#the burrow

“But, you don’t understand-”

“Besides you should be in study groups-”

“It’s our friend!” One of them shouted. 

Only then did you notice their rather panicked expressions as they looked between each other. From your judgements, one had been told not to say anything, the other didn’t want to hurt either friend and the other spoke up. 

“What is it?”

The third one, a brown haired girl, knocked her lightly. “Shush. Ginny said not to tell.”

“But she might be able to help,” the blonde haired girl whispered. 

From their house colours and the name Ginny, you knew exactly who they were talking about. 

“What’s going on?” You asked. 

“Sarah, don’t.”

Sarah looked between her friends before looking back at you. Then she gave in. “Ginny’s in the girl’s bathroom, crying. She said to go and get her brothers.”

“Why is she crying?” 

She might have been a Weasley, but she’d never once acted out like her brothers. And you, too, had once been the first year crying in the bathroom. 

“She’s…she’s started.”

You looked between the three girls. 

“Started?” 

They all nodded.

“Alright. Her brother’s won’t be much help with this.”

“But-”

You nodded. “Still go and get them. Fred and George should be inside the Great Hall. You,” you pointed to the quiet girl at the end. “Come with me. We’re gonna help Ginny.”

Five minutes later, you were inside the girl’s bathroom. You could hear the shaky sniffles of Ginny from the end cubicle. 

“Guard the door. Wait for your friends.”

The young girl nodded, taking her role very seriously as she waited for her friends and Ginny’s brothers. 

You knocked twice. “Ginny?”

“I-I…yes?”

“It’s Y/n,” you told her, your voice calm and soft. “I found your friends in the hallway.”

“I said not to tell anybody!”

“Don’t blame them,” you told her. “Blame me. I forced it out of them.”

“Where are my brothers?”

“They’re on their way, don’t worry. I figured you might want to talk to a girl first. We tend to know more about these things than boys do.”

You heard Ginny sniffle again. “I-I just felt it and I didn’t know what to do. My mum said it wouldn’t happen for another two years.”

“Well, sometimes these things don’t exactly go to plan. But it’s nothing to be scared of. It just means that for one week every month or so, you’re just able to eat as much ice cream as you want and can spend the entire weekend in bed.”

“Y-Yeah. My mum said…she said something about that.” The young girl sniffed again. “But…I don’t know what to do. It’s…I think it’s stained…”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll wash right out. Do you have any pads?”

Ginny shook her head behind the door. “N-no.”

“No bother,” you said before pulling out your wand and laying your bag on the floor. “Accio.”

From the depths of your bag, a square tin came flying up. Catching it before it clattered onto the ground, you opened it up before passing her a pad under the door. 

“It’s pretty easy to understand. Just open, peel and stick.” You explained just before you heard thundering footsteps. 

“Ginny?!”

“Let him in, Orla,” you called out to the young girl by the door. 

Rounding the corner, you saw Fred Weasley standing at the end of the cubicle hallway. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping. Give me your robes.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Pulling the long black robes from his body, revealing exactly what you expected to find – a messy uniform – you called back to Ginny. 

“Ginny, your brother is here. I’m gonna hand you his robes. Just wrap them around yourself when you’re ready to come out.”

“What’s going on? The kids froze when I asked.”

“She’s started her period,” you whispered to him. “She’s a little scared, and probably in pain. Take this,” you said as you handed him your emergency period kit. “There are extra pads in there. If she starts in pain, send one of the girls to Madam Pomfry. She’ll get her some pain medication. And, if it gets really bad, a hot water bottle always helps with the cramps.”

“What?”

You sighed, “Fred, honestly. It’s natural. She’s earlier than she expected, but she’s going to be perfectly fine. You don’t need to do much besides be there for her if she wants you.”

“No, I know that. But…you helped her?”

You nodded. “You’ll be surprised to learn that girls help each other when it comes to these things, no matter the rivalries they have with their older siblings.”

Fred stood in shock as you packed up your things. “Ginny, I’m gonna leave you with your brother, but if you have any questions…feel free to come and find me.”

“O-okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bidding Fred a silent goodbye, you took your leave and headed back towards the Great Hall, passing a slightly panicked George on the way. 

“Down the hall and to the left. Fred is already there. Ginny is fine, just don’t make a loud fuss.”

George nodded. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

Even though you’d told Ginny to come and find you if she had any questions, you hadn’t actually expected her to. Quite frankly, you thought after you left, Fred might have scolded her into accepting your help, telling her you’re nothing more than a Parseltongue Slytherin. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t. Or, maybe he did, but Ginny decided to make her own judgement. 

You were walking out of your dormitory when you heard the end of Draco saying, “...filthy Weasley.”

“Draco!” You shouted as you spotted him standing at the door. “Find something more useful to do with your time before I send your mother a letter about your behaviour. No doubt she’ll send you back a howler.”

Draco turned pale and stalked away with his friends as you turned towards the door to find, “Ginny!”

“I-I’m sorry. I just…I’m sorry.”

She took off running in the opposite direction. 

“Wait!” You called after her, leaving the Slytherin door to close itself. “Ginny, wait.”

Eventually, she stopped and turned around to face you. “I-”

But where maybe she had expected you to be mad at her, you just smiled warmly. “How about we go for a walk?”

Ginny nodded, falling into step beside you as you took her on the quieter walk through the school and towards the benches outside the courtyard. She asked you a million different questions, and you explained everything to the best of your ability. 

