invited, the festivities may get out to the professors. If that happened, everyone was being hexed by McGonagall and buried in a hole on the quidditch field.

You got ready with Hermione and Ginny Weasley (who you'd just met the same night). Hermione was your closest friend. After you'd confided in her about having a slight crush on Fred, she'd immediately introduced you to the ginger girl.

Hermione curled your hair gently as you giggled, listening to a story about Ron bubble from Ginny's lips.

“…and then Ron actually tried to hex Malfoy with a mouth full of treacle tart,” Ginny said, laughing as she swept some glitter onto her cheekbones. “Honestly, I’ve never seen treacle shoot that far.”

You snorted, barely managing to stay still as Hermione tugged the curling wand through another section of your hair. “Did it even work?”

“Of course not,” Hermione huffed from behind you. “He said ‘slug’ instead of ‘slugulus.’ All he managed to do was make a very sticky mess.”

You grinned into the mirror, cheeks already sore from smiling. There was a lightness in your chest tonight, the kind that hadn’t been there in weeks. You knew why.

Fred.

Even the name fluttered through your chest like a secret. It often switched between feelings of excitement and feelings of guilt.

You glanced down at your outfit: Hermione had loaned you one of her sleeker cardigans and Ginny insisted you wear her black mini skirt (“You’ve got legs, use them”), and your own boots tied it all together. You had to admit… you looked good.

No. You looked better than good. You looked like someone who was not dating Cormac McLaggen anymore, which wasn't true, but you looked it. You knew Cormac wouldn't approve of your outfit. You also knew he might not even pay enough attention to you to care.

Hermione raised a brow at you through the mirror. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“Not like that you’re not,” she smirked, handing you a tube of lip gloss. “You’ve got the look of a girl who’s about to fall.”

Ginny tilted her head. “For Fred?”

You rolled your eyes.

"Gals! I have a boyfriend."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, and he’s busy playing Quidditch, while Fred is right here, right in front of you, actually noticing you.”

Hermione shot her a look. “We’re not encouraging this, Ginny.”

You blinked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror again. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks: Fred had been noticing you for days. And you'd been noticing him right back. You'd even caught yourself imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to have someone actually see you instead of just waiting around for scraps.

Your fingers tightened around the lip gloss Hermione handed you, unsure of how to respond. The guilt felt like a heavy cloak you couldn’t quite shake off.

“I have a boyfriend,” you muttered, voice quieter this time. "But-"

“You're not blind," Ginny finished for you, that smirk still in place.

Hermione shot her friend a glance, looking more thoughtful than mischievous. “It’s just... if you’re not happy in a relationship, it’s okay to rethink things. Just don’t rush into anything.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, her voice striking a chord. You weren’t happy. You hadn’t been for a while.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said, the words feeling heavier than you intended. “But I also don't want to keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Ginny reached out, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to pretend. And besides, if Fred’s interested, you should at least see where it goes.” She raised her glass of pumpkin juice. “No harm in that, right?”

You forced a smile, feeling a weight lift from your chest. “Yeah, I guess. No harm.”

Hermione let out a sigh, but there was no disapproval in her tone. "Just don't make any decisions you aren't ready for. But do what makes you happy, alright?"

"Alright," you nodded, feeling strangely reassured.

As you stepped into the common room, you tried to shake off the heavy thoughts clouding your mind, but they followed you like shadows. Cormac hadn't even noticed you when you walked in, his focus entirely on the latest Quidditch match stats he was bantering about with Seamus. You approached him with your arms crossed, smiling kindly when he finally glanced down at you.

"Hi, love."

He smiled back briefly, leaning down to peck your cheek.

"Hello, darling."

The brief kiss on your cheek didn’t feel like it used to. It was routine now, nothing more than a formality. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, trying to ignore the empty feeling settling in your chest.

“How was the match?” you asked, hoping for some kind of real connection.

Cormac shrugged, already turning his attention back to Seamus, clearly eager to get back to the conversation. “Ah, you know, same old, same old. Quidditch, mate. Nothing to worry about. I’m already focused on the next game.”

You wanted to be nasty. You wanted to be rude.

How would he even know how the match was? The git didn't even play in it. He sat on the bench.

You bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out, but they hovered at the tip of your tongue, demanding to be said. The frustration you’d been holding back for weeks was threatening to pour out like a flood. How could he be so blind? How could he be so wrapped up in his own world that he didn’t even notice how much you were trying?

Instead of lashing out, you forced a tight smile, biting down on your irritation.

“Right,” you said, your voice slightly sharper than you intended. “You’re focused on the next game. Of course.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, of course. He was too busy regaling Seamus with more stats, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

You stood there, arms crossed, and felt yourself growing smaller in his shadow. The longer you stayed in his orbit, the more you realized just how little you mattered to him anymore. It wasn’t even about Quidditch anymore, it was about how he couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge you, let alone make any effort.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t stand there another second. You could practically hear Fred’s voice in your head - You deserve better than this - and for the first time, it actually felt true.

With a last glance at Cormac, who hadn’t even realized you were still standing there, you walked off, a burst of energy propelling you away from the dullness of him. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than standing there like an afterthought.

And then you spotted Fred.

Of course, he was watching. He always seemed to be watching.

His lips quirked up when he saw you, and the glint in his eyes was almost enough to make you forget how awful everything had just been. Almost.

“Looks like that went well,” Fred remarked, crossing his arms as you stopped in front of him, feeling the weight of everything on your shoulders.

You almost didn’t know how to respond, but somehow, Fred’s presence made it easier. “Well, he’s still talking about Quidditch,” you said, your tone almost too calm for how you were feeling inside.

Fred laughed, glancing over at your boyfriend.

"Quidditch, yeah? The same Quidditch game I played and won today?" He asked playfully. "That's funny. I don't remember seeing a Cormac McLaggen on the pitch."

You couldn't help but laugh at the way Fred's tone had an edge of mockery, and the way he made Cormac sound so utterly irrelevant. You glanced at your boyfriend again, who was still in his own little world, bragging about his Quidditch expertise. It was honestly pathetic.

"Exactly," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I don't think Cormac would know how to hold a broomstick properly if it bit him."

Fred's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response. "Well, at least one of us appreciates Quidditch the way it was meant to be." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, "And just so you know, I don't mind playing for two."

You met his gaze, a teasing smile curling on your lips. "Two?"

"Yeah, for you." Fred said it with such casual confidence, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but the way his eyes lingered on yours made your chest tighten in a good way.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to let your thoughts run away with you. Cormac was still your boyfriend - kind of. But standing there, in Fred's orbit, you couldn’t ignore the growing pull between you two, a magnetic force you hadn’t expected.

"I don't think Cormac would appreciate you sharing the spotlight," you teased, but even you could hear the lack of real conviction in your words.

Fred chuckled, his voice lowering in that way that made it feel like there was no one else around. "Who says I’m sharing? You’ve got a lot more going for you than just his attention."

