#weasley reader

Draco had noticed her immediately when they first crossed paths at Theodore Nott’s engagement party.

Despite being a Weasley, Y/N became good friends with Theodore after meeting her at some workshop for fellow print editors. Y/N works at The Alchemy, the bestselling wizarding lifestyle magazine of all time.

Every single wizard and witch keep their hands on The Alchemy for it covers basically everything you need to know about the wizarding world from the latest news and trends, ministry politics and foreign affairs, celebrity gossip, and even covering up to the current viral beauty and fashion world. To be featured in the magazine is to be popular and Theodore’s bride-to-be knew that their engagement was to be publicized by none other than The Alchemy.

Y/N was leaning against the wall with an almost bored expression, her sharp eyes scanning the room, never lingering on anything or anyone for too long. Not even him, Draco Malfoy, England’s seeker, king of hearts, and player of all players.

Most women would have been entranced by his presence, drawn in by his reputation and charm. But Y/N? She’d barely acknowledged his arrival, too busy ranting with Theo about the piled up work for all print distributors with the rising tensions of the Quidditch world cup .

Draco had made his way over, cocking an eyebrow as he interrupted their conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said smoothly, glancing at Theo, who gave him an exasperated look.

Before Draco was able to continue what he was about to say, he was immediately interrupted by the girl, who didn’t even look up from her drink.

“And yet, you’re interrupting,” she replied dryly, her voice cool but with just enough of a bite to show she wasn’t amused.

Draco smirked, leaning against the wall beside her. “Well, Darling, what better way to write about Quidditch than with a Quidditch player himself? Not to mention, me, the star of every game.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re really not as charming as you think you are, Malfoy.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, leaning in slightly, his tone lowering with that touch of arrogance she had come to expect. “Most women find me quite irresistible.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. "Good thing I’m not most women,” she replied, turning her attention back to Theodore, clearly uninterested in his game.

Usually, Draco wouldn’t even bother wasting a breath on a Weasley but Y/N had dismissed him all too quickly. She had dismissed him, England’s heartthrob, as if she wasn’t interested in his good looks, or fame, or even popularity.

Salazar, she wasn’t even interested in writing about him for The Alchemy.

Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to chasing anything—or anyone. He had always been pursued, whether for his status, wealth, or simply because of his name. Relationships had always been transactional for him: a game of give and take, of power dynamics that were easy to navigate. But Y/N Weasley… Y/N was different.

At first, Draco had been intrigued. She was sharp, unyielding, and completely immune to his usual charms.

Where most women melted under his attention, Y/N only rolled her eyes or gave him a withering look as though he was just another distraction to be dealt with. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had dismissed him so thoroughly, and it had started to feel like a challenge for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

But it wasn’t just that.

The more she resisted, the more he wanted to see if he could break through that impenetrable wall she’d built around herself.

Over time, his interest became more than a game. She challenged him, called him out on his arrogance, and refused to let him get away with half-truths or polished façades. For the first time in years, Draco felt like someone saw him for who he really was—and she didn’t flinch.

Y/N Weasley wasn’t having it.

“You’re wasting your time,” she told him one evening at a café in London, where they’d both ended up after a mutual friend’s birthday gathering.

“Am I?” he asked, his smirk tilting into something softer.

“Yes,” she said firmly, taking a sip of her wine. “Whatever this is, it’s not going to happen.”

Draco only shrugged, undeterred. ‘We’ll see.’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Still writing about why men are hopeless, Weasley?”

Y/N looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing there, effortlessly stylish in a tailored coat and scarf that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. His silver-blond hair was tousled in that maddeningly perfect way, and he wore a smirk that could charm or infuriate—depending on his mood.

“I wasn’t,” she replied smoothly, “but if you’re volunteering as a case study, I can adjust.”

Draco chuckled, pulling out the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “I’m sure your readers would love to hear about my charms. But I’d much rather give you a private demonstration.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, feigning disinterest even as her cheeks flushed. “Is this your idea of flirting, Malfoy? Because it’s not exactly groundbreaking.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and fixing her with his piercing gray eyes. “Oh, I can be groundbreaking when I want to be. But I’ll save that for when you admit you’re intrigued.”

“Who says I’m intrigued?” she countered, her quill tapping against the table's edge.

Draco smirked. “That little blush on your cheeks does.”

Y/N huffed, pretending to go back to her notes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, sliding a piece of parchment across the table with his contact information scrawled in elegant script, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”

With a wink, he stood and adjusted his scarf. “I’ll leave you to your article, Weasley. Don’t work too hard. You’ll need your energy—for when I take you to dinner.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N had no idea why she was even scrolling through the gossip pages of Witch Weekly. It was supposed to be a lazy Monday morning—tea in hand, parchment in front of her—but instead, her attention had been snagged by a headline she couldn’t ignore.

England's Star Seeker Draco Malfoy Spotted with Mystery Blonde at Exclusive London Bistro!

Her stomach twisted as she stared at the accompanying photograph.

There he was, Draco Malfoy, sitting across from a gorgeous woman who was laughing at something he’d said. His trademark smirk was firmly in place, the same smirk he’d aimed at her not two days ago.

Y/N snapped the magazine shut, annoyed at herself.

What did it matter who Draco Malfoy spent his evenings with? He was arrogant, self-absorbed, and entirely too charming for his own good.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

But the universe wasn’t done testing her resolve.

Later that week, as she walked through Diagon Alley, the sight of Draco leaning against a storefront with another witch at his side stopped her in her tracks. This one had dark hair and a melodic laugh that carried across the street. Draco held her hand, his expression warm and relaxed in a way Y/N hadn’t seen before.

She quickly ducked into a nearby shop, her heart racing. Malfoy was a flirt, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think he didn’t have other women hanging on his every word.

The next morning, another headline greeted her in the Prophet: Malfoy’s Match: Which Lucky Lady Has His Heart?

Y/N threw the paper aside with a frustrated groan.

Over the past months, Draco had been bothering her. The last thing she wanted was to have him bothering her even when he’s not here. The girl swore to herself that she won’t read gossip columns ever again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N was sitting in her cozy office at The Alchemy, the latest drafts of her article spread across her desk, when her fireplace flared green. She was startled as Draco Malfoy’s face appeared in the flames, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“Busy, Weasley?” he drawled.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Malfoy, have you ever heard of knocking? Oh, wait—no doors on fireplaces. How silly of me to expect manners.”

He chuckled. “If I knocked, you’d have an excuse to ignore me. This way, you’re forced to hear me out.”