How periods were different for everyone, pain could be small or it could be too much to handle. You explained the biology behind it and why sometimes she might feel angry for no reason, or sad for no reason. You also told her how it’s not something she should be embarrassed about, and if she ever is in need of some help, any girl in the bathroom will help…apart from Moaning Myrtle. Mostly because she’s a ghost and can’t do much. 

“I asked Fred and George but they just…went quiet.”

“That’s a first.”

Ginny chuckled. “They’re not so bad. I mean…they tried. How come you know all about this stuff? There isn’t exactly a muggle biology class.”

“You’re right, there’s not. But, I went to a muggle school.”

“You’re a half-blood?”

You nodded. “My mum was in Ravenclaw when she was at school. Taught me everything I know.”

“Even about…this stuff?”

You nodded. “Not because she was a Ravenclaw, but because there was a chance she’d have a muggle daughter. If I wasn’t at Hogwarts, I’d be at an ordinary high school where they teach about it a little more than they do here.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “But just because you know, doesn’t mean you’re not scared. I got mine in my first year, too. But I didn’t have any friends or brothers to help me.”

“So what did you do?”

“Cried.” You answered honestly. “But once I stopped long enough to breathe, I started thinking resourcefully. If I was at muggle school, I’d be in the same predicament. It was no different here than there.”

Ginny nodded, listening to your every word. 

“You’ll find it gets a little tedious eventually. But, you’ll also find it has its own superpowers. Like shutting your brothers up if they’re being far too annoying for you to put up with.”

Ginny giggled and looked out to the empty courtyard. “Thank you, Y/n. It’s nice to have a girl to talk to about this stuff. I have mum but I don’t exactly have sisters.”

You smiled. “If you ever need any help, just come and get me. Don’t be afraid, Ginny. And if Draco starts, just tell him to piss off. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s more scared of his own shadow.”

Ginny laughed again before spotting her friends. She thanked you once more before running back to her friends, but not before she turned around and surprisingly hugged you, tight. 

“Bye.”

Joining her friends, you sat back for a moment, taking in the quiet and the fact that Ginny had hugged you. You’d always wondered what it would have been like to have younger siblings to help. Was this the feeling? The…happiness?

But it didn’t last long, because barely thirty seconds later, Fred Weasley was jumping over the back of the bench and sitting beside you. 

“Did I just see my sister hug you?”

You turned and looked at him. “What do you want, Weasley?”

“Whoa, hey, hold the hostility for a second. I just wanted to thank you. For helping Ginny yesterday. Like you said, we might have a rivalry of sorts, but…she’s my little sister and you helped her. So…thank you.”

You were slightly taken aback. In the four years you’d known Fred Weasley, not once had your words with him been calm ones. Let alone nice ones. 

“Oh. Well…you’re welcome…I guess.”

“And not to sound like some ‘bone headed, misogynistic ass’ but…you should smile more.” Fred smiled. “Smiling suits you more than scowling. Have a nice day.”

For the first time, you’d heard real sincerity in Fred’s voice when he talked to you. And, quite frankly, you didn’t know how to react beyond stunned silence and the overthinking of, “What the hell does that mean?”. 

Over the course of the year, more and more of those moments started happening between yourself and Fred Weasley. 

First it was with Ginny, then it was with Snape’s potion class and essay; a Slytherin boy had accused him of cheating. But Fred had been stationed at your table the entire time. He hadn’t cheated once. He was…just really good at potions. 

Then came the real change. 

Throughout the year, more and more first and second years came to you for help. They wanted to actually know what was happening to them. So, after the tenth girl came up to you, you’d asked if you could hold a small talk for the girls after classes.

McGonnagall and Madam Pomfry agreed, even making some different and up-to-date pamphlets on the situation. But, the longer the talks were held, you found a few boys lingering outside the classroom. 

At first, you and some of the other older years figured it was so they could snigger and mock the girls. That was, until one afternoon during set-up, you found Fred Weasley sat on one of the rows. 

“What are you doing in here?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond, already feeling tired. “Look, if you’re here to take the piss-”

Fred stood, walking over to you. “I’m not here for that. I wanted to talk to you. About it.”

“About it?”

“This,” Fred gestured. “And about some of the boys. Look, I understand why this is for girls, but I was more in the dark than Ginny was when she started. And I know a lot of the guys in this school have younger sisters or even nieces. They wanna learn, too. They want to know how they can help. It’s not like we’re born with this information, and because we don’t have them, we’re not told about them. I think…I think that should change.”

You were shocked at Fred’s sentiment. But, deep down, you agreed with it. 

“One boy takes the piss and-”

Fred smiled. “I’ll chuck him out, myself. You have my word.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he held his hand over his heart, though there was no true malice in your glare. “That seems to be true the longer I know you, Weasley.”

“Told you,” Fred smiled. “I’m not all loud and reckless.”

“No, I guess not.” Your voice came out a little distant, as if your mind was making a decision far away from the situation. Then, rather abruptly, you said, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I misjudged you. I still think you’re reckless…and have a tendency to be loud. But…you’re a good guy, Weasley. Even if you do still get on my nerves every now and again.”

The corners of Fred’s mouth turned up slightly as his own gaze flicked across your face. “Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want everything to change between us.”

Ignoring the new change of energy between yourselves, you turned away and started laying out leaflets and pamphlets on the chairs, handing Fred half of your pile. 

“Since you’re here, you might as well help.”

Over the week, more guys turned up to the talks. And Fred was true to his word. A third year boy found the entire thing too hilarious, pointing and snickering at the first year girls in the front row. 

