#protective fred

The dungeon was thick with steam and the scent of magic - both sweet and sharp - as bubbling cauldrons filled the air with shimmering plumes of pearlescent vapor. Students hunched over their desks, trying to perfect their Amortentia - the most powerful love potion in the wizarding world, and easily the most dangerous in Snape's arsenal of sixth-year torment.

You stirred your potion slowly, counting the swirls clockwise as instructed, your wrist moving with practiced ease. The scent wafting up was heady and warm, curling around your sense like silk. You hadn't dared breathe too deeply yet - curious as you were, you weren't ready to learn what made your heart beat faster. Not yet.

Beside you, for once surprisingly focused, Fred Weasley was hunched over his own cauldron, brows furrowed in what you assumed was concentration.

Until he froze.

He sniffed the air once, then again - slower, more deliberate. His eyes flicked toward you.

"That's... odd," he muttered, his voice unusually subdued.

You glanced over. "What is?"

Fred hesitated. For a moment, it looked like he might brush it off with a joke, or flash that roguish grin and give you one of his classic non-answers. But then his expression shifted - just slightly - and his voice dropped a note.

"I can smell... the Burrow after a summer storm, fresh parchment, and -" He swallowed, his voice catching. "And you."

You laughed. Nervous. Guarded. "It's probably just Ginny's shampoo. We share a dorm, remember?"

But Fred shook his head. "Nope. Definitely not Ginny."

Your heart gave an uncomfortable thud in your chest. You turned back to your potion, willing your voice to stay even. "Knock if off, Weasley. What do you really smell? Gunpowder? Firewhiskey?"

He didn't answer immediately. When you finally looked up again, Fred was watching you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. His fingers tapped the edge of the desk absently, the corner of his mouth twitching, but not into his usual grin.

"Merlin, you really don't believe me, do you?"

You blinked. "Should I?"

"I'm not pulling your chain, love." HIs voice had softened to something unfamiliar; something that made your stomach do a slow, swooping flip.

You said nothing.

So he stepped closer, the space between you charged like a live wire.

"You want specifics?" he said, his voice low and teasing now. "Fine. I smell that ridiculous quill you chew on when you're overthinking. The ink stains on your fingers when you've been writing for too long. That vanilla perfume you swear you don't wear, but it's always there after you've gone."

His eyes searched yours, just a breath between your bodies now. "And something else I can't even name. Just... you."

The silence between you was deafening.

You didn't respond right away. Instead, you turned back to your cauldron, heart hammering as you bent low and inhaled deeply.

And there it was.

Your mother's coffee cake. A dusty library. And -

Gunpowder. Smoke. Clean shampoo. That stupid, maddening mint Fred always chewed after lunch, claiming it "kept him charming."

You stood up slowly, chest tightening with the weight of what you'd just confirmed.

"I smell my mum's cake," you said carefully. "Books. And... and you." You swallowed hard. "Your shampoo. And that mint that's supposed to be refreshing but mostly just drives me insane."

Fred didn't move for a moment, his jaw slack, his freckles blooming redder than ever. Then - like someone had flipped a switch - his grin broke through.

"Me?" he repeated breathlessly. "You smell me?"

Before you could nod, before you could even breathe, Fred reached for you.

His kiss was fierce, messy, completely unpracticed - and perfect. It was all parchment and heat and too many things left unsaid. His hands slid into your hair, pulling you closer, like he'd been waiting for this forever and couldn't quite believe it was real.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath.

"Guess that means we're both goners then, yeah?" he said, eyes wide, voice thick with emotion.

You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his robes. "Merlin save us, then. I'd rather be mad and with you than sane without you."

Fred chuckled, utterly delighted. "That's good, 'cause I've been barking mad for you for ages."

His grin widened, that mischievous spark reappearing in his eye. "You do realize this means you're stuck with me now. No take-backs, no regrets, and absolutely no backing out when I drag you into a prank.