“Lucky me,” she replied dryly, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Draco’s smirk softened, turning into something almost—dare she say it?—earnest. “I’ve got a match in two weeks. England versus France. It’s a big one. It’s the finals.”

“And?” Y/N prompted, arching an eyebrow.

“And,” he continued, “I thought you might like to come. Watch me fly circles around the other Seeker. Cheer me on. That sort of thing.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You mean sit in a crowd of rabid Quidditch fans and feed your already oversized ego?”

“Precisely,” he replied, undeterred. “I’ve reserved a seat in the VIP box just for you. You’ll have the best view in the house.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why me?”

“Because,” he said smoothly, “you’re the only person I know who can’t stand my ego—and yet, you’ll be impressed anyway. Admit it, Weasley. You’re curious.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “My answer is no.”

Draco grinned, pointing a finger in her direction. “I see what this is. This is you trying not to fall in love with me when you see me in action.” He concluded, earning a groan from the Weasley girl.

“There are a lot of other witches out there already in love with you, Malfoy. Surely, you don’t need another one.” She asserted, shaking her head at the Quidditch star.

Draco blinked, his smirk faltering for a split second before he recovered. “Ah. You’ve been reading the gossip columns, I see.”

“Hard to avoid when your face is splashed across every page,” she shot back. “Or when I see you holding hands with someone else in Diagon Alley.”

“Jealous, then,” he said, his smirk returning, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy,” Y/N snapped. “But if you’re going to act like you’re interested in me, maybe try not to make it so obvious that you’re playing the field.”

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You think I’m playing you?”

“I think I don’t like feeling like an idiot,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “So if this is some kind of game to you, just say so, and I’ll be on my way. Or better yet, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

For once, Draco didn’t have a quick retort. He stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that caught her off guard.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice lower now, almost tentative. “Those other witches? They don’t mean anything. The dinners, the pictures—they’re just...part of the circus that comes with this life.”

She arched an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “And me?”

Draco hesitated, then met her gaze head-on. “You’re different. You’re not part of the circus. That’s why I keep coming back, even when you’re determined to push me away or even make me work for it.”

Y/N wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe those gray eyes weren’t just feeding her another line. But trust didn’t come easily. Not with someone like him.

“Prove it,” she said finally.

Draco’s lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Challenge accepted.”

And with that, his face vanished from the flames, leaving Y/N shaking her head and wondering how Draco Malfoy always managed to get under her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Over the next few weeks, his persistence continued. He sent her notes with witty remarks, often mocking her serious work at The Alchemy, trying to provoke a reaction. He’d casually show up at places where she might be—often appearing just at the right moment to interrupt her morning coffee or during late-night discussions about the Quidditch finals. At first, Y/N remained distant, always with a polite but unyielding air.

“You’re insufferable, Malfoy,” she’d said, her eyes narrowing as he leaned casually against her desk at her office.

“And yet, here I am,” he’d replied smoothly, smirking when she rolled her eyes.

“You know, Weasley,” Draco said casually, his voice low, “if you spent less time pretending to dislike me, you might realize you enjoy my company.”

Y/N looked up at him, her gaze steady but not unkind. ”I doubt that,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk. “You’re a master at charming people, but I’m simply not impressed.”

Draco’s lips curved into a small smile. “You know, you are the first person in a long time who doesn’t buy into the act.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What act?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely, smirking. “The smirking, the charm, the headlines. It works on most people. Not you.”

“Maybe because I know better,” she replied with a teasing smile.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You see through it. That’s why I…” He hesitated, then shook his head with a soft laugh. “Never mind.”

“Why you what?” Y/N prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Draco met her gaze, his gray eyes unusually serious. “Why I care what you think of me. More than I probably should.”

There was silence between them for a moment—an odd tension in the air as Y/N considered his words.

It was the first crack in her walls. Draco showed the briefest flicker of vulnerability.

But Y/N wasn’t going to make it easy.

As much as he tried to provoke her, as much as he coaxed her with his charm, he could see that she was starting to fight back. She wasn’t giving him an inch, which only made him want to push further. After all, Draco Malfoy didn’t back down easily, especially not when he was so invested in winning.

Yet, he knew—deep down—that if he ever wanted to break through to Y/N, he’d have to stop playing the game so much. He’d have to show her that, beneath the arrogant exterior, there was more to him than the world had ever known. And maybe, just maybe, that was precisely what she needed to see.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N sat in her favorite corner of the café, her fingers drumming absently against her coffee cup as she stared down at the latest email from her editorial director at The Alchemy. It had been a long day, filled with deadlines and constant back-and-forths about articles. But this new email was different.

She had expected another mundane assignment, a piece on some new wizarding fashion trend or the latest potion craze. Instead, her editor’s words jumped off the screen with a new challenge:

“Ms. Weasley,

It has come to my attention that despite England’s star seeker Draco Malfoy coming in-and-out of your office, no story is being written about him for The Alchemy.

We need you to write a feature piece on Draco Malfoy.”

She blinked, rereading the message a few times, convinced she had misread it.

“Draco Malfoy?” she muttered to herself, her eyebrows knitting together.

What the hell?

Her first instinct was to toss the email aside. She wasn’t a gossip columnist, and she wasn’t the type to write puff pieces about famous Quidditch players. Y/N prided herself on the hard-hitting, serious stories she was known for—pieces that explored deeper issues, not the insipid celebrity profiles that others at The Alchemy seemed to thrive on.

But then, as much as she hated to admit it, the thought of writing about Draco Malfoy intrigued her. He wasn’t just some athlete who smiled for the cameras and spouted the usual soundbites. No, Draco had always been a more complex figure—a product of his family, his upbringing, and, she suspected, his own inner demons. She had seen the way he carried himself, the mask he wore, and the way he navigated his fame. There was more to Draco Malfoy than people realized.

Still, writing about him felt… strange. She hadn’t forgotten their previous encounters, where he’d flirted with her relentlessly, trying to get a rise out of her with his usual charm. And every time, she had shut him down. She wasn’t interested in him—at least, not in the way he clearly wanted her to be.

But now, she was being asked to dig deeper, to find the story behind the public persona. Her professional side told her it was just another assignment. The personal side of her couldn’t shake the unease in the pit of her stomach at the thought of spending more time with him.

The first meeting with Draco was set for the following week. She walked into the private room at the trendy restaurant where they had agreed to meet, her mind still swirling with questions. Draco was already there, sitting at a corner table, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Weasley, the woman who can’t be charmed,” Draco teased, his voice low and smooth. “How long did it take for you to come up with a way to make me sound interesting?”