So, from the back of his collar, Fred, along with George, hoisted the boy from his chair and set him outside the classroom. 

By the end of the week, and the final talk, Fred was pulled out early by McGonnagall. Though you didn’t know why, part of you felt…sad? Lost? 

For a guy that had annoyed the hell out of you for four years, you were starting to feel something about not having him by your side or at least in your line of vision. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked him, relieved to see him when he waltzed inside as you were stacking the chairs back. 

But he just smiled and held out a letter. “It’s for you.”

“Why are you collecting my mail? You know in the muggle world, it’s illegal to open someone’s mail.”

“It’s illegal here, too.” Fred said. “But it came with my letters from home. And I haven’t opened it.”

“Who’s it from?”

“How would I know? I haven’t opened it.”

Turning it over and opening the wax seal, you unfolded the letter to find Mrs Weasley had written to you. First thanking you for taking care of her daughter, next for teaching her sons and then a final thank you for teaching other kids, too. 

“How does she know?”

Fred shrugged. “Maybe Ginny told her or…” He struggled to find a new lie. 

You watched Fred for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, my god.”

“What?”

You smiled, almost beaming. “You wrote to your mother about me?”

Fred flushed red. “W-what? No.” He tried to laugh it off, but you saw right through him. 

“You wrote to your mother about me.”

“No, I-I didn’t.”

“Whatever you say, Weasley.”

Fred chuckled. “Alright, Y/l/n. No need to be so smug.”

You smiled down at the letter addressed from Molly Weasley. “Nobody’s ever written to their mother about me before. Bad or good.”

Fred felt something warm in his heart. He was proud to be the first. 

“I think they’re still serving tea in the Great Hall,” Fred mentioned casually but quietly. “Want to get some?”

For the first time since knowing him, you didn’t have to overthink your answer. 

“Sure. Love to.”

That night, a small part of your history…or maybe your future…changed. Fred Weasley not only became your friend, but he also became something more. Something that didn’t exactly have a label. Well, not yet at least. But it was there. The…feeling. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

If a year ago, somebody had told you you’d be studying with Fred Weasley, for your OWLs, in the Gryffindor common room, you’d have said they were mad. Insane, even. 

But it was true. 

A year on from what turned out to be the Diary from Hell for Ginny and other not so dramatic but equally life-changing things, it was true. 

You nodded, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Fred asked you again. “You look like somebody kicked you under the table in Potions today.”

“Felt like it,” you mumbled, trying to concentrate on your coursework. 

You didn’t say much after that, but you did grow concerned a little when Fred stood up, also without a word. If he did something, he usually spoke about it first. 

And he disappeared for seven whole minutes. Thankfully, a lot of the Gryffindors were used to finding you in their common room, knowing Fred wasn’t too far away. So if any came in, they wouldn’t question your presence. 

“Here.”

Fred returned, suddenly, holding out a hot water bottle.

“It might help.”

With a relieved smile, you thanked him. 

“Better?” He asked as he sat down. 

“Much. Thank you.”

“Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfry. They’re getting worse.”

“I’m fine, Fred. Really.”

Fred just nodded, turning back to his own coursework. But when you gave up on trying to focus on your work, laying on the sofa behind Fred, you sighed. 

“Can you tell what this says?”

Picking the piece of parchment from Fred’s hands, you recognised the writing right away. “Fred, this is your handwriting.”

“I know. Can you tell what it says?”

“How can you not know what you’ve written?”

“Please?”

You read it aloud. “Due to the increasing level of pain being experienced, I suggest the best course of action…Fred. I’m not going to Madam Pomfry.”

“It was worth a try. Just…promise me, if it gets worse, you’ll go. Or else I’ll drag you there myself.”

You laid a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”

As the years went on, the friendship and whatever the unspoken thing was between both of you only seemed to grow until eventually you found yourself in a similar position, lay on one of the patchwork sofas in The Burrow. 

“Fred, you really need to get neater with your handwriting,” you said as you turned the page upside down for the third time. “Even I can’t tell what this says.”

“Well…it’s not my fault.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “We all went to the same school. Even George’s handwriting is neater than this. I swear, you need to make up your own spell to figure out what this says.”

From the kitchen, Ginny stood beside her brother. “How long have they been like this?”

“Arguing? Years.” George answered. “Lay that close together? Hours.”

“Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

“Fred’s handwriting? If Y/n can’t figure it out, nobody can.”

Ginny sighed, hitting her brother. “Not that. The other thing?”

“That they’re hopelessly and forever bound together in the spell of unspoken love?” George asked as Ginny nodded. “No, not yet.”

Ginny groaned before moving on and heading up the stairs. 

“For a guy that is running his own business, you should be able to read your own handwriting.”

Fred shrugged. “For someone that is able to run rings around some of the top lawyers in the Ministry, so should you.”

“Mum says ‘hi’ by the way,” you mentioned to Fred. “She says the papers for your new product should be ready for you to sign on Monday.”

“What time are you heading into the office?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Meet you outside of the shop at 8? I need to pick up an order at Flourish and Blotts.”

Fred nodded. “Great. We can grab breakfast if you’d like?”

“Yes,” you said. “But I’m picking the place this time. There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”

“It’s not gonna be filled with stuffy, uptight lawyers is it?”

You chuckled. “No. Just stuffy, uptight muggle public.”

“Muggles?” Arthur popped his head around the corner. “Bloody love Muggles. All their inventions. A multi-coloured pen. Sensational.”

You smiled before turning to Fred who had the same expression on his face. 