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, and everything else - Cormac, the party, the chatter - disappeared. It was just you and Fred, and the undeniable chemistry that had been building since the first time he’d shown up at the pitch.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said softly, unable to pull your eyes away from his.

The party went on. You didn't even waste your time glancing at Cormac anymore. Instead, you took shots with your friends and cast every spare glance at Fred.

As you got drunker, your feelings got stronger. They always did. You sat with Hermione and Ginny, singing a song loudly and giggling. Before you knew it, Fred was back again, smirking.

Fred leaned casually against the table, his smirk never faltering as he watched you and your friends. He crossed his arms, but his eyes were all on you, gleaming with mischief and something else, something that made your pulse race just a little faster.

"Still here?" you teased, a playful challenge in your voice as you looked up at him from where you sat.

"Wouldn’t miss it," he replied smoothly, his tone low, yet dripping with that signature charm. "Besides, I don’t think you’d want to be stuck with Cormac for much longer."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. “I’m fine without him,” you said, feeling the heat of alcohol start to cloud your thoughts, but only in the best way possible. "And maybe I’ve got better company right here.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk. "Better company, huh? What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing."

The tension between you both was electric, palpable. It hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but you could feel it in the way Fred’s gaze never wavered from you.

Ginny, always the observant one, caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere and grinned. "Alright, you two," she said with a knowing look. "You both should just kiss already."

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, his smirk turning into something more sincere, something almost... hungry.

You nearly choked on your drink, laughing in an attempt to mask the sudden heat on your face. "Ginny!" you protested, though it came out breathlessly. "You’re drunk."

Fred chuckled, his voice barely audible above the noise of the party. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

The moment was interrupted. Cormac cleared his throat, a glare on his face. His friends stood behind him.

The air in the room instantly thickened, the playful energy dissipating as Cormac’s presence loomed over you like a storm cloud. He didn’t even glance at Fred; his eyes were fixed on you, his expression harsh, almost accusing.

“Everything alright here?” Cormac’s voice was low, the kind of tone that suggested he already knew the answer but wanted to make sure you felt the weight of his disapproval.

You shrugged.

"You seemed fine in your corner of the room."

Cormac’s jaw tightened at your response, and his friends shifted uncomfortably behind him, sensing the brewing tension. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the drink in your hand as though it was some kind of proof of your irresponsibility. “And you’re with him.” His eyes shot a pointed glare at Fred, who simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back casually.

“I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, even though your heart was pounding. You could feel the eyes of the entire room on you, but this time, it didn’t bother you as much as it usually did. You were done hiding in Cormac’s shadow.

Fred smirked and took a step back, hands in his pockets as if to give you space, but still within reach should you need him. "Looks like someone needs to get a grip," he said lightly, his voice teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Cormac’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer, his face reddening. "You think this is funny, Weasley?" His voice was low, threatening. "Stay out of this."

Fred’s grin never wavered. “I think it’s hilarious, actually. But hey, if you want to keep playing the jealous boyfriend role, go ahead.”

You could see Cormac’s hands twitch. He stepped forward. Fred raised an eyebrow, standing from his seat. He was easily a head taller than Cormac, maybe more.

"Stay away from my girlfriend, git. I hear all the whispers around this school. Fred Weasley flirting with my girlfriend. You're flirtin' with a right ass kicking next."

Fred’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smirk remained, though now it was colder, sharper. He stood tall, his posture effortlessly confident, an undeniable contrast to Cormac’s flustered and aggressive stance.

"An arse kicking?" Fred snorted, actually having the guff to laugh in Cormac's face. "Oi, Georgie! Did you hear that right? McLaggen wants to deliver me a 'right arse kicking'."

George, who had been leaning casually against the wall, looked up with a grin that matched Fred’s. He crossed his arms and took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “An arse kicking, bloke?” he echoed, his tone full of sarcasm. “Oh, I do hope you’ve got more than just the threat of bad breath and an overinflated ego, McLaggen.”

The laughter between the twins only served to make Cormac’s face redden further, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear that the situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and yet, Fred and George didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Yeah, mate,” Fred continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Not sure you’ve got the goods for that kind of threat. How about you take that bad attitude and go sulk somewhere else before you really embarrass yourself?”

There was a palpable tension in the room as Fred’s eyes locked onto Cormac’s, but despite the threat of violence, Fred seemed completely unfazed. He just stood there, his smirk wide and his posture so relaxed it was as though he was daring Cormac to take the first swing.

Cormac got closer, him and Fred almost nose to nose.

"Stay. Away. From Y/N."

Fred’s smirk didn’t falter, though there was a noticeable shift in the air. His posture didn’t tense, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes now. He leaned forward just slightly, closing the gap between him and Cormac with a confidence that almost made it seem like he had all the time in the world.

“Make me,” Fred said softly, his voice low and almost casual, like the entire confrontation was a minor inconvenience. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, daring Cormac to try something, anything.

Cormac’s face was mere inches from Fred’s, his breath hot and heavy in the silence that had enveloped them. For a moment, it seemed like neither of them would budge, like the tension was going to snap in a violent clash. But then Cormac’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration evident in the sharpness of his jaw. He was seething, but Fred wasn’t backing down, wasn’t giving him an inch.

Finally, the dam broke.

Cormac lunged at Fred, but his friends were too quick, grabbing ahold of him. Your eyes widened.

Fred burst into laughter, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, my! The froggy did jump. Let him go, boys. Let's see what he can do, yeah?"

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch as Fred's challenge hung in the air. Cormac’s friends, clearly unsure, hesitated for a second before releasing him, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. He was seething, ready to lash out, but Fred didn’t flinch.

Fred’s laughter rang out, loud and carefree, like he was genuinely enjoying this absurd situation. He stepped back a little, hands in the air as if to say, “Come on then.”

“Go on then, McLaggen,” Fred taunted, his tone light, as though he were merely encouraging a schoolyard squabble. “Show me what you’ve got. But don’t go crying to your mates when it doesn’t work out.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers and the stares. Some of the students were backing away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this. Fred’s confidence was unmatched, but you could also see the moment Cormac’s resolve started to crack.

Fred’s posture was still relaxed, his smirk in place, but there was something more now, the challenge had shifted. The onlookers were waiting to see if Cormac would actually follow through.

For a split second, Cormac looked like he was going to make a move. His hand twitched, as if contemplating it, but then he stopped. His chest heaved with anger, but his eyes were calculating now, as if trying to figure out if it was worth throwing the first punch.

Fred raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “What’s wrong, mate? Too scared to even throw a proper punch?”

Cormac’s face was a mask of fury, his pride clearly wounded. He looked like he was about to explode, but after a tense pause, he began to walk away.

"I want you back in the dorm by one, Y/N." He hissed. Then, he left.

The moment Cormac’s voice cut through the tension, it was like a cold splash of water. You were still frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. His words echoed in your mind - the command, the possessiveness. You felt your stomach twist, the anger bubbling up once more.