The girl narrowed her eyes as she sat down, trying not to show discomfort. “You’re not the story I want to write, Malfoy,” she said, her tone sharp. “But my director seems to think you’re worth the ink.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Of course, they do. Who wouldn’t want to write about me?” His eyes twinkled with his usual cocky confidence, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel the familiar irritation bubble up.

She set her notepad on the table and gave him a pointed look. “So, tell me, Malfoy. What’s it like to be the golden boy of Quidditch? The press loves you. The fans adore you. But what’s going on behind that perfect smile of yours?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her directness. “Is that your first question, then? Going straight for the jugular?”

“Why not? I’m here to get the truth, not some carefully rehearsed spiel.”

His eyes softened for a moment, an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, but he quickly regained his usual cockiness. “Alright, alright. It’s true—being the best is exhausting. All the expectations, the pressure to perform perfectly, to look perfect. It’s a lot more work than people think. But, hey, it’s worth it when you’re the best.”

The girl jotted down some notes, but she couldn’t help but notice the faint flicker of something in his eyes—something real, something raw. It wasn’t the image of the perfect Quidditch star she expected, but the glimpse of someone who might be tired of being in the spotlight. It was a side of Draco Malfoy that was difficult to ignore.

She pressed on, determined not to be distracted. “England’s making history with how it’s the first time that the team has entered the world cup finals. How do you feel about this?”

The boy grinned, crossing his arms in amusement. “It’s only been my 2nd year playing for England as the seeker so it honestly brings me great joy to be part of this historical event.”

Nodding, Weasley continued, “Do you have a personal goal for the upcoming match?”

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair, making Y/N look up at him with a raised brow. The boy was about to say something until he hesitated for a moment, gears running in his head as he thought about his answer.

“I want the trophy.” He finally answered. “Nothing else would make me happier than raising the trophy with my own hands above my head. It’s my ultimate goal. I’ll be content for life once I finally make that happen.”

The girl continued to write in her notepad, nodding at every word the Quidditch star had spoken.

“And what about your personal life, Draco? Your time at Hogwarts? Your family?”

Draco leaned forward, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Now, you’re getting personal. I see how it is.”

“Just trying to get the truth,” Y/N replied, not backing down.

He met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. ”Maybe you’ll have to dig a little deeper to get that, Weasley.”

As the conversation continued, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco was letting her in, just slightly more than he had before. But then, as quickly as the walls came down, they were back up again. He was a master at keeping things just out of reach. She could see that now.

But there was something else—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. For all his bravado and charm, a vulnerability lurked behind his eyes. The question was whether she could uncover it—and whether she even wanted to.

Draco stood to leave as the interview wrapped up, giving her one last lingering look. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said with that trademark smirk.

The reporter gathered her things, her mind racing. She’d gotten the surface-level story she expected. But something told her there was more—much more—to Draco Malfoy than she’d ever realized.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A few weeks after the first interview at the restaurant, Y/N sat next to Draco in a quiet corner of a rooftop bar, sipping wine while the city of London stretched out before them. The sound of distant laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Draco had been quiet for most of the evening, a rare occurrence for him. His usual cocky smile was replaced with a more relaxed, contemplative expression as he stared out at the skyline. Y/N found herself watching him, the way the soft glow of the city lights illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes flickered with thought.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she remarked, setting her glass down.

He shrugged, but there was a softness to his movements. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

He met her gaze, his eyes intense. “About how you’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t seem to expect anything from me.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not true. I expect plenty from you, Malfoy.”

His lips curled into a smile, but it was different than usual—less smug, more genuine. “What do you expect?”

“I expect you to stop acting like you have to be some perfect, untouchable person,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Because no one’s perfect, and no one’s untouchable. Not even you.”

Draco’s expression softened, his gaze flicking away for a moment before he turned back to her. “I don’t want to be untouchable. Just…” he paused, then looked down at his glass, tapping it lightly with his finger. “Just don’t let me screw this up.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, though she quickly masked it with a teasing smile. “I think you’ve already screwed it up a few times. C’mon, do you think mocking some of my work at The Alchemy just to get my attention would actually make me fall for you?”

He smirked, but there was no malice in it. “True. But I’m trying.”

Y/N wasn’t sure why, but something in his tone—something in his eyes—tugged at her. She wanted to resist, to remind herself that she couldn’t afford to get caught up in someone like him. But with every word, with every glance they shared, the walls she’d carefully built around her heart seemed to crumble just a little more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As the days passed, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just scratched the surface of something much more complex. Draco Malfoy was precisely as she’d expected in many ways: confident, charming, and completely self-assured in the public eye. But the moments between his carefully constructed exterior, the fleeting glances and small gestures, had made her realize something deeper lay beneath.

The next few weeks were filled with interviews, photo shoots, and press events. Draco’s schedule was packed with appearances, leaving him little time for anything other than his public image. But Y/N managed to secure more time with him, squeezing moments between his practices and press conferences.

Each time they met, the conversation deepened slightly. But for every step he took toward vulnerability, he seemed to retreat just as quickly.

Y/N had asked about his past and his family—subjects that usually turned him distant and defensive. Yet there were moments when she saw a flicker of something else, something more human. He’d speak of his childhood with a mixture of bitterness and longing, a sense of loss that cut deeper than she had expected.

“My father was never proud of me for anything except Quidditch,” Draco had said one afternoon, his eyes dark as they stared into the distance. “I could win every match, and he’d still find something to criticize. I never could escape his shadow.”

It was the first time he had shared anything personal, and it had taken Y/N by surprise.

“Do you remember how I told you that nothing would make me happier than the world cup trophy?”

Y/N nodded as an answer, her gaze focused deeply on Draco.

“To earn that trophy is to finally let go of my father’s disappointment in me.” He confessed, taking a big gulp at his firewhisky afterwards.

Y/N had been so used to Draco Malfoy, who prided himself on his self-sufficiency, the one who lived in the limelight and was always in control. She had never considered that, beneath all that, he might be carrying around the weight of such a complicated family history.

Yet Draco cut the conversation short the moment she let herself lean in, to ask more, to dive deeper into that pain. “Anyway, enough about that,” he’d said, standing up and brushing off the moment as if it were nothing. “What else do you want to know?”

And so, the reporter continued to write. At first, she focused on the public figure of Draco Malfoy—the successful, well-loved athlete who was more than just a face in the crowd.

But with every interview and moment spent with him, she started questioning what she was genuinely uncovering. She was digging, yes, but she wasn’t sure whether Draco Malfoy's story intrigued her—or the man himself.