You arched a brow. "Fred Weasley, that's all I've ever wanted."

He spun you once - just to be dramatic - before catching you again, arms looping around your waist. "Bloody hell," he murmured, smiling like an idiot. "You're perfect."

"Obviously," you teased, grinning back.

Fred hummed thoughtfully, eyes glinting. "Now... about that potion." He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "What do you say we accidentally switch Snape's vial with something a little more... dramatic?"

"Or," you offered sweetly, "we slip Amortentia into his tea and make him fall in love with - oh, I don't know - Filch?"

Fred gasped like you'd just proposed marriage on the spot. "Filch?! You wicked, wicked creature. You've officially out-pranked me."

He kissed you again, quick and gleeful, then leaned back with a dangerous smile.

"Well the, partner-in-crime," he said, lacing his fingers through yours, "let's go make Hogwarts history."

And with your heart still racing, your fingers tangled together, and your potions forgotten entirely - you knew this was only the beginning of a much bigger kind of magic.

The Great Hall glittered like a snow globe come to life - ice sculptures shimmered, enchanted snowflakes floated lazily from the bewitched ceiling, and students twirled beneath a sky full of stars. It was everything the Yule Ball was supposed to be: elegant, whimsical, magical.

And yet, you felt completely out of place.

Your arms were crossed as you leaned against one of the frosted pillars near the edge of the dance floor, eyes scanning the room full of swirling couples and flushed faces. Everyone seemed to be caught up in the charm of the evening.

Everyone but you.

You hadn't come with anyone. You told yourself you were fine with that - that it would be easier this way. But with every love song and every stifled laugh between couples, the loneliness chipped away at your carefully placed armor.

Then came his voice - warm, familiar, and tinged with something just slightly hesitant.

"Well, would you look at that? The prettiest person here, and not a single git smart enough to ask them to dance."

You turned, and there was Fred Weasley.

He stood just a step away, his dress robes slightly wrinkled, hair perfectly disheveled, and a look on his face that didn't quite match the usual smirking bravado. In fact... was that nerves?

"What do you want, Weasley?" you asked, tired and a little too raw to play games.

Fred hesitated for just a second before offering his hand. "A dance."

You blinked at him. "Why now?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable - an expression you'd never quite seen on him before. "Because I was a bloody idiot, that's why."

You lifted an eyebrow, saying nothing.

"I wanted to ask you weeks ago," he admitted. "But every time I tried, I completely froze. Couldn't get the words out. And then I realized that if I didn't ask you, someone else would."

His voice lowered. "And that thought drove me mad."

You frowned. "Wait... are you saying no one asked me because -?"

He cleared his throat. "...I may have strongly discouraged a few blokes."

Your jaw dropped. "You scared them off?"

He looked at you, wide-eyed and entirely apologetic. "Scared is a strong word. I prefer... threatened within an inch of their life."

A laugh escaped you - half disbelief, half affection. You should have been furious, but something in his expression - nervous, hopeful - dissolved your frustration.

"So," he said, stepping closer, his voice softening, "can I fix it? Just one dance?"

The final slow song of the night began to play.

Your heart thudded in your chest. Slowly, you reached for his hand.

"One dance," you said.

Fred's grin was blinding as he pulled you gently onto the dance floor. His hands slid around your waist like they belonged there, his movements tentative at first, but steadying with each step. You swayed together under the soft glow of enchanted candlelight, and for once, the world felt quieter.

"You know," Fred murmured as he guided you through the slow rhythm, "you could've saved us both a lot of trouble if you'd just asked me first."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, shut up, Weasley."

He laughed, twirling you effortlessly, and then - just as the song reached its final note - he dipped you low, his nose brushing yours, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"No take backs, love."

Your breath caught.

So you kissed him.

Just a brush of your lips against his - light, fleeting, enough to burn into your memory forever. When you pulled back, Fred's eyes were wide, his face glowing with surprise and a touch of awe.