But Fred, as always, didn’t seem fazed. He leaned against the table casually, his arms crossed over his chest, looking after Cormac with a raised brow. “Is that right?” he muttered under his breath, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

The air was thick with the aftermath, the party resuming its usual hum of conversation, but the dynamic had changed. Everyone could feel it.

Fred turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening, though the sharpness of the encounter still lingered in the air. “You don’t have to listen to him, you know.”

His words hung there, simple but loaded. You knew it wasn’t just about Cormac anymore. It was about what you wanted, what you were going to do next.

You met Fred’s eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. “I know.”

But even as you said it, part of you felt a strange pull, a sense of responsibility to Cormac’s words. You could feel the control he tried to exert over you, like a tight grip on your very being. It wasn’t right, but the thought of confrontation still made your stomach churn.

Fred didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He stood there, waiting, giving you the space to process.

After a long pause, you finally spoke, your voice quieter now. “I don’t want to go back to the dorm tonight.” It came out almost like a confession, and you immediately regretted it. But Fred’s gaze softened in understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said simply, a warmth creeping into his tone. “You’re not his to command, Y/N.”

His words were a reminder, not just that you were free, but that you deserved more. You deserved to make your own choices, to not be controlled by anyone.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of that. Fred’s presence had shifted from playful to something deeper, something more protective and genuine.

Without a word, he reached out, offering his hand to you. His gaze didn’t leave yours as he waited, his smirk gone, replaced with something that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got options. You can stay in my dorm, or we can go somewhere else. Your call.”

The offer was simple, yet it felt like the world was in your hands. Cormac’s control, his possessiveness - it felt a lot smaller in comparison to the choice Fred was giving you now.

Ultimately, you decided to go to Fred's upon the promise that he'd sleep on the floor and you could have the bed.

When it was time, you crept up the stairs sneakily, knowing you weren't supposed to be there. Before you'd left, Hermione and Ginny winked at you, mouthing 'use protection'. As usual, you'd used the lame quote you always did.

"I have a boyfriend!"

You stepped into Fred’s dorm with a mix of nerves and curiosity fluttering in your chest. The room had the unmistakable scent of boy: a mix of broom polish, something vaguely like cinnamon, and just a hint of mischief. Quidditch posters were slightly crooked on the walls, a pair of socks hung from the corner of his bedpost, and a few Zonko’s wrappers were scattered on the floor like confetti after a prank well done.

Fred closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then turned, watching your expression closely. “Alright, I know it’s not exactly five-star,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “but I promise the bed’s clean-ish. And I’m told the floor builds character.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the corners of your lips twitched up. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Fred raised a brow. “You’re not about to suggest we share, are you? Because that might make your boyfriend.. sorry, our resident caveman.. a bit twitchy.”

You laughed, the sound soft and surprising even to your own ears. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, flopping down on the bed for the moment and tossing a pillow to the floor like it was a throne, “you’re here.”

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching him. For all the jokes and smirks, there was something undeniably warm about him, like you were safe in a place you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

“I’m only here to avoid a fight,” you said, not really believing it yourself.

Fred looked at you, unbothered. “Then I hope it was worth sneaking past McGonagall and the protection squad.” He mimicked Ginny and Hermione’s voices with a dramatic flair: “‘Use protection!’ honestly, I feel like they’re rooting for me.”

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. “I hate that I keep using that same excuse. I have a boyfriend… it sounds weaker every time I say it.”

Fred’s voice was quieter now. “Then stop saying it.”

The room fell into a soft silence.

You lifted the pillow just enough to peek at him. “That’s not fair.”

He met your gaze with something softer than a smirk. “Neither is the way he treats you.”

There was nothing flirty in his voice this time, no edge, no teasing. Just truth.

You could feel how close you were. His thighs were resting next to yours, only an inch from touching. You were sad you couldn't share the bed without it being wrong.

Fred must’ve felt it too.. the closeness, the tension that wasn’t born from a fight or an argument, but from restraint. The unspoken something that had been hanging between you two for weeks now. Maybe months. Maybe longer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence like a magnetic pull, and it wasn’t fair. Not because of the situation, or the rumors, or even the rules, but because being near him made you feel calm. Real. Understood. Something you didn’t even realize you’d been starving for.

“I hate this,” you whispered, not even sure if you meant the situation, your relationship with Cormac, or the fact that you couldn’t just... let yourself fall into this moment.

Fred didn’t move, but his voice came low. “What part?”

You hesitated. “The part where I have to keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

He looked at you then, really looked. All the mischief and bravado faded in a blink. There was something in his eyes that made your breath catch, something heavy with meaning, but gentle too.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I won't squeal.”

Your eyes softened. You felt yourself almost melting.

Fred leaned forward, almost testing how far you'd let him go.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away.

His hand found the edge of the bed, steadying himself, his knuckles brushing lightly against your knee. It wasn’t bold or pushy - it was cautious, careful, like he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His eyes never left yours, and in them, you didn’t see a boy looking for a joke or a cheap thrill. You saw someone who meant it. Someone who knew exactly what you were risking and was willing to meet you there anyway- with patience, with warmth, with that steady, maddening confidence he always wore so well.

“You sure?” he asked, voice a whisper now, nearly swallowed by the hush of the room. “Because once I know you want this too… I don’t think I can go back to pretending either.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out, fingers barely ghosting over his wrist, and that was all he needed.

Fred closed the space between you, slow and certain, his forehead gently resting against yours. No kiss. Not yet. Just that shared breath, that promise suspended in the air.

"I don't think I've ever felt this way in my life."

Fred let out the softest breath, like the weight of your words had struck something deep inside him, something real. His fingers brushed your knee again, this time more firmly, grounding himself as he searched your eyes.

“Me either,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, like speaking too loud might break the moment.

His thumb skimmed your wrist, tracing slow, reverent circles as he kept his forehead against yours. “It’s not just a crush. Not some passing thing. I feel it..here.” He moved your hand gently, placing it flat over his chest where his heart thudded steadily beneath your palm. “Every time I see you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was full. Full of every glance, every smirk, every quiet moment you’d shared that hadn’t made sense until now.

Fred leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again, searching for the final piece of permission. His voice cracked just slightly when he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Fuck it.

"Please?" You asked, your voice a quiet whimper.

That was all it took.

Fred closed the distance without hesitation, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek with such care it made your heart ache. His lips met yours gently at first, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the feeling of finally having you this close. It wasn’t rushed, it was reverent. A kiss years in the making, built from tension, longing, and all the moments you’d spent denying it.

But once it started, there was no going back.

The second kiss was deeper, slower but more desperate, his fingers slipping into your hair, your hands clinging to his shirt. It was like something had finally broken free between you, and now that it had, neither of you could stop. The need in the room shifted from hesitant to hungry in an instant.

Fred pulled back only slightly, his forehead pressed against yours again, lips brushing as he spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.. instead I got to watch moments like this wasted on some talentless git."