It wasn’t until one late evening, long after the sun had set that Y/N realized just how much her feelings for Draco had shifted. She had been assigned to cover a charity event where Draco was being honored for his work with the wizarding community. The room was filled with celebrities, athletes, and wealthy families, all gathered to celebrate Draco’s accomplishments. It was the perfect opportunity for him to shine and be the golden boy again.

But there, at the back of the ballroom, she caught him standing alone, leaning against a column with a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes distant, staring out over the crowd. She had always thought of him as the center of attention, always surrounded by people who wanted to be near him, but this moment—how he looked almost… lost—took her by surprise.

The girl approached him cautiously, unsure if this was the same Draco Malfoy she had spent the past few weeks getting to know.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” The girl remarked dryly, unable to help herself.

Draco’s lips curled into his trademark smirk. “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the company of people who love me.” He replied.

But the lightness of his words didn’t quite match the heaviness in his eyes. The girl caught a glimpse of the façade he had built so carefully—he was pretending, and she saw right through it.

“Do you really enjoy these things, Draco?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, as if weighing her words. There was an unsettling quiet in the air between them, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“It’s what’s expected of me,” he finally said, his voice low.

Y/N’s heart softened at his words, and she could feel the walls he had built around himself, those barriers keeping everyone at a distance. This was a side of Draco she hadn’t seen before—the vulnerability, the uncertainty.

Before she could say more, there was a call from across the room—another colleague, another guest. Draco straightened up, wiping the moment away like it had never happened. “Duty calls” he said, his mask back in place. “I’ll see you later, Weasley.”

But as he turned to walk away, Y/N felt the weight of the unspoken words between them. She was beginning to realize that this story she was writing about Draco Malfoy wasn’t just about uncovering his public life. It was about something far more complicated that had crept up on her without warning.

She wasn’t just writing about Draco Malfoy anymore. She was trying to understand him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was a quiet evening when Draco invited Y/N to a secluded spot near a pub, a place far from the bustling streets and prying eyes. She had been hesitant at first—Draco Malfoy didn’t exactly seem like the type to indulge in quiet, intimate settings—but something about the way he had asked, the sincerity in his voice, made her say yes.

When she arrived, she was surprised to find that it wasn’t a grand, lavish affair. It was just a small, private garden lit by hundreds of softly glowing lanterns, the gentle hum of music in the background. Draco was already there, standing by a small stone bench, a hesitant look on his face as if he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

“Malfoy, what is this?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued as she took in the peaceful setting.

He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I thought you might like something...different. Somewhere, we could talk without the usual distractions.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You? Trying to be quiet and intimate?”

Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying something new. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with...romantic gestures.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Draco Malfoy—arrogant, smug, unapproachable Draco—admitting he didn’t know how to do this. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, and all she could see was the vulnerability in his eyes.

He stepped toward her, offering her his hand. “I thought we could start with a walk. Maybe later we can... see where the night takes us.”

Y/N hesitated, but then she found herself taking his hand, her pulse quickening as his fingers brushed against hers.

They walked through the garden together, the soft glow of the lanterns casting a golden light over them. The path was lined with roses and jasmine, their sweet scent filling the air. Draco occasionally glanced at her, his smile more natural now, and Y/N found herself smiling back without even thinking about it.

After a while, they reached a small gazebo, draped in ivy and surrounded by flowers. Draco led her to the center, where a small table had been set up with a single candle flickering in the center. He pulled out a chair for her, a small gesture, but it made her heart flutter in a way she couldn’t explain.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Y/N said softly, her voice betraying the warmth she felt. “It’s…”

“Something I wanted to do,” Draco interrupted gently. He placed his hand on hers, his touch warm and reassuring. “Something I wanted to show you. That I can be more than the person you think I am.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes locked. There was no smugness in his expression now, no arrogance. Just sincerity—something she hadn’t expected from him, but found herself yearning for.

“I know I’ve messed up,” Draco continued, his voice low. “And I know I’m not perfect. But I want to try. I want to prove that I’m not just some spoiled, arrogant Quidditch player. I’m someone who’s willing to do this...to try for you.”

Y/N felt her walls begin to crumble. Every part of her had been bracing for him to let her down, for this to be just another game, another way to keep her interested. But something about the way he was looking at her, the way his hand remained gently resting on hers, made her believe him.

“You don’t have to prove anything, Draco,” she said quietly. “I just need to know you’re not playing games.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “No games, Weasley. I’m not that stupid.”

The way he said it—so earnestly—left no room for doubt. She could feel the truth of his words, and for the first time, she realized how much she wanted to believe in him.

The evening went on, the quiet intimacy of the garden wrapping them in a cocoon of soft light and silence. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it was enough. Draco had finally shown her a side of him that was real, and in that moment, it felt like the world was just the two of them.

By the end of the night, as they stood together under the stars, Draco took a deep breath. “So, what do you think? Is this enough to make you reconsider that I might be worth it?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she smiled, the answer already clear. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

Draco’s face lit up, and he pulled her in for a hug, one that felt more tender than anything they’d shared before. And as Y/N rested her head against his chest, she realized she wasn’t just falling for him—she had already fallen.

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, but still holding back, as if waiting for some sign from her.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she opened her eyes to meet his, the raw emotion in his gaze pulling her in even deeper. “Then why don’t you?”

The words had barely left her lips when his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, the tension crackling between them, making it impossible to think clearly.

Draco leaned in, his lips just inches from hers, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, everything seemed to slow—time stretching out as they hovered on the edge of something they both knew could change everything.

A sudden sound broke the silence. The rustling of leaves. A faint cough.

Y/N and Draco both snapped their heads to the side, a rush of disappointment and frustration sweeping over them. Standing just at the edge of the garden path, a figure was barely visible in the dim light.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

It was a familiar voice—one Y/N would recognize anywhere.

"George?" she called out, her words laced with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Draco stiffened beside her, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

"Couldn't find you two anywhere in the pub, so I figured you might be here," George Weasley said, stepping fully into the light with his characteristic grin. He raised a hand in apology. "Did I ruin something?"

Y/N let out a soft sigh, the tension that had been building between her and Draco instantly evaporating. The weight of the moment slipped away, replaced by the sudden, unwelcome intrusion of her older brother’s presence.

"Bloody hell," Draco muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead in irritation. "I was about to—"

George, completely unaware of the emotional wreckage he’d just caused, smiled and raised an eyebrow. "About to what? Kiss her?" He gave a teasing glance to Y/N. "I mean, that’s the only reason I can think of you two standing so close."