Since the very first time you’d met Arthur Weasley, he’d been enamoured with the information you held about Muggles. Apparently he’d met your father once, when he surprised your mother at the Ministry for their Anniversary. 

“Fantastic chap,” Arthur had told you. 

“Here,” you chuckled as you handed Fred his paper back. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

His eyes trailing after you and a light smile spread across his lips, your eyes locked with Fred’s as you climbed the stairs towards the bathroom. Only once you were out of earshot did George lean over the sofa and hit Fred on the back of the head. 

“Oi,” he whispered. “When are you gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you want to marry her and have children with her and live out that fantasy dream of your own Burrow home with her.”

“Bugger off.”

“I’m being serious,” George whispered. “Besides, you’d make a great girl dad.”

“George. If she comes down here, she’s gonna freak out and start physically running back home.”

George just smiled. “That’s what you think. I think she’d run into you arms and-”

“She’s not that kind of girl.”

“Please, every girl is that girl.”

“Y/n’s different.”

“She loves you. And, you, my dear brother, love her, too.”

“George.”

“I don’t hear you denying it,” George sang as he walked away, just in time for you to come back down the stairs, fixing the clasp on the dungarees with random patchwork squares. 

Playing Quidditch in the summer with the rest of the Weasley clan one year had resulted in lots of laughter and randomly torn holes in the dungarees you were wearing. 

Now, they were patched back together with random pieces of fabric that, even when washed, still somehow smelled of the comforting scent of the Burrow on a fresh summer’s afternoon. 

“Denying what?”

“Oh, just that Freddie here-”

“George.”

“Needs to go back to school. Fix that handwriting of his.”

By the time Monday rolled around, you were dragging Fred down a busy London street towards your favourite cafe. Despite it being one of London’s busiest times in the morning, the cafe was practically empty compared to those on Westminster Bridge. 

“What can I get for you, dears?”

Placing in a double of your usual order, you left Fred to his own devices. Only, when you returned to him, handing over his to-go bag and tea, you found a woman standing in front of him. 

She was flirting with him. 

“Here you go,” you told Fred as you gave the stranger a rather withering look. 

She smiled, perkily. “Hi, I was just saying to your friend here that he looked a little lost. I’d be more than happy to give him a small tour if you’re in a rush.”

“No,” you answered. “Not in a rush. And he’s not lost. He’s with me.”

“Oh,” she looked between both of you before asking, “Really? I’m sure you’re a nice person but…really? Wow.”

“Okay, we’re leaving.” 

Taking Fred’s hand in yours, you practically dragged him out of the cafe. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.”

“She was just trying to be nice.”

“She was flirting.”

“No, she-” Fred turned and looked at you. He knew the woman was flirting with him, she’d asked for his number. But Fred couldn’t think why you’d reacted so harshly. Until he looked at you, and it hit him. 

“Oh, my god,” he chuckled. “You’re jealous.”

Your brows furrowed quickly. “I’m not jealous.”

Fred couldn’t help but laugh a little more. “You are insanely jealous. I already told her I don’t have a phone.”

“She asked for your number?!”

Fred smiled as you turned and looked at him, almost as if someone had tried to brand your heart. 

“You-” You cleared your throat, trying to act normal. “Not that I care.”

As the street grew quiet and the red post box came into sight, Fred pulled you aside. “Hey, there’s no need to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Fred just smiled. “I wouldn’t have said yes. Other than the fact that I thought she was rude, especially to you. She wasn’t…”

“She wasn’t what?”

Swallowing his pride, Fred finally spoke his truth. “She wasn’t you.”

It took a moment for you to register what Fred was actually saying. “Oh. Oh.”

Fred nodded. 

“Well…I…”

“Look, you don’t have to answer it now. Or…ever. You’re my closest friend, and I don’t ever want that to change, and if this does so. Especially if it does so for the worst…I’d rather be by your side just the way we are. You know, if you didn’t…if you don’t…”

“I do.” The words fell out quicker than a golden snitch could fly. “I do. I just…wasn’t expecting it to happen on a pavement in London before…before our meeting.”

Fred felt himself smile. He hadn’t scared you off, so he was off to a good start. 

“Can…can we talk about it after work?”

Fred nodded. He’d waited nearly five years. He could wait a few more hours. 

“Of course.”

“Okay then.” For a moment, you continued walking with Fred walking behind you. But then you stopped and turned back. “Are you sure? About…about me?”

Fred nodded. “My feelings haven’t changed since fifth year. I doubt they’re gonna change now.”

“Okay.” You sounded a little more confident the second time, even though he could still hear your brain trying to process the whole thing. “Okay, then.”

“This really is a good cup of tea.”

“Told you.”

You could be normal for a couple of hours, acting like you usually did with Fred. Just before lunch, he had to head back to the shop and you kept working through some of the upcoming cases. Though, despite the boring case work, you couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from your face. 

Fred felt the same. 

You were like wind to his fire; you might amp it down or fuel it, but you were always there. Your snarky remarks and witty comebacks offered him the perfect challenge; he’d hit the jackpot. You two could joke and laugh without offence or insecurity, without late nights wondering if a joke had a hidden meaning behind it because you read each other effortlessly. He never thought he’d fall for a Slytherin, especially not one with a family like yours. 