He kissed you again before you could respond; soft, then firm, like he couldn’t get enough. His voice came in a breathless whisper against your lips: “Say the word and I’ll stop, yeah?”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him back in with a grip that left no room for doubt. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kissed him harder, need surging like a flood. Fred groaned softly into your mouth, a low, desperate sound that seemed to vibrate right through you, before his hands found your waist, tugging you into his lap like you belonged there.

You did.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his touch suddenly more urgent, more claiming. His mouth moved along your jaw, down to the edge of your throat, where he lingered with soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how mad you make me, every time you call that idiot your boyfriend.”

His hands ran under the hem of your shirt now, slow and reverent even in the heat of it all, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

Fred's hands paused just beneath the fabric, fingertips brushing your bare skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. His breath was hot against your neck, the restraint in his movements contrasting the intensity of the moment. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

“You shouldn’t have to settle for someone who only wants to own you,” he whispered, lips brushing your collarbone. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

Your heart pounded at his words, not because of the heat, but the sincerity behind them. Fred didn’t just want you. He saw you. All of you. Every piece you’d tucked away, every part Cormac had ignored or tried to control, Fred was holding you like none of that scared him.

He pulled back enough to meet your gaze again, thumbs still stroking lazy circles into your hips. “I meant what I said. You call the shots. We stop whenever you say.”

His voice was still low, husky with want, but his eyes held nothing but respect, waiting for your permission, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You felt yourself squirm under his touch, the heat between your legs almost becoming uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if you’d feel guilty for doing this anymore. Fred was the most exquisite thing you’d ever tasted, a forbidden fruit.

Fred noticed the way you moved against him, the quiet, involuntary squirm, and his hands tightened slightly at your hips, not to restrain, but to ground. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze dark and reverent, as if he could already feel the shift in you, the slow unraveling of hesitation.

“I want to take care of you. Will you let me, love?” He asked, his brown eyes darker than ever.

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, the contrast between his raw need and the reverence in his words made your heart ache. There was no arrogance in the way Fred looked at you now, no teasing or bravado. Just a quiet, aching sincerity. Like this had never been about just desire - it had always been about you.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Fred smirked, the hands on your hips lifting only to slide under the waistband of your skirt. “That’s my girl.”

You shuddered as his rough, Quidditch conditioned hands met the skin below your belly button, your e/c eyes glued onto him. The brisk air flooded your hips, thighs, and legs as he pulled the skirt off.

He tossed it to the floor quickly, his eyes raking over your body in awe.

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely bloody perfect.”

His thick fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear, toying with the thin fabric. He eyed the wet patch on the front, an amused smile on his lips.

“Betcha Cormac McLaggen never caused this mess, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to close your legs. He pushed them back open, chuckling.

Quickly, he tugged your panties down your legs too, his eyes darkening even further at the sight of you. Your pussy was perfect, glistening in the dim light of the moon. He ran a finger down the length of it, watching your essence collect onto it.

You exhaled, the cold breath hitting Fred.

“Pretty. So, so pretty.”

Before you knew it, Fred was repositioning himself, his body sliding down the rest of the bed. He positions himself between your thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes look eagerly up at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Gonna take care of you, yeah? Show you an unselfish bloke, since you’ve never seen one.”

You could’ve cried.

With a firm squeeze on your thigh, he dives in.

He licks a thick stripe up the middle of your heat, eliciting a moan from your lips immediately. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle against you - you definitely felt the vibration of it.

He laps at you eagerly, like a dog that just found water in the desert. Your clit gets most of the attention, but he occasionally goes where your essence has collected most, cleaning you up as he works.

“Oh my Merlin.” you gasp, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as your hand trails down to him, threading through his hair without even thinking.

This only pushes him further. He focuses on the most sensitive part of you, the cute little bundle of nerves, until you feel like you could pass out.

All it takes it one more push. He sucks at you, a loud sluuuurp, just enough pressure.

You come undone immediately, a lewd moan leaving your lips. You’d almost be embarrassed at how quick it was if you could even think.

“Fred!”

He doesn’t stop, leading you through your release. Your hips buck as you attempt to push him off, but his broad hand forces your hips down.

All that’s left now is to clean you up. He can’t let you go to waste.

Licking up every drop of cum you’d let slip, he came up off from you. The lower part of his face glistens sinfully.

Your jaw is still wide open in both bliss and disbelief as you look at him, a loud exhale exiting your mouth.

Quickly, as if it was perfectly normal, a typical part of his evening, he wiped your release from his face and sucked it from his fingers, humming gratefully.

He looked down at you with a lazy, satisfied grin, eyes soft but gleaming with something deeper. “See?” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “That’s what you deserve, love. Not the bloody Quidditch mascot.”

You laughed, breathless and flushed, your brain fuzzy.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Fred let out a dramatic groan and threw his head back against the pillow. “Merlin’s bloody beard, not again.”

You giggled, half buried in his chest, still breathless and dazed. “It’s a reflex at this point.”

He turned his head to look at you, one brow raised and a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “Yeah? Well, reflex or not, love, you really need to update your status. Because your boyfriend didn’t make you sound like that.” His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine. “I did.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself closer to him. He wraps his arms around you tightly, curling you into his chest.

“Goodnight, Weasley. You’ve turned me into a sinner.”

Fred chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear as he buried his face in your hair. “Then I’ll happily be the reason you fall from grace,” he murmured, voice laced with something both teasing and devastatingly sincere.

His arms tightened around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, and the fading ache of the night’s confessions lulled you into a peace you hadn’t felt in ages. And for once, you didn’t care about tomorrow, not about guilt, not about consequences.

The next morning, you still felt the same. No guilt. No shame. That’s how you knew for sure that your relationship with Cormac had run its course and that you needed to end it ASAP.

And after his brutish behavior the other night, what better way was there to break it to him but through the very Weasley that had shown you the greener grass on the other side?

You entered the Great Hall, Fred’s arm thrown around your shoulder.

You didn’t even try to hide the smug satisfaction bubbling beneath your skin.

Fred was relaxed, smirking like he knew exactly the kind of storm you were about to unleash. His arm hung heavy around your shoulders, protective and possessive in a way that was unmistakably deliberate. You leaned into it, not for the drama, but because it felt good. Right.

The hum of morning chatter in the Great Hall dulled the second you walked in. Heads turned. Students smiled, cheered even. And at the Gryffindor table, Cormac McLaggen froze mid-bite, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the two of you.

You gave him a look that was cool, almost bored. “McLaggen,” you said lightly, as though you were passing a stranger on the street.

Fred didn’t stop walking, guiding you toward your usual spot like nothing was amiss. But as you slid onto the bench beside him, his arm stayed firmly in place, and his hand brushed your shoulder with just enough intimacy to make the message clear.

Cormac was already on his feet. “What the hell is this?”

Fred looked up at him with a smile that was too calm to be kind. “This?” He gestured lazily between you. “This is her making a better choice.”