"Tease," he whispered.

"You deserved that much," you smirked. "But I'm not about to let you off easy."

Fred chuckled, pulling you upright and spinning you one last time before the song ended. He didn't let go of your hand as the music changed to something faster. Instead, he walked with you off the dance floor, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles.

"So... do I get another dance?" he asked, mischief creeping back into his voice. "Or do I have to earn it?"

You grinned. "We'll see if you behave yourself."

Fred leaned in, lips grazing your ear. "Where's the fun in that?"

And as the next song filled the hall, you realized that the night might not have gone as you expected.

It had gone better.

It was late at the Burrow, the kind of quiet that only settled in after a long day filled with too much noise and too many people. Most of the family was already asleep, the warmth of the fireplace the only thing left flickering in the darkened living room.

You and Fred sat side by side on the worn old couch, legs curled beneath you, the space between you filled with easy chatter - comforting, casual, but laced with something deeper tonight. There was a shift, subtle but unmistakable, in the way Fred looked at you. His usual teasing was softer, his smile slower, his words carrying a weight they usually don't.

Then your legs brushed - just barely - and it felt like the world stopped.

Fred's voice lowered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you like he was working up every ounce of courage in his body. "You know," he murmured, "I've always thought you were... well, more than just my best mate."

Before you could respond - before you could lean in, or speak, or even breathe - the door slammed open.

George.

Oblivious. Loud. Smiling like the interruption he didn't know he was.

Fred pulled back fast, clearing his throat with a nervous chuckle, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Looks like we're not alone, then," he said, trying to recover, trying to act like the moment hadn't been everything.

You forced a smile, shifting away from him on the couch. "Hey, Georgie. What's up?"

The spell was broken. And the kiss - the moment - it never happened. And you were back to classes the next day.

-

The next few days were agony.

You couldn't trust yourself to be alone with Fred, couldn't handle the way your heart sped up every time he walked into the room. Quidditch practice was unbearable. Classes were worse. And the silence between you only grew heavier.

Then, one evening, you found yourself sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room, the glow of the fire warming your skin as you tried - and failed - to finish your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. You were deep into the second-to-last paragraph when you heard the portrait hole creak open behind you.

Fred.

He hovered in the doorway for a moment, his silhouette outlined by the firelight. "Can't sleep either, huh?" he said, his voice rougher than usual.

You didn't look up. "Just trying to finish this essay."

He hesitated, then walked toward the hearth, standing across from you. "I meant to apologize... for the other night," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to make things weird."

"The only weird thing about the other night was how George somehow knew when exactly when to barge in," you replied, still focused on your parchment.

Fred laughed - soft, breathy, like he didn't quite believe it himself. "Yeah. Typical George."

There was a pause. Then he stepped closer.

"I didn't want you to feel like I was unsure," he said, his voice more serious now. "I just didn't know if you felt the same. I didn't want to ruin everything."

You finally set your parchment down, turning to look at him for the first time. "I'm sorry too," you murmured. "I shouldn't have let that get in the way of our friendship. You mean a lot to me. I've missed you."

Fred's expression softened. "I've missed you too," he said. "More than I thought I would."

There was something fragile in his voice - an edge of fear that made your chest ache.

"I don't want to lose you," he added. "Not like this."

You chuckled gently. "I think we both messed it up, didn't we?"

Fred gave you a crooked smile. "Maybe. But if we both did, maybe we can fix it."

He hesitated. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. I just didn't know if you wanted that too."

You met his gaze. "There's nothing that I would love more."

Fred stepped in close, lifting a hand to your cheek with trembling fingers. "I'm not going to mess this up again," he whispered.

Then he kissed you.

It was slow, sweet, and completely breathtaking. All the words you hadn't said, all the stolen glances and missed chances - it was all there in that one moment. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, your breath mingling in the quiet between you.

"I'm glad you feel the same," he said softly.

You smiled, already knowing that this time, there would be no interruptions.