You were part of the sacred twenty-eight and additionally were a very distant relative of Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, and Andromeda Tonks. They were your second or third aunts. Purebloods always married within their circle; people had complex relative histories. It even technically made you Draco’s distant cousin. The thought alone should’ve driven him away, but he wasn’t like that. Even if you were Bellatrix’s own daughter, he’d go up to you, because that’s how he is; what he does. He was fearless in a way that made one question whether it was rooted in stupidity, naivety, or maybe possible genius.

“Freddie,” you breathed, eyes soft with guilt. “I’m not sure I should, you know, your parents aren’t very fond of me,” you said softly.

It hurt you immensely that his parents had a distaste for you despite your best efforts. You saw it in the way Fred never showed you any letters his mother sent him unless he was sure you weren’t mentioned once in them. His mother wasn’t exactly subtle.

You couldn’t blame them for it, though a part of you was still bitter. Your family name was loud, your parents were sharp-tongued and prejudiced against anything that wasn’t a rich pureblood elitist. People heard your name and already drew conclusions that lingered; impressions of a cold-hearted, calculating, ruthless heir without empathy or tolerance. 

Because of these assumptions, no one bothered to disprove them, opting to avoid you instead. Everyone but Fred. People called it stupidity, a death wish. But all those whispers and anticipation of a hex hitting his chest were eliminated after you threw your head back in a cackle, not even ten minutes after he came up to you.

The image was broken as soon as your laughter was heard; saccharine and normal like any other girl in the castle. And just like that, people came up to you more, returned smiles in the hallways, and didn’t stiffen when you walked past. Hogwarts turned comforting, more like home than your own. Fred stuck to you through it all, and you slowly won over each and every one of his siblings over the past seven years. You won over Charlie before he graduated when you were in your third year, and Percy warmed up to you when he caught you tutoring the twins in your second year. Ron was the toughest to break, but you finally got him when he was in his second year and you in your fourth, right after you and Fred began to date. He had passed the courtyard on his way between classes and saw you and Fred sitting out there, together. You were going on a tangent, hands on your hips as you scolded him for something he didn’t hear, but what really did it was how Fred reacted.

Fred Weasley, his big brother, was affected by nothing, brushing off punishments and detentions like dust on a coat, was pouting, head hanging as he stared at the floor, hands behind his back in compliance as you chided him. Ron decided something that day; if Fred let someone do that to him, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Ginny was by far the easiest to connect with. The poor girl screamed and nearly cried when she saw you, yelping about finally having another sister. You didn’t dare correct her. You even charmed Bill when you met him at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup Finals between Bulgaria and Finland. 

You hadn’t realised Mr and Mrs Weasley themselves would be the toughest nuts to crack; they were stereotypical. It’s unsurprising given their age, but their persistence was staggering. Firmly written opinions sent to all their children about you, and long, long lectures Fred had to sit through about deceit and how people are images of their parents. It didn’t matter how much Fred defended you, how much his siblings vouched for your character; Molly was clear, and Arthur never opposed his wife.

“My love, light of my life, honeybear,” Fred continued, his hands travelling further up your arm as he pulled you closer to him. You let him with a lingering pout. “My parents can bugger off for all I care; they can’t do or say anything if I’m there. Trust me on that,” he continued, his eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t play with you; you were the most important thing in his life, and he made sure you were treated like such.

You went silent, thinking about it, but you were weak; you knew that. Fred Weasley, knowingly or not, was your weakness. You weren’t smiley, friendly, or easy; with him, you turned impossibly soft. It was almost a sickness; he calmed your rage within seconds, and you shut down his life-threatening pranks with a single look. “Okay,” you relented. He lit up completely with a gasp, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, face in your hair.

“Ginny might cry when I tell her.” He said with a breathy laugh, making your heart swell. God, you loved that girl. “I’ll tell her myself.” You mumbled back, turning your head to kiss his neck before pulling back.

You were a bundle of nerves the entire train ride to the Burrow, everyone noticed. Ginny offered up her skincare, Ron passed you extra chicken from the lunch he packed from Hogwarts, even George didn’t try to slip you a nosebleed nougat; he had more sense than that.

Fred kept you close the entire time, tucked into his side. You saw the tension in the hard set of his jaw as he looked out the window. His hands flexed from where they were on your waist, squeezing the soft flesh every once in a while merely to assure himself of your presence.

When you reached, one thing became abundantly clear: Molly and Arthur had certainly not been told of your visit. You saw it in the way her beaming smile harshly fell from her face once she spotted you next to Fred. She grabbed him, pulling him away.

You felt nauseous, smiling politely at Arthur as he gave you a forced smile in turn, his hesitance to shake your hand only added to the twist in your stomach. Ron took your suitcase, and Ginny took your hand, squeezing it in support as she tugged you to the car.

You turned your head to see Fred now proper scowling at his mother before he simply turned and walked off in the middle of her rant, face changing when he saw you look over, giving you as soft a smile as he could manage.

It didn’t get better at the burrow. Molly never looked directly at you, spoke to you through her children. ‘Ginny, she’ll sleep in your room.’ ‘Is she going to eat, Fred?’ ‘Ron, will she need her very own sheets?’ You saw the way Arthur winced, but said nothing. He himself was incredibly awkward near you. 

You didn’t like it, Fred absolutely didn’t. Glaring and hissing a sharp “why don’t you ask her herself?” that Molly always promptly ignored. It went on for two weeks; Molly stopped laughing when you entered a room, and Arthur found excuses to leave. Whenever you were with their kids, something always came up. You and Ginny giggling and eating ice cream in bed? Molly needed her help sewing. You and Percy discussing the NEWTS? Arthur needed him to proofread something. 