Cormac’s jaw clenched. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you cut in, voice steady, unfazed. “We’re over, Cormac. As of last night, officially. Your behavior lately? That was the last straw.”

He looked between you and Fred, fuming. “So you’re just gonna.. what? Run off with him?”

You didn’t blink. “No, I walked away from you. And he was already standing there.”

Fred leaned back, hands behind his head now, relaxed as ever. “She simply decided she preferred gingers. And blokes that don’t pretend to be good at Quidditch. And blokes that brush their teeth.”

The Gryffindor table burst into scattered laughter, a few muffled snorts and gasps echoing down the line. Even George, two seats away, choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing into his sleeve with a wide-eyed, delighted grin.

Cormac’s face flushed a deep, angry red, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is funny?” he snapped, eyes locked on Fred. “You think you can just take her from me and humiliate me in front of everyone?”

Fred didn’t move, his tone still maddeningly casual. “Mate, I didn’t take anything. You lost her all on your own. I just happened to be the better option when the dust settled.”

You saw it, the twitch in Cormac’s jaw, the way his shoulders squared as if ready to swing. But this time, Fred’s eyes sharpened, just a little.

“Don’t,” he warned, his smile fading just enough to let the tension creep in again. “I’d hate to embarrass you twice in one week.”

Cormac turned, glaring.

“Whatever. I deserve better than some stupid slag, anyway.”

Fred was on his feet before anyone else could react.

There was no teasing in his expression now, no witty retorts, no lopsided smirk. Just pure, cold fury. The kind that silenced the whole hall in an instant.

“What are you-”

Fred’s fist connected with Cormac’s jaw before the insult could fully leave his mouth.

The sound was sickening: a sharp crack that echoed through the Great Hall like a thunderclap. Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to flicker for a moment, as if the castle itself recoiled from the blow.

Cormac stumbled back, dazed, clutching his face with wide eyes and bleeding pride. He didn’t fall, not quite, but the damage was clear: his lip was split, and his ego shattered.

Fred didn’t follow it up. He stood over Cormac, shoulders heaving, eyes burning. “Long overdue, you absolute prat,” he growled. “Say that shit again and see what you get next, mate.”

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang through the hall like a whip. “Mr. Weasley!”

Fred didn’t flinch. He only turned slightly, shielding you behind him again with a hand at your hip. “Sorry, Professor,” he said, still glaring at Cormac. “Slipped.”

The tension from the Great Hall carried all the way into detention, where Fred now sat slumped at a desk in an empty classroom, idly tossing a quill from one hand to the other. He looked more annoyed than remorseful.. not at the punishment, but at the hour wasted inside instead of with you.

The door creaked open.

He glanced up and there you were.

McGonagall had given you permission. She was an advocator for women, and you’d explained the entire situation to her. She was slightly reluctant, but ended up letting you enter with a ‘just this once’ slipping from her lips.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, brow lifting in amused confusion as you shut the door behind you.

“No,” you teased, strolling toward him. “Figured if you’re gonna sit here sulking, I might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

Fred grinned, eyes following your every step as you hopped up to sit on the desk in front of him, legs swinging playfully. He reached towards your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I can’t believe I can call you my girlfriend now. Never thought I’d see the day you gave up on the bench warmer.”

You smirked, gently nudging Fred with your knee as he leaned forward, resting his chin on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gave up on him the moment I realized I was already in love with the guy who actually showed up for me,” you said, fingers sliding through his hair.

Fred beamed, practically glowing. “So you’re saying I’m your hero? Finally getting the credit I deserve?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. “More like my very chaotic, very ginger hero who got detention for punching my ex.”

Fred looked far too pleased with that title.

“Don’t forget, love. I also devoured his girlfriend in my bed two doors down from him.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing as you lightly smacked his shoulder. “Fred!”

He grinned shamelessly, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “What? Just making sure history remembers me properly.”

You shook your head, but the smile on your face wouldn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fred leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice dipping to something softer. “And yet… you still chose me.”

You exhaled, heart full. “Yeah. I did.”

Your bed was cold. Unpleasant. The sheets didn't feel right, the pillows felt too lumpy, the air felt flat and dead. The man beside you had curled up on the other side, not facing you, not sparing any attention at all. Cormac had been able to get you to be his girlfriend, and after that, he stopped trying. Stopped paying attention.

You huffed, bunching the blankets up around your face, trying to keep warm.

Your mind immediately flicked to him. Just like it always did. Just like it had for years and years. Fred. He was an uttered secret in your mind, something you kept deep below the surface. Things hadn't ended kindly -- you didn't want people to know he was a constant thought.

You didn't want people to know that the two of you had slipped a couple times. Slept together, fell asleep in the same bed, then scrambled out of it the next morning pretending to hate each other. But the temptation was just too great. You loved Fred, you feared you always would. Your soul, your body, they were so thirsty for him that sometimes it made moving on seem absolutely impossible.

Sighing, your eyes flicked over to Cormac again before you slowly climbed out of the bed. Your feet hit the cold floor and you hissed quietly, biting your lip to keep from making any noise. If Cormac woke up, he’d ask where you were going. And you’d have to lie. Again. Not that he’d care much. He just hated being embarrassed. Hated the idea of you being anywhere else but here, in his bed, his room, his girlfriend. Even if he barely touched you anymore.

You pulled your jumper on over your thin sleep shirt, fingers trembling as you fumbled with the sleeves. The Gryffindor crest caught your eye in the dark -- a gift from Fred, once. You swallowed hard.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But you were already turning, already creeping to the door and easing it open with practiced silence. The corridor was empty. Quiet. You knew every step, every stair to take without creaking. How many times had you made this exact walk before?

A warm hand on your wrist made you help. A second hand quickly covered your mouth, swallowing the small noise, before familiar body heat and the scent of cologne enveloped you.

“We had the same idea then, love?” His husky voice said amusedly, voice low and borderline a whisper.

You froze for a breathless second, heart thudding in your chest so hard you thought it might give you away completely. His grip was firm but careful, like he didn’t want to hurt you -- just keep you quiet.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

He always seemed to know. Always seemed to be there, lurking in your shadows like some devil you couldn’t shake.

He pulled his hand slowly away from your mouth, fingers brushing your lips like he couldn’t help himself. You sucked in a sharp breath, dizzy from his closeness, from the heat radiating off him in the cold corridor.

“I nearly screamed,” you hissed, swatting at his arm half-heartedly.

Fred only smirked, not the least bit apologetic. “And wake McLaggen? Bit rude when you’re sneaking off to see another man.”

You glared at him, but the effect was lost given how your cheeks were already burning. “Shut up, Fred.”

He hummed, leaning closer, nose brushing your temple. His voice dropped even lower, raspy and intimate, the kind of sound that lived in your dreams.

“Make me.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse stuttering. You could feel the way he was looking at you -- even in the dark, his gaze felt heavy. Possessive. Like you were something he had every right to want.

