Another Man's Treasure | Fred Weasley
Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste.
Warnings & Themes: fluff, NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner
When you'd begun dating Cormac, it was different.
He was attentive, sweet, mindful. But now? The man was a complete git. Most days, you sat on the bleachers of the pitch, feeling absolutely bloody dejected and watching him fly around on a broom for hours practicing for a team he was only a reserve on.
It was pathetic, truly. You and him. You sat waiting for a guy who couldn't show less interest in you if he tried — and he absolutely sucked at Quidditch yet continued to ignore a gorgeous girl for it.
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.”
And as he kissed you, slow, certain, and impossibly warm, you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t regret a single thing.