Fred was the main victim. Suddenly, he was needed all around the house as soon as the two of you were able to be together. The dishes, setting the table, helping with lunch, and helping load the laundry. It was so targeted and so obvious.

It all shattered during dinner one night. Fred and George decided this was the perfect time to talk about the fact that they’d be dropping out to open their own joke shop. Everyone knew Molly wouldn’t support it; she’d faced poverty. The thought of her sons not completing their education to start a shop made her all kinds of angry.

So, on went the screaming. Arguing at the table as George and Fred quite literally fought for their business with their mother, while Molly kept screaming about homelessness and how they’d never succeed.

It reached a point where she looked at you for the first time since the railway station and growled a low “You.”

You stiffened; everyone did. “You did this, didn’t you? Think it’s amusing, girl, making these two believe they can make it? Without suppliers? Investors? Nothing? You’re ruining my son's life!” She hissed, screaming the last part. You flinched, eyes widening.

“M-Misses Weasley, I don’t– I just want him to be happy-” You choked, but she slammed her hand on the table with a scoff of outrage. 

“You don’t understand anything. People like you, sheltered, protected–you’ve never had to work for anything a day in your life, never struggled. ” She continued, the rage in her voice something no one at the table had ever heard before. “Rich, pompous, overconfident people like you are exactly the folk we don’t want to get mixed with—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up!” 

Everyone whipped their heads around to Fred, the usually cheeky and unserious boy, now straight scowling. “George and I are doing this with or without your approval, Mum. I truly don’t care about what you say in accordance with the business, nor about your hopes for our success, but you will watch it when you talk to her.” He hissed, pushing back his chair with a harsh screech before throwing his napkin on the table, grabbing your hand to pull you up as well.

Molly was mortified, and Arthur looked like he’d been spat on. “Frederick Gideon Weasley, you will sit–”

“Mum, please!” Ginny huffed, making your heart clench. The poor girl looked close to tears. She sniffled, turning to hug George’s arm. Molly’s scowl broke at the sight of her only daughter in such peril.

Fred dragged you up the stairs to his room. He’d gotten his own ever since Charlie moved into his own cottage somewhere in Scotland, closer to the dragons had been his only justification before taking off.

Your eyes were wide, heart pounding horrifically loud in your chest. You looked at the back of his head the entire walk to his room until he finally slammed the door. “Fred!” You whisper-hissed, hands trembling with adrenaline. He dragged a hand down his face as he turned to you, the other wrapping around the small of your back. “This doesn’t help my whole image with your mother, she’s gonna think I’m manipulating you against her or something—”

“She’s not that manic.” He mumbled, ducking his head into your neck before taking a deep inhale. “Hopefully.” 

He hugged you around your waist, tugging you into him as he leaned into you. You could feel he was doing this more to calm himself than offer any comfort, but you didn’t mind much, dragging a hand through his hair. You felt the breath leaving him.

You could hear the thud of footsteps climbing up to his room, and feel the way his shoulders tightened. He nudged you behind him as he turned to the door, half expecting his mother to come bursting in, but all he heard was three soft knocks.

“Fred?” Came a soft, older tone. His father, Arthur.

He didn’t hesitate opening it, letting the lesser of two evils in. Arthur looks guilty, almost hesitant, when he steps in, mouth open, before he shuts it. “Fred, my boy, your mother— both of us, we want the best for you. The shop, I-I’m not saying you shouldn’t follow your dreams, but you can’t expect her to be okay with it.”

“That’s not why I stormed out of there, Dad.” Fred huffed in turn, narrowing his eyes as he grabbed your waist, pulling you to stand next to him. “You know that.”

His father clasped his hands together, glancing towards you for a moment. It was clear he was choosing his words as carefully as he could. “Freddie, she– she’s not what we had in mind for you.” He said delicately, you could see Fred’s shoulders tighten.

“Her family, people like her, haven’t been good to people like us.” He continued, you took Fred’s hand as a reminder to keep himself regulated. It was odd, having to regulate his anger instead of him regulating yours. “Do her parents even know about you?”

That made you stiffen, hanging your head. You hadn’t told your parents, certain they’d forbid you from seeing him. You’d talked to Fred. He understood. Still, admitting he was a secret boyfriend was degrading.

“It doesn’t matter whether she’s told her parents. I trust her, that’s my choice. She’s brilliant, dad, you and mum would know if you gave her a singular chance.” Fred muttered, venom dripping from each syllable. Arthur felt the bitter truth in his words, nodding solemnly.

“No, you’re.. You’re right. I know.” He relented, looking at you apologetically. “I’m sorry, dear.” He all but breathed. You just offered a soft smile, nodding. 

“It’s– We have lived through a lot, Fred.” Now it was Fred’s turn to stiffen. “Your mother lost Fabian and Gideon in the war. To people from families like.. Well, hers.”

Fred sighed, squeezing your hand. “I know about them. She’s told us. But, Dad, things are changing. Times are changing. She can’t be bitter forever. Your mother was Cedrella Black! Does that mean she hates that part of you?!”

Arthur stammered. That was enough. “Why is it different for y/n, huh? Haven’t you been cruel enough? I’d like you two grown adults to realise you’ve been bedevilling a girl who’s nearly three times younger than you!” Fred continued, finishing with a scoff. He knew he was loud—knew the whole damn house probably heard. He couldn’t find it in him to care; he almost hoped his mother heard.

Arthur just nodded, unable to gather the words to continue the conversation, exiting the room.

You shuddered, Fred pulled you in. 