“Fred…”

He reached down, fingers curling around your wrist again, thumb sweeping over your pulse point.

“Can’t sleep without you,” he admitted softly, voice losing some of that teasing edge. It was rawer now. Honest.

You exhaled shakily, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. That was the worst part about all of this. That was the reason you always came back.

Because he meant it.

And you did too.

You cracked your eyes open, finding his waiting for you, dark and glinting in the corridor’s shadows.

“Yours or mine?” you asked, voice small.

Fred’s mouth curved slowly into something dangerously pleased.

“Ours tonight.”

He tugged you gently, and you went willingly.

Because you always did.

The walk to his dorm was familiar. The whispering, his strong arms lifting you over creaky parts of the stairs because he knew you were too clumsy to get over them. Finally, he opened his door and nudged you inside, shutting it behind him. The door clicked shut, muffling the castle’s nighttime hush. Your heart beat loud in your ears as Fred’s shadow loomed behind you, tall and certain in the dim glow of the dying fireplace.

You took one step in and stopped, suddenly hyperaware of the space, the silence, the truth of what you were doing.

Of what you always did.

Fred’s hands found your hips from behind, warm and sure. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t speak. Just held you there for a second, thumbs sweeping slow circles through your clothes. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell behind you, steady and calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And for you both, it kind of was.

He leaned down, nose brushing the side of your neck, breath fanning hot across your skin. You shivered.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, voice half-rough, half-gentle.

You swallowed, words catching in your throat.

“I know.”

Fred let out a quiet hum of disapproval. His fingers tightened on your hips for a heartbeat before he pulled back just enough to tug you around to face him.

You didn’t fight him. You never did.

His gaze flicked over your face in the low light, taking you in with that intensity that made your knees feel weak. Like you were the only thing he saw.

“Gonna fix that for you,” he said simply.

And that was it. No question. No plea. Just a promise.

He tugged you closer until you were flush against him, and you pressed your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin and cologne -- smoke, cinnamon, and something that was unmistakably Fred.

His arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurt, but you melted anyway. You always did.

One hand threaded into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. The other slid beneath your jumper, fingertips brushing the skin of your lower back. You flinched at the cold contrast, then relaxed when the heat of him chased it away.

“Fuckin' McLaggen. Letting you freeze,” he whispered, his voice getting lower just a little at the edges.

Your breath hitched.

“Fred…”

“Don’t go back there.” His voice was firmer now, that possessive tenseness creeping in. “Don’t let him touch you. Don’t even think about him when you’re in my bed.”

Your chest constricted painfully.

You nodded. Barely. But you did.

Fred let out a shuddering breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, voice low and raw. “My girl.”

Your heart broke and healed all at once.

Because you always were.

“What about Angelina?” You asked, trying to keep the jealousy from your voice.

Angelina was Fred's new girlfriend, similar to how Cormac was for you.

Fred tensed. Not all at once, just the kind of slow, creeping tension that stiffened the arm around your waist, made his breathing stutter for a second against your hair.

You pulled back slightly, enough to look up at him. Enough to see the way his jaw flexed.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

You searched his face. “I’m just--”

“Don’t say her name here.” His voice wasn’t angry. It was something worse: tired.

You blinked, caught off guard. “But she’s your girlfriend, Fred.”

He exhaled through his nose, stepping away from you just a little, just enough to scrub a hand through his hair in frustration. He looked like someone who was being held together by threads -- threads that you, unknowingly, just tugged on.

“Yeah,” he muttered, gaze flicking to the fire. “And McLaggen’s your boyfriend, right?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

It wasn’t the same and you both knew it.

Fred turned back to you, eyes a little shinier now, though he masked it well. “We do this every time, Y/N. You ask about her, I ask about him. Then we go quiet, pretend this didn’t happen, and crawl back to them.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Angelina,” he said, voice gentler now, broken in a different way. “I came here because I can’t sleep unless you’re next to me. I came here because I want to hold you until the sun comes up and pretend like we’re not fucking everything up.”

His voice cracked. “Because for a few hours, you’re mine again. And I’m yours. And it’s the only time I ever feel like I’m doing something right.”

You stared at him, heart aching, eyes burning.

“Do you love her?” you asked quietly.

Fred looked at you for a long, excruciating beat. Then:

“No. You know I don't.”

You didn't respond. Fred stepped closer again, hands framing your face, forcing you to look up into his eyes. He searched yours, looking for answers to questions that you didn't quite know.

“But you love that ridiculous git. Even though he treats you like rubbish.”

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a sob and a scoff. “Don’t talk about him.”

Fred’s thumbs brushed your cheeks, rough but gentle. He tilted your face, refusing to let you look away.

“Someone has to,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “He doesn’t see you. He doesn’t hear you. I do.”

Your lip trembled. “Fred--”

His voice cracked again, rawer than before. “I always do. He doesn't even try.”

Silence fell like a heavy blanket. His forehead pressed against yours, and you both stood there, breathing hard, your tears mixing with his breath.

Your hands fisted in his shirt without thinking, clutching him like he was the only solid thing left.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I hate that I can’t hate you for this. I hate that you keep going back. I hate him for getting to hold you in the mornings when you’re warm and sleepy. I hate him so fuckin' much. The bastard has everything I want and everything I couldn't keep.”

“Fred, please…”

“Just tell me.” His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Tell me to be done. Or tell me to fight for you. Just fucking tell me what you want.”

He shook slightly. Your nose bumped his.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because you didn’t know.

Fred let out a pained, broken laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his watery ones. He was gorgeous in this light -- red hair illuminated by the moon, eyes staring at you intensely, yearning on every inch of his face. Pink lips, flushed cheeks.

You couldn't help it. You did this every single time.

You kissed him.

Your lips crashed into his so suddenly it knocked the breath from both of you. For a heartbeat Fred didn’t move, stunned by the raw desperation of it. Then he groaned, low and guttural, and kissed you back like a man starved.

His hands fisted in your hair, dragging you closer until your chest pressed tight to his. Your fingers scrambled at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head with shaking urgency. He barely broke the kiss to help, mouth returning to yours hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a heated, messy battle.

Fred pulled back just enough to gasp, voice wrecked. “Bed. Now.”

You let out something between a whimper and a laugh as he all but hauled you backward, half-lifting, half-dragging you to his mattress. You fell onto it in a tangled heap of limbs, giggling breathlessly until he followed you down, weight pinning you deliciously.

He kissed you again, slower for a moment, savoring, like he needed to memorize your taste. Then his mouth moved, jaw, neck, collarbone, biting, sucking, soothing with hot, open-mouthed kisses that left marks he didn’t even try to hide.

“Fred--” you gasped, arching as his teeth scraped your pulse point.

He smirked against your throat. “That’s it, love. Say my name. Scream it if you want. He won’t hear.”

You shoved at his chest playfully, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one strong hand. The other trailed down, slow and deliberate, over your ribs, your waist, your hips -- making you shiver.