Y/N could feel her cheeks burning, the awkwardness of the moment too much to ignore. "George," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "what are you doing here?"

"I told you, I was looking for you," he said with a shrug. "But I’m happy to leave you two to whatever… this is." He made a small gesture between them. "Just don’t do anything I’d do, alright?"

Draco shot him a glare, clearly less than thrilled with the interruption. "You know, George, I’m really starting to wonder what exactly you’re insinuating."

George chuckled and held his hands up in mock defense. "Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to make sure you weren't tying my little sister up in some crazy love affair."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Can’t you go bother Fred?” she said, hoping to push her brother along.

But George just shook his head. “Nah, he’s busy at the shop. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t blame me when it’s not my fault you two don’t kiss already. It’s been hanging in the air since I walked up.”

With that, George turned to leave, his footsteps growing quieter as he disappeared down the path.

Y/N exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance flood through her. "Well, that was awkward," she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Draco’s posture had relaxed, but he was still watching her with an amused yet frustrated expression. "I can’t believe that just happened."

And just like that, the moment was lost—not by their own choice, but by fate and the mischievous timing of her brother. Yet, in that space between them, something still lingered, the anticipation hanging in the air like the faintest whisper of what might come next.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As the season finale approached, excitement buzzed throughout the wizarding world. The final game of the Quidditch World Cup was drawing near, and Draco Malfoy’s England team was on the cusp of victory. Every publication and every media outlet, was buzzing about the upcoming match. It was a culmination of years of hard work, and Draco was poised to lead his team to the win.

But as much as the excitement of the game filled the air, it wasn’t the only thing occupying Draco’s mind. Y/N Weasley had been a constant presence over the past few weeks, her insightful questions and perceptive eyes causing something inside him to stir.

It wasn’t about the chase anymore; it was about how she made him feel like someone with something real to offer, something that had nothing to do with his past. With Y/N, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune, the former Death Eater, or even the star Seeker of the England team. He was just Draco.

And now, as the final match loomed closer, something in him knew that he needed her there. He wanted her to witness the moment he had been working toward his entire life, to see him in his element at the peak of his career.

There was a vulnerability in that—asking her to witness his success, to be there as something more than just the journalist writing on his feature for a magazine.

The question came as a text one evening, just a few days before the big game. Y/N was sitting in her apartment, reviewing her notes for her article, when her phone buzzed.

“You’re coming to the final game, right?”

The girl stared at the message momentarily, her fingers hovered over the screen as she debated how to respond.

“I wasn’t planning on it. You’ve got plenty of people in your corner already.”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, but a new message appeared from Draco moments later. “And you think they’re the ones I want there? You should come. I want you to see it. All of it.”

She felt a strange flutter in her chest at his words.

“Fine, I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to cheer for you.”

Draco’s reply was quick, playful, but there was an undertone of sincerity. “I’ll take what I can get. See you there, Weasley.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of the match arrived, and Y/N found herself standing in the VIP section of the stadium, her heart beating faster than she would have liked. The atmosphere was electric, the stands filled with enthusiastic supporters. Draco had ensured that she had the best seat in the house—front and center, right near the team’s private box.

As the match kicked off, Y/N was fully aware that she was there not just as a reporter, but as someone who was beginning to care, in a way she had never intended. She watched Draco carefully, noting the way he moved with precision, the intensity in his eyes, and the confidence in every pass, every dive, every goal.

There was something magnetic about watching him play, not just for his skill, but for the quiet determination that seemed to flow from him.

During the halftime break, Y/N made her way up to the private box, where Draco was standing alone, looking out over the field. He had removed his goggles and gloves.

“You’re doing well,” Y/N said, stepping up beside him, trying to keep her tone casual.

“You came,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and something else. He looked at the girl carefully. There, Y/N stood, wearing a black England Quidditch jersey with Draco’s last name on the back, the number 7 emblazoned proudly across it.

His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected her to wear it, let alone wear it like she was wearing it for him. A small thrill ran through him.

“I said I would,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite her heart racing.

Draco gave her a broad smile. “You look cute with my last name on your back.” He complimented, Y/N’s cheeks immediately turning red.

Silence engulfed their atmosphere for a while before Draco decided to break it.

“Do you think I can win?” he asked quietly, a rare moment of honesty breaking through his usual bravado.

She met his gaze, her own heart unexpectedly softening. “I think you’ve already won,” she said with quiet certainty. “No matter what happens in the game, you’ve already proven everything you set out to achieve.”

For a moment, Draco said nothing, but his eyes softened, and Y/N saw the vulnerability he had kept hidden. He took a step closer to her, his voice low. “That’s the thing about winning, Weasley. It never feels like enough. Not until I’ve got everything I want.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The game resumed, and Y/N’s focus shifted back to the field as Draco and his team pushed forward, the final match unfolding before her eyes.

On the pitch, Draco kept his focus sharp, scanning the skies for the glint of gold, but his mind wandered to her more often than it should have. Was she watching? Was she rolling her eyes every time the announcers praised him? Did she regret coming at all?

When he finally spotted the Snitch, his heart surged, not just with the thrill of the chase but with the knowledge that Y/N was here to see him succeed. He dove with precision, ignoring the French Seeker on his tail, and his fingers closed around the Snitch in one fluid motion. The crowd erupted, and his teammates surged toward him, but Draco’s gaze immediately lifted to the stands.

As the crowd cheered, Y/N found herself caught up in the moment's energy, but it wasn’t the victory that held her attention. It was Draco. She watched as he raised his arms in triumph, his face a mix of relief and elation, his hard work finally paying off.

The crowd erupted as the final whistle sounded, the golden snitch clutched tightly in Draco Malfoy’s hand. The scoreboard flashed the win: England - 310, France - 290. The stadium was a cacophony of cheers, chants, and magical fireworks lighting up the Parisian sky. His teammates swarmed him, their triumphant shouts blending into the roaring crowd. But Draco’s mind was already elsewhere.

He didn’t hear the commentators dissecting his final play or the announcer calling his name as the match’s MVP. All he could think about was her—Y/N Weasley, standing just past the enchanted barriers separating the players from the spectators.

As the crowd surged forward, Y/N made her way down to the field, determined to catch him before the madness of victory consumed him completely. She found him near the edge of the pitch, his teammates surrounding him, all celebrating their victory. But Draco’s eyes found hers immediately, cutting through the noise and the chaos.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. There was no crowd, no reporters, no fans clamoring for his attention. There was just Draco and Y/N—two people who had been circling each other for weeks, testing boundaries, pushing limits, and now, standing on the edge of something neither of them were prepared for.