Safe to say, no one minded if you spent the night in Fred’s room that night.

Morning rolled around, the tension still present like a living, breathing presence. Fred didn’t leave you for a single second, and no one tried. Neither Arthur nor Molly pretended he was needed anywhere; they knew Fred wouldn’t entertain it.

To his credit, Arthur really did seem like he was trying. Wished you good morning, offered you tea when he was making any, even went as far as to ask for your future job plans. Fred was already grateful, smiling whenever he heard it. He eased up on his father, let himself relax around you when his father was near.

But Molly was a woman on a mission. She made sure it was known that Arthur was alone in his acceptance. She let you serve yourself during meals, dramatically moved away from you like you had Spattergoit. You chose to ignore it, a smaller, pettier part of you made you extra nice to her in turn.

All of the Weaslings (apart from Bill and Charlie) were around the coffee table, playing exploding snap. The air was filled with hysterical giggles and pure orange-haired competitiveness. Arthur was off at work, and Molly was serving snacks, very pointedly placing the plates as far from you as she could. 

You shot her a smile dipped in honey. “Oh, thank you, Miss Weasley! You’re so good to me. I couldn’t be more grateful.” You cooed, making Fred stifle a snort. His mother looked appalled, muttering a quick ‘no matter’ before rushing back to the kitchen. 

You’d come to accept it, almost took it as a sad fact of life. Ready to fight Molly Weasley for the rest of your life.

Then came that fated night.

You couldn’t sleep. George thought it was genius to watch some low-budget horror movie. You crept down the stairs of the burrow to the kitchen to take a glass of water and, potentially, a cookie Molly made.

You filled the glass before the light flicked on from behind you, startling you. Damn you, George.

“Oh.” Molly mumbled when she saw it was you, hesitantly walking into her kitchen to grab something from the fridge. It was rather early, four am. You didn’t think she’d be up so early.

There was a horribly awkward moment where neither spoke; you simply drank your water at the counter. Then, the silence was shattered.

“I had brothers, you know.” She mumbled; you immediately knew where this was going. You looked over at her; her expression was something you couldn’t pick apart.

You nodded, she continued.

“They joined the order. First Wizarding War. I’m sure you’ve met Harry. They met his parents there. Young, stupid and ready to fight.”

Her voice thickened, your heart sank. 

“Twins. Like my Fred and George. Good people, amazing to me.” She kept going, unwrapping dough she got from the freezer. “Died when I was pregnant with Percy.” Her voice broke around the word died and you suddenly felt like a monster.

“Took five deatheaters to kill them. Antonin Volohov was the only one who was named in the report, the rest having taken their own lives once captured.” It was unsettling, the things this woman had gone through. It made your heart ache for her.

“Volohov worked closely with Bellatrix. I guess I just… can’t accept that a trace of what killed my brothers lives in you.”

You felt your throat tighten, tears stinging your eyes as the woman placed the small balls of frozen dough on a baking tray.

You cleared your throat, moving to wash your hands, drying them, then wordlessly assisting her. 

“My mum once killed my pet mouse because attachment was a weakness to her.” You mumbled, and she shifted to make room for you. Not to get away, but to make space. You noticed.

“I cried to my father, but he offered no solace. He said nothing should be important enough to bring me to tears.” You rolled the dough into a ball, passing it to her. “Met Bellatrix once. I was.. Maybe seven. She threw her shoes at me when I touched her wand, grabbed me by the hair and presented me to my parents like a fox she killed.”

Molly hummed in acknowledgement, but there was something softer. A sympathy.

“I may not hate her as much as you do, I may never will, but I truly despise and loathe her very being. She’s hurt you much more than she hurt me, but her cruelty to more and more people gives me more and more reason to be as different from her as I can.”

The room settled into comfortable silence after that. She put the cookies in the oven, and you washed your hands. 

As soon as you turned to leave, she took your hand. It was gentle, not like she was trying to restrain you. You turned, and she placed a kiss to your forehead before walking away. “Goodnight, dearie.”

You bit back the smile growing on your face, sheer joy filling your chest. 

“Goodnight, Miss Weasley.”

The Burrow is a house built for accidents, and you are a walking accident-waiting-to-happen.

Ginny swears she only invited you for two weeks because “Mum loves having extra people to feed,” but you suspect she also wanted someone to keep her sane among six brothers. What she didn’t warn you about is that two of those brothers have apparently declared you their personal full-time job.

The day you arrive, you’re carrying your trunk up the crooked stairs and, predictably, you miss the last step. The trunk flies down the stairs, you fly forward, and before your nose can meet the landing two identical pairs of hands catch you by your arms.

“Careful, love,” Fred says into your left ear.

“You alright?” George says into your right.

They lift you the rest of the way like you weigh nothing, set you gently on solid floor, and stare at you with anticipation.

Ginny interrupts, following you up the stairs. “Get lost, perverts,” she swats at their hands as you blush furiously. They smirk and elbow each other as they disappear into their own room. “Sorry about them,” she rolls her eyes.

That’s how it starts. After that, you are never more than six feet away from at least one of them.

Later, you try to help Molly shell peas in the kitchen and nearly drop the bowl. Fred is suddenly behind you, chest to your back, arms sliding past yours to catch it mid-air.

“Clumsy little thing,” he murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. “Lucky we like catching you.”