“Prettiest girl. I don't deserve you.. But McLaggen does even less.” He sneered, voice low and filthy.

He kissed you again, harder, teeth tugging at your lip before soothing it with his tongue. His free hand slid under your shirt, pushing it up until you had to help him get it off. His eyes devoured you, hands mapping every inch like he couldn’t believe you were real.

He didn’t bother being gentle now -- he didn’t have it in him. You didn’t want gentle. You wanted him.

His fingers dipped into your waistband, tugging your bottoms down with a smirk. He cursed when he saw you, eyes darkening further.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice reverent and wrecked all at once. “So fucking perfect.”

You squirmed under his gaze, biting your lip, whining when he didn’t touch you right away.

“Fred,” you breathed, needy and ruined.

That did it.

He slid his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing before finally pressing where you needed him most. You cried out, hips bucking, and he grinned, lips red and swollen from kissing you raw.

“I know, love,” he murmured, watching you intently as his fingers worked you open. “That’s my girl.”

Fred’s thumb brushed maddening circles over your clit while two fingers curled inside you, slow at first, exploring. Your hips bucked, a strangled sound leaving you, but he just pinned you harder with his free arm, refusing to let you shy away.

“Easy,” he murmured against your neck, voice dark, low. “Let me feel you. Just relax.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He shuddered at the bite of pain.

“God, Fred, please.”

He pressed in deeper, fingers crooking deliberately to find that spot inside you that made your legs shake. Your mouth fell open on a sharp cry.

“There it is,” he rasped, lips dragging hot and wet along your collarbone. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck -- look at you. Look how you fall apart. Got my name all over ya.”

You writhed against him, shame and want and relief mixing into something molten. He watched your face the entire time, eyes so dark they were nearly black, blown with lust and something deeper, something greedy.

“You gonna cum for me, love?” he asked, breathless, tone that perfect blend of cruel and desperate. “Right on my fingers? Gonna soak me like a good girl?”

You whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to sting. He didn’t like that -- he brought his thumb up to tug your lip free, smearing your spit.

“None of that,” he scolded. “Let me hear you.”

You let go of the broken moan you’d been swallowing, back arching. He rewarded you with faster thrusts, fingers driving in and out of you, thumb working your clit in tight, filthy circles.

“Fred, I--fuck--I’m--”

“Cum,” he cooed, voice cracking with how badly he needed you to. “I got you. Let me have it.”

You broke with a sob, body seizing as pleasure tore through you. Your walls clamped down on his fingers so tight he swore, forehead dropping to yours. He watched you come undone like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“That’s it,” he groaned, breath fanning your lips. “Good fucking girl. That’s my girl.”

He didn’t stop right away. He kept fingering you through it, gentle but relentless, dragging every last tremor out of you until you were boneless, whimpering, clutching at him for mercy.

Finally he slowed, pressing his soaked fingers against your clit one last time, making you twitch. He grinned, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Sensitive?” he mocked softly. He pulled his hand back and studied his fingers glistening with you.

He sucked them clean, staring you dead in the eyes the whole time.

“Taste better than I remembered,” he said hoarsely. “And I remembered everything.”

You let out a choked laugh, half mortified, half ruined with desire.

Fred kissed you slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back just enough to breathe:

“Not done with you yet, love. Not even close.”

Fred pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling over his forehead, cheeks flushed. His breath was ragged as he studied you, like he was barely holding it together.

“On your knees,” he rasped. It wasn’t a question.

Your stomach flipped, heat surging at the command. He waited, eyes locked on yours, giving you the barest nod of permission. You slid off the bed, settling between his legs on the floor. The cold stone bit into your knees, but you barely felt it. Your whole body thrummed with the need to please him, to have him.

Fred let out a shaky breath, leaning back a little to give you room. His voice dropped, rough as gravel:

“Fuck, look at you. Prettiest thing I ever seen. Always were.”

He palmed himself through his boxers, already hard as a rock, the thick outline straining the fabric. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Go on,” he urged, voice teeming with want. “Get me out, love.”

Your fingers trembled as you hooked them in the waistband, tugging them down. His cock sprang free, flushed dark, already leaking.

Fred hissed when the cold air hit him, then moaned outright when your hand wrapped around the base.

“Jesus -- yeah. Just like that.”

You stroked him slow at first, savoring the weight, the heat, the way he twitched in your grip. Fred watched you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he ordered, voice lower than you’d ever heard it.

You obeyed, lips parting, eyes locked on his. His jaw flexed.

“Good,” he praised.

You flattened your tongue against the tip, tasting him, licking away the salty pre-cum. Fred swore, one hand shooting out to tangle in your hair.

“Don’t tease. Take it.”

You slid down further, mouth stretching to accommodate him, your tongue slick against the underside. Fred’s breath hitched, fingers tightening in your hair hard enough to make your scalp sting.

“Fuck -- just like that. Mhm.”

Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked harder, bobbing your head, feeling him hit the back of your throat. He let out a strangled moan, hips bucking up.

“Ah,shit. Easy, love. Or we're gonna have a mess on our hands, yeah?”

You only sucked harder, moaning around him just to feel the way he jerked in your mouth. His head fell back, a vein standing out in his throat as he tried to hold on.

Your hands came up to his thighs, nails biting in, pulling him closer. Fred looked down at you then, eyes wild, voice broken.

“Look at you,” he choked. “On your knees for me. Wish that nasty git could see you.”

He thrust shallowly into your mouth, controlling the pace, panting. His thumb brushed your cheek as if to soothe you even while he used you.

Before you knew it, he pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop.

Fred didn’t give you time to question why he’d stopped. He hauled you up by your arms so fast you nearly stumbled. Before you could catch your breath, he was handling you and shoving you forward onto the mattress.

Your cheek pressed against the cool sheets, heart hammering. You felt him behind you, the hot, heavy weight of his cock dragging between your thighs as he kicked your legs farther apart.

“Look at you,” he hummed, voice low and wrecked. “Dripping for it.”

You gasped when he dragged the swollen head through your folds, smearing wetness all over you. A rough palm landed on your ass, squeezing hard.

“Bet you’ve been thinking about this every time he fucked you,” Fred sneered, lining himself up. “Bet you wished it was me stuffing this pretty cunt instead.”

You barely managed a whimper before he pushed in, slow but unrelenting. Inch by thick inch, stretching you so wide you saw stars.

“Oh--fuck--” you choked out, fingers fisting the blanket.

Fred just groaned, sinking to the hilt. He didn’t give you time to adjust, he drew back almost all the way and snapped his hips forward, making you yelp.

“Listen to you,” he panted, leaning over your back so his chest pressed to your spine. His hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head to the side so he could nip at your neck. “Making all these little sounds. He never made you this loud, did he?”

He pulled out again and slammed back in, harder this time. The force made the bed frame creak.

“Tell me,” he demanded, punctuating each word with a thrust that made your knees tremble. “Tell me how he can't do this. How disappointing McLaggen is.”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a ragged moan.