Draco handed off the snitch to a teammate, brushing past the photographers calling his name. “Where are you going, Malfoy?” one of his teammates shouted, but Draco didn’t bother answering.

The trophy could wait. The celebrations could wait. Everything could wait.

By the time she saw him weaving through the crowd, his hair mussed from the game, a bead of sweat tracing his temple, he was already too close to ignore.

“Where’s the trophy, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice teasing and dripping with sarcasm but her eyes betraying the pride she felt.

“Don’t care,” he said simply, his chest still heaving.

“What kind of star player skips the celebration?” she quipped, but her words faltered as his hands found her waist. In one swift movement, he pulled her over to him, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of her coat.

“The kind who’s got better things to do,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her witty comeback dissolved as his lips crashed into hers, the kiss hard and desperate, as if he’d waited his whole life for this moment. The stadium, the cameras, the spectators—all of it faded into the background. It was just them, wrapped in the kind of alchemy that couldn’t be planned or controlled.

She tasted like red wine, and Draco thought, for once, he might actually have won something worth keeping.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she saw his gray eyes. “You’re insane, Malfoy,” she whispered, her fingers still gripping the front of his jersey.

“Maybe,” he replied, brushing his forehead against hers. “But I’m yours.”

As the crowd chanted his name and his teammates hoisted the trophy, Draco stayed rooted in that moment with her, knowing that whatever happened next, nothing could compare to the magic of Y/N Weasley in his arms, grinning at him.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then, in a move that surprised her, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against her cheek in a far more intimate gesture than anything he had done before.

“Thank you, Y/N.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion she hadn’t expected. “For being here. For seeing me.”

Y/N stood there, her heart racing as she tried to process the shift in their relationship. She hadn’t just witnessed his victory. She had seen him, indeed seen him—for the first time. And now, everything was different.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On my final conversation with star-seeker Draco Malfoy, there I stood, on the sides of the Quidditch pitch, asking him “Where’s the trophy, Malfoy?”

But guess what? He just comes running over to me.

signed,

“Shove off, you three.” Ginny said as she pushed Ron who came to stand next to her away. “Hey stop that! I am just standing.” He said annoyed.

“Oh, look at this, it wouldn’t have to do anything with what you aren’t telling us, does it?” Fred suddenly fished the letter out of Y/n’s hands and she gasped and tried to grab it back but George held her back.

Fred then proceeded to dramatically read the letter and the boys chuckled a bit Ginny tried grabbing it from him but he stepped out of the way and held it out of her reach.

“Such an adorable letter.” Fred teased. “Now let’s see who sent you this.” He grinned and looked at the name, his smile immediately dropping. “Krum? Bloody Krum sent you this?” He asked pointing the letter at her accusingly.

“Yeah? So what?” She said annoyed and grappled the letter away from his hands. “Obviously she’s going to say no!” Ron said. “You are right?” He turned to her.

“No! No I won’t say no! I will accept if of course! He’s really sweet.” She sis sand the three huffed and rolled their eyes. “Krum? He’s the opposite of sweet, besides, he’s the enemy.” George bellowed.

The three girls huffed and ignored them, heading to their dorms, Ginny joining Hermione and Y/n in their dorm.

“They are such morons, they can’t tell me what to do!” The girl said angrily. “Just ignore them, we’re going dress shopping tomorrow, and we won’t talk to them till they apologise!” Ginny said and the other two agreed.

So that’s what they did, they ignored the boys, except for Harry, as he didn’t really mind at all. They went dress shopping, Hermione got a beautiful blue gown, Ginny a green one with pink ribbons and Y/n got a long red dress along with a new pair of red earrings.

Later that day, Ron approached and they walked past him and didn’t say anything. He called after them but they just ignored it again.

The night of the ball, the three had gotten ready together, helping each other with make up and hair. They looked beautiful to say the least. Ginny was going with Neville and Hermione- who had broke and talked to Ron again, went with him, after he had cowardly asked her.

The girls walked down the stairs and many stared as they headed for their dates. “Y/n.” Krum greeted with his Bulgarian accent, making her name sound rather weird, but she didn’t mind. “Victor.” She greeted back.

He kissed her hand like a true gentle man and she giggled, making him smile. Putting a gentle hand on her waist, they walked to McGonagall who was gathering the champions and their dates.

Soon, the five champions opened the dance, Y/n had gotten way to much practice from her mother when she was younger, and Krum, somehow was a very good dancer.

As they danced, they suddenly heard yelling. “I see where that hand is, Krum! Not to low aye!” It was Fred and Y/n’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “If you try anything I will hex you!” George’s voice sounded.

“We know lots of hexes! You probably wouldn’t be able to handle the second task after!” Fred agreed and their two little sisters glared at them and McGonagall had to shush them.

After the opening dance, the real party began and the students all danced and had fun. Krum twirled her around when suddenly she was pulled away. “If you don’t mind, we need to have a brother sister dance.” Fred said and took his sister away. She broke away from him and hit his shoulder.

“Stop being an arse!” She said annoyed. “I am protecting you!” He said and she rolled her eyes. “No, you’re being annoying, leave me alone, let me have fun for once.” She said and headed back for Krum.

“I’m so sorry about that.” She said and he smiled. “It is alright.” He said and they continued their night.

“Hey, Y/n, can I speak to you for a moment?” Ron’s voice sounded and she turned to him. “I swear to Merlin Ron, if you do not go back to Hermione I will hex you to the next century.” She said angrily and he ran off.

It had been the third time that night that he had come to interrupt them and she was so done with it.

When the night ended, he thanked her for the time they had. “I would like to show you Bulgaria some time when the tournament is over.” He said and her smile grew. “I would love that!” She said excitedly.

“That is great!” He beamed at her when the shrill voice of Karkaroff interrupted them and he looked rather annoyed. “Krum? Are you coming? We need to get back to the ship.” He said and he called back that he would be there.

“I will see you tomorrow?” He asked and she nodded. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” She nodded. He leaned forward and kissed her. She smiled and kissed him back, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Goodnight.” He said when they pulled apart. With a last kiss on her cheek he left making her breath a laugh at the amazing night she just had. Yeah, run off back to your ship.” She turned around annoyed at her three brothers. “Can you not be so annoying?” She asked and they grumbled some things under their breath.

“He kissed you! That’s disgusting!” Ron said and Hermione, who just arrived shoved him angrily. “Leave her alone, Ron, she’s just had her first date!” The girl said angrily.

“D/n?” a voice called out softly, the feeling of someone gently stroking your cheek pulling you out of your light slumber. You crack your eyes open slightly, convinced for a minute that your vision was crossed before you realize that it was the twins who were knelt down by the edge of the couch and staring at you.

“You fell asleep in the common room, silly,” George murmurs, tucking the corner of your blanket back around you.

“The stairs won’t let me up,” you mumble sleepily.

“What?” Fred chuckles, assuming he misheard you.

“The stairs,” you repeat. “The stairs won’t let me up t’ my dorm.”

George and Fred share a look. “And why’s that, princess?”

You scowl. “Don’t call me that.”

Fred’s eyes widen a bit. “Oh- sure, honey. We won’t call you that anymore if you don’t like it.”

You nod and relax back into the couch.

“Is there any specific reason you don’t like that nickname, dove?” George asks kindly. “It’s just that we’ve been calling you that since you were a baby.”

“Don’t like it,” you mumble. “Too girly.”

The twins share a look again.

“You know you can tell us anything, right, D/n?”

You subconsciously flinch at the name.

“Don’t call me that either, Freddie, please.”

Both of your brothers climb up on the couch to sit on either side of you, Fred’s arm around your shoulders, and George’s hand holding yours.

“I’m a boy,” you say bluntly.

They both nod and say in unison, “Okay.”

You falter a little bit, your tough-guy façade and false don’t-care attitude crumbling at your brothers’ immediate acceptance.

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would we be mad?” George asks, bewildered.

You shrug, twisting a loose string from your blanket around your finger.

“You got a name picked out?” Fred questions, rubbing your back encouragingly the more you shrunk in on yourself.

“Y/n. My name’s Y/n.”

“Well, come along then, Y/n, our fair prince,” Fred says in a silly voice, hopping up from the couch and doing a dramatic bow as if he were a royal subject. “You can’t sleep in the common room, no matter how warm the fire is.”

George snickers at his brother’s antics, helping you stand up from the couch and pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “Ah, indeed, mine brothers. ‘tis betwixt the hours of eleven and midnight, and thou both must be well rested for the morrow.”

The boys lead you upstairs to their dorm—to the boys dorm—and tuck you into an empty bed. With only Lee Jordan as their roommate, there were two unoccupied beds (“Good,” Professor McGonagall had said after she found out. “The fewer roommates those twins have, the better.”) They both kiss your forehead and whisper good night, although with a lot more thys and arts thrown in.

You're currently sitting on your couch with your's and your husband's Niffler, Teddy, sleeping on your lap. You're gently petting the Niffler when Newt burst through the door waking poor Teddy up from his afternoon nap.

"Oh, sorry, Teddy, I didn't mean to wake you," Newt apologizes to the Niffler. Teddy glares at him before curling up on your lap again. "Love, I have a surprise," Newt informs you as he kneels on the floor in front of you.

"What is darling?" You ask him with a soft smile.

"I got us tickets to New York!" He responds excitedly, "We can return Frank to Arizona!"

"That's great, love! Frank will be very happy to hear that," You tell him.

"I know, I'm very excited as well," he says.

"When do we leave?" You ask.

"In three days," He answers, as he starts petting Teddy.

You look up at him, placing your hand on the side of his cheek, leaning towards him, gesturing that you want him to kiss you. Newt immediately knows that's what you want and succumbs to your nonverbal request. He gently presses his lips against yours.

He pulls away from you with a soft smile. "I'm going to go check on the Occamy," Newt says while standing up and making his way to the basement.

"Teddy?" You mutter and the Niffler perks up and looks at you. "We should probably go with him." You pick up Teddy and follow Newt down stairs.

You find Newt standing in front of the nest of baby Occamy and saying, "Dad's here. Dad's here."

You chuckle at him then he turns around while holding an Occamy.

"What?" Newt asks defensively.

"Nothing," You respond. "You're just adorable."

Teddy squeaks aggressively at you.

"Of course you're more adorable Teddy, just not when you think that it's a good idea to steal my wedding ring." You hold your hand out and give him a look. He reaches into his pouch then places two rings in your palm. You recognize one of them as your own and the other one as Newt's. You shook your head in disappointment. "Newt," You say and hold up his ring, "Teddy stole your ring."

Newt puts the Occamy back in its nest then takes the ring out of your grip, you walk over to the NIffler cage and put Teddy into with your other Niffler, Angelica, who is currently asleep and pregnant. You put your ring back on your left ring finger.

You're about to turn around when you feel arms around your waist and soft kisses on your shoulder. Newt trails kisses up your neck to your cheek then turns you around. "It's been nineteen years and I still feel the same every time I look at you as I did the first time that I saw you."

"Nineteen?" You ask, "We started dating in sixth year, that's only thirteen."

"I've loved you since our first year," Newt responds.

"You're such a sap," You playfully slap his shoulder.

"Did I ever tell you that you look absolutely magnificent in that dress?" He says.

"Did I ever tell you that you're a bloody sap?" You retort. The next thing you know, your husband is picking you up bridal style and carrying you up the stairs. When he gets up stairs he goes to your shared bedroom and throws you onto the bed.

"We need to pack the Muggle Worthy side of the suitcase." You say to Newt while sitting up right on the bed.

"You're right," He responds then grabs the suitcase, turns it to Muggle Worthy, places it on the bed, and opens it.

You stand up and walk to your wardrobe. You grab another yellow dress, your Gryffindor scarf, and a nightgown, fold them and place them in the suitcase. You usually just use a cleaning charm on the dress that you're currently wearing because it is the most comfortable dress that you own.

Newt grabs an outfit of his out of the wardrobe, folds it and puts it in the suitcase. He puts a map and magnifying glass in it too then shuts it. He places the suitcase on the floor then lays down on the bed.

Newt pats the bed in front of him gesturing for you to lay next to him. You crawl onto the bed and lay down next to your adorable husband. You spot Pickett on his coat, "Is Pickett getting better?" He had a cold and needed body heat.

"Yeah, he's fine now, just a bit clingy," Newt responds.

~~time skip~~

You're sitting on a bench on Fort Elizabeth, you just got to New York, you're waiting for the ship to dock. Your head is on Newt's shoulder, he reaches for the suitcase and one of the locks pop unlocked. Newt locks it back and puts the suitcase on his lap. "Dougal, settle down now, please."

Dougal grumbles in response.

"It won't be long," Newt tells him.

When the ship docks, you and Newt walk off the boat holding hands. You walk to security and one of the customs officers checks your passports. "British, huh?"