The next day, you’re painfully aware of George’s presence at the kitchen table while you’re trying to bake; he says he’s doing homework, but you feel like his eyes are on you more than his own paper. You reach for a jar of flour on the top shelf and the entire shelf wobbles unstably as your chair shakes beneath you. George scoffs and scoots his seat back quickly. He steadies the chair you’re stood on and plucks the jar down effortlessly, all while keeping one hand on the small of your back when he hands it to you.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you buried under Mum’s baking supplies.” His smile is smug and knowing, but you like George: there’s something tender about him. So, you smile back and accept the hand down.

Later that night, the house creaks and tilts like it’s alive. You wake up thirsty, tiptoe down the narrow stairs in the dark, and of course you trip on the third step from the bottom. You don’t even have time to yelp. A blanket-wrapped Fred is already sitting on the bottom of the stairs with some kind of gadget in hands. You land in his lap instead of the floor.

“Christ — you’d be dead if we weren’t up!” he hisses and gestures his head toward the kitchen, where George is sat sketching some kind of Wizarding gadget in the orange glow of the dining room. His voice is sleepy-rough when he calls out to the two of you, “enjoy your trip, Y/N?”

Fred doesn’t ask why you’re up, just shrugs off the blanket and lifts you, bridal style, into the kitchen. George is there sat in front of two steaming mugs. George kicks out a chair in front of him and Fred gently places you down into it, walking round the table to pull out a chair out next to his brother.

“I expect you’ll be wanting some of this?” George raises an eyebrow and taps on his mugs. Fred smirks lazily, hands wrapped around his own mug. With both on the opposite side of the table from you, you feel like you’re being interviewed.

“What is it?” You ask, hesitantly.

“Weasley’s Warming Wonder,” Fred announces, standing up to retrieve a third mug. “Makes you really cosy. More than normal cocoa.” He pours, from a jug on the back counter, some velvety liquid into your mug.

He hands you it and you press it to your lips.

“Careful, love, it’s hot!” Concern flashes across Fred’s face.

You frown and pause, lifting the mug again. They watch you intently as your face settles into a small smile. “God, that is good.”

The twins grin, proud of your high praise.

After a mere five minutes, you begin to feel very sleepy.

“What’s actually in this cocoa?” You ask, placing a hand to your tired eyes. “NyQuil or something?”

“Oh, nothing like that. Just our own recipe.” He grins at Fred mischievously. “Won’t turn you green or anything.”

“They say you get sleepy with the people you feel safest with,” Fred inserts.

“Yeah, could be that, or could be to do with the fact it’s 2AM, you scoff.

As you start to drift off to the sound of their quiet conversation, you decide it’s time for bed. The pair of them escort you back to Ginny’s room like a two-man honour guard.

The next day is no different. As Ginny takes you out to explore more of their house and the expansive field behind it, the likelihood of accidents only increases — much to the twins’ delight. Fred and George have taken to flanking you on every trip outside. If you so much as sway, one of them steadies you by the elbow, the waist, the shoulders, anywhere. When you try to climb the old apple tree with Ginny, the branches bend downward and the twins wait at the bottom like they’re spotting a trapeze artist.

Ginny, of course, protested their presence. “This is a girls only club house, idiots!”

“You’re going to kill her, Ginny! She’s not sturdy, like you,” Fred calls up.

“Yeah, and we actually like her,” George jokes.

One afternoon, you wander toward the broom shed to watch Ginny practise Quidditch. You step in a mole hole you didn’t see and your ankle rolls hard.

“Motherfucker,” you cry out. The pain barely registers before you’re airborne, George scooping you up so fast your vision spins.

“Are you ok?” Ginny asks, descending swiftly.

Fred races over from the other side of the garden in a heartbeat, fingers running over your ankle and expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it.

“Christ, clumsy,” he says, clipped. “Let’s get you inside.”

George carries you to the living room (and deposits you on the couch like you’re made of spun sugar. Molly tries to shoo them so she can look at the swelling, but they don’t budge. They hover, identical worry tightening their faces, until she finally sighs and lets them stay.

“Boys,” she shouts, “give her some space to breathe, for Merlin’s sake!

Ice pack applied, foot propped on pillows, Fred sits on the floor beside the couch and rests his chin on his knee as he sketches a prototype for a ‘Whizzing Watch,’ whatever that is. Ginny had taken herself out for more Quidditch practise while you were on the mend. George sits at the bottom of the couch with your ankles over his lap, claiming the “elevation will make it heal faster”. They sit there and discuss the prototype, occasionally glancing over at you with concern.

Once again, Ginny makes you up a bed made of piled blankets on her bedroom floor. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you wake at 2 a.m. to find two strong arms squeezing themselves under your body and rolling you to lift you up. You stir and gasp as you look up to see Fred’s face close to yours.

“Shhh,” he cooes, “this is no place for you to sleep, love. We’re gonna make you somewhere more comfy.” You let your head flop against Fred’s chest, still half asleep.

Fred quietly pads out of the room and up the stairs, into the twins’ shared room. George follows swiftly behind: it seems like he was keeping watch of Ginny to make sure she wasn’t stirring.

As you all enter their cramped, boyish room — sketches strewn everywhere — you see that they have pushed together both of their beds to create one large bed. Fred places you down into the centre. Two warm bodies slide in without a word, so you’re sandwiched between them, Fred’s arm locked over your waist, George’s palm settled protectively over the bandage on your ankle.

“We’re on patrol,” Fred whispers against your forehead.

“Night shift,” George adds into your hair. “Go back to sleep.”

You tell yourself it’s just the twins being overprotective friends. Ginny’s brothers being… well, brotherly. Nothing more. They’re like this with everyone, right?