“Yeah,” Fred breathed, teeth scraping your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Can’t even form a fucking sentence. 'S alright,” he chuckled, raspy with effort. “I know my girl. I can take care of her. He can't.” He whispered roughly.

One hand slipped between your thighs, finding your clit and circling it just enough to make your whole body jerk. You were so close it was humiliating.

“Already about to come? Christ. Missed me, then.”

His hips snapped into yours again and again, deep, punishing strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you. His fingers worked your clit mercilessly, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

“Take it,” he ordered, voice gone hoarse. “Take every fucking inch. 'S all yours anyways.”

You cried out when he bottomed out again, the angle so deep it stole your breath.

“Merlin, you feel good,” Fred groaned against your shoulder, rutting into you faster now, the rhythm filthy and relentless. “Missed you so bad.”

Your thighs started to shake, pleasure winding tight and electric. You knew you weren’t going to last.

“Go on,” he rasped, feeling you clamp around him. “Make a mess of yourself. Gonna send you back to your boyfriend with it all over you.”

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard you saw white, your whole body clenching around him as you wailed into the sheets.

Fred cursed under his breath, hips stuttering. He pulled out just enough to see his cock shining with your release before slamming back in, chasing his own end.

“Fuck -- gonna fill you up,” he snarled, voice almost sounding punishing. “Gonna watch it drip out of you when I’m done.”

A few more rough thrusts and he was coming, grinding deep as he spilled inside you, breathing ragged in your ear.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the only sound your mingled gasps. Fred’s hand smoothed over your spine as he finally pulled out, a hot, wet ache spreading between your thighs.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Fred stayed pressed against you for a long moment, his breath still uneven against your skin. Then, with a groan, he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were sprawled half on top of him. His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine, his other hand pushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

“Christ,” he muttered, voice still rough but slipping back into that familiar, teasing lilt. “McLaggen could never.”

You snorted, though the sound was muffled against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he corrected, squeezing your hip. “Bet the tosser doesn’t even know where the clit is.”

“Fred!” You swatted his arm, but he only grinned, unrepentant.

“What? Just stating facts, love.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, his smirk softening into something warmer. “And since we’re being honest, you’re far too brilliant to waste on someone who probably still pisses the bed.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught your chin, tilting your face up to his. His expression was suddenly serious, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something deeper.

“Come back,” he said quietly. “Properly.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t need to elaborate -- you knew what he meant.

Fred’s mouth curved, just a little. “I’ll even share my Chocolate Frogs.”

“Now that’s true love,” you deadpanned.

He barked a laugh, pulling you tighter against him. “Damn right it is.”

You snuggled into his chest, the thought of getting back together flickering through your head. The questions, the doubts, the possibilities. You and Fred had been in this weird situationship and cheating on your relationships with others for months, but you'd never actually come close to reconciling. Before now.

“... What about Ang--”

Fred cut you off, an honest look on his face.

"Over," he said simply, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your hip.

“But she--”

Fred rolled his eyes.

“I don't care. I'll break up with her tomorrow. Merlin's sake, I'll knock on her dorm door tonight if it means you'll come back to me, love.”

Your breath caught. That was the thing about Fred -- when he was serious, really serious, there was no mistaking it. No jokes, no deflection. Just this, his hands on your skin, his gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

A beat. Then, quieter:

“Stay.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a plea. It was a promise, one he’d been waiting months to make.

You swallowed. “What if we’re just… bad for each other?”

Fred barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Lovey, we’re terrible for each other. But I’d rather set myself on fire than watch you pretend to be happy with someone else.”

“That’s--”

“Dramatic? Probably.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Also true.”

You stared at him. He stared back, unflinching.

“I love you, Name. I don't even care to keep pretending that Angelina means bollocks to me.”

Your breath hitched. Fred never said it first. Never this plainly. Not since before everything went wrong.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The usual mischief in his brown eyes had burned away, leaving something terrifyingly vulnerable.

"Say something," he murmured. "Preferably that you're dumping McLaggen's sorry arse tomorrow."

A hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet," his thumb brushed your lower lip, "you're still here. In my bed. Again."

The unspoken question hung between you.

“You're the only thing that's ever been real for me. Real, serious, and not a joke,” Fred said, his voice only slightly higher than a whisper. “I fucked it all up, I did. But I'll be different. I'll be better, yeah?”

The words hung between you, fragile as spun glass. You could count on one hand the times Fred Weasley had admitted to being wrong - and never like this. Never with his hands shaking against your skin.

Your throat tightened. "You don't have to be better. Just... be here."

Fred's breath left him in a rush, his forehead dropping to yours. "Christ, you can't just say things like that," he muttered, but his arms were already pulling you closer, his lips pressing desperate kisses along your jaw. "Makes it bloody impossible to pretend I'm not completely gone for you."

You carded your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "When have you ever pretended?"

"Point," he conceded with a shaky laugh. Then, softer: "Stay?"

It wasn't the first time he'd asked. But it was the first time you let yourself believe it.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, I'm staying."

Fred's smile could've lit up the whole of Hogwarts.

He pulled you tighter, wanting you closer in his arms, as if making sure this moment was real and not a dream. He peppered kisses along the crown of your head, lips still stretched into a grin.

"Gonna be insufferable about this, you know," he murmured against your hair. "Properly obnoxious. Flowers at breakfast. Notes in your textbooks. Might even start attending Charms on time just to stare at you."

You snorted, pressing your smile into his chest. "Now I'm reconsidering."

Fred's arms locked around you like iron. "Too late, love. You're stuck with me." A beat. Then, with a wicked chuckle: "Though if you wanted to get unstuck and then stuck again--"

“Fred.” Your tone was warning.

The silence again. Comfortable silence. His body was warm, so much warmer than the lonely shared bed with Cormac. He was like walking sunshine, always had been, and still lit your world up even at night. He held you gently, like fragile treasure, but tightly, as if you'd slip away.

The silence only lasted another five minutes before he broke it again.

"So," he said, fingers drumming excitedly against your hip. "This means I can finally crack McLaggen in his big, dumb lug of a head then?"

You groaned into his chest. "Merlin, give it rest."

"I will!" Fred protested, rolling to pin you beneath him, his grin wild in the moonlight. "Right after I--"

"No."

"--just one little hex--"

"Fred."

"--maybe just a Bat-Bogey to start--"

You silenced him the only way that ever worked, kissing the smirk right off his face. Fred melted into it with a happy sigh, his hands sliding up to cradle your face like you were something precious.

"Fine," he murmured when you broke apart. "I'll only maim him slightly."

You thumped his shoulder, but you were laughing. And when he gathered you back against him, his laughter vibrating through your chest, you realized with startling clarity:

You'd missed this. Missed him.

The thought should have terrified you.

Instead, you only burrowed closer.

And just like that, it was settled. No more hiding. No more McLaggen.

(Thank fuck for that.)