"Yes," You and Newt both answer.

"First trip to New York?" The officer asks.

"Yes," You both respond again.

"Anything edible in there?" questions the office.

"No," Newt answers.

"Livestock?"

One of the locks popped open again. "Must get that fixed," Newt says as he locks the case. "Um...no."

"Let me take a look," the officer demands.

Newt puts the suitcase on the table and flips it to Muggle Worthy. The customs officer opens it to reveal mostly clothes. He shuts and locks it. "Welcome to New York."

"Thank you," Both you and Newt say at the same time as Newt grabs the suitcase then you hand. The two of you walk out of the docking area hand in hand.

It felt both weird and oddly familiar at the same time. She had moved to her own flat a few years earlier and had gotten used to not having overprotective brothers and parents trying to prevent her from going on dangerous missions. Originally, she hadn’t planned to go back ‘home’ until after this job, but her mother had started driving her younger siblings mad, causing them to send a letter asking their older sister to PLEASE come home and help prepare for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It had been a long time since (y/n) last had to handle this situation, but her father seemed to have no problem picking up where they left off.

“How, dad?” She turned around and violently pulled a hand through her red hair, desperately trying to keep her voice down. “Apprehending people who turned to the dark arts is literally my job, at least this time we know what to expect! We just have to transport the death eaters from point A to point B as smoothly as possible, and even if they should try to break free, there’ll be four of them, and twelve of us - surely three aurors could take down one wandless death eater?”

Arthur remained quiet for a few seconds, causing his daughter to put her backpack on the floor, walk a few steps back down the stairs, and pull him in for a hug.

“Look, Dad, I know it’s not without risk, but… I’ve got to go. I don’t think the question any longer is if you-know-who is gonna take control of the ministry, but when, and once that time comes we have to be prepared for anything. The best we can do is make sure the most dangerous people are in a secure place, and well guarded. As much as I hate it, Azkaban is the safest bet, otherwise, they’ll all be back out on the streets, and everything we have worked for these past two years will have been for nothing. We’ll just have to hope that the dementors won’t switch sides. I’m sorry... I love you.”

It wasn’t only a long hug, but a long-awaited one as well.

“I love you too, darling, which is why I don’t want you to do this. I understand your reasoning but…”

“Dad? (y/n/n)? You’re home already?”

(y/n) looked over her dad’s shoulder and immediately walked into the arms of the person who had called her name - her older brother.

“Bill…”

He hugged his sister tightly and put his right hand comfortingly on the back of her head. She was shaking slightly, but Bill pulled her in even closer and put his head on top of hers. This was why (y/n) always tried to prepare, pack and leave quickly every time she was assigned a mission - that way she left no room for any nerves and could focus on the task at hand without getting too scared or anxious. Don’t get it wrong, she loved protecting others and knew it was an important job, but overthinking things just made her realize how much she had to lose. Being around her extremely caring family made that even worse.

“Shhh… (y/n), breathe, easy, you’re fine.”

“Yeah, I know, I know… It’s just, I don’t like thinking too much about it. I’m good, though, and I’ve missed you.”

“I know… ‘n I’ve missed you too. Hey, not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you home? And awake?”

“Mum needed some help with the wedding preparations, and…”

Bill moved his gaze from his sister to his father, silently asking for a response.

“Your sister is leaving for work.”, said Arthur slowly. “It’s just not an easy decision. It’s not-”

“-It’s not safe.”. (y/n)'s gaze wandered nervously around the living room - her parents’ house still being one of the few places where she felt properly at home. She smiled slightly when she noticed a brown plush rabbit sitting on a shelf. It was her favourite toy when she was younger and had been her father’s before her. “Heck, it’s really, really dangerous, but it has to be done. I don’t have a choice, and as much as I would love to stay here with you, the longer I do the harder it becomes to leave.” She sighed. “But I have to go. Bill, will you please tell mum I’m sorry when she wakes?”

Bill looked at his sister, not really wanting to let her go, but understanding exactly how she felt. “Of course.” He grabbed the backpack and handed it to her before placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Stay safe, okay? Promise us that!”

“Bill-”

“(y/n/n)!”

“Stop it! You know I can’t promise something like that. I swear I’ll do my best, though.”

“Good. Then go, I’ll see you next week?”

(y/n) smiled. “Yeah, around lunchtime on Wednesday. Bye, Bill. Bye, dad.”

Arthur looked out the window and sighed sadly as his daughter disapparated. “I remember when I feared for her life because she kept climbing the big apple tree… Now I almost wish she was there, hanging on to one of the top branches, swinging back and forth.” He closed his eyes and leant against the wall behind him. “At least then I could see her. Make sure she didn’t fall.”

“I know, dad. But she’s not a kid anymore.”

“She’ll always be my kid.”

“She’ll always be short.”

“Bill!”

“Jokin’! C’mon, dad, let’s go have a cup of tea, yeh?”

————————

‘The plan is fool-proof!’ (y/n) coughed slightly and regretted her words as she was hit with yet another curse. The plan had been fool-proof… apart from the fact that someone at the ministry clearly had leaked information to the death eaters. The mission had relied on secrecy. It had been planned in secret and only the 12 aurors and a few ministry officials had known the details. Despite that, around 30 death eaters attacked as soon as the transport had left the city, and due to their numbers, the aurors barely stood a chance.

“Jackson, we need to get out of here as soon as possible! There’s no way we’ll be able to fight them all off.”

“You’re probably right, Weasley.”, he shouted while sending a death eater flying off his broom. “But how did this happen? We were so careful!?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” (y/n) swiftly flew out of the way as a flash of green light almost touched her side. “But that doesn’t really matter right now. Wilson’s wounded, can you help him.”

“Sure.”

“And then get out before anyone’s killed.”

He frowned and nodded towards her. “You too.”

“Yeah, course. I’m just gonna try to take Dolohov down. I really don’t want him out and about again.”

The auror seemed to doubt his colleague’s decision for a second but was familiar with her family’s history with that particular death eater. “Fine, but be careful! I mean it, (y/n/n).” He looked straight into her eyes. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks!”

“Oh, you know me, Jacky. Careful planning, no risktaking.”

“Good. See you in the office tomorrow, then. Good luck.”

————————

(y/n) battled her way through a few death eaters and eventually found herself sneaking up on Dolohov.

“Expelliarmus.”

He turned around in surprise as his wand flew out of his hand.

“Incarcerus.”

Thick ropes bound the death eater, effectively preventing him from escaping. However, (y/n) was so focused on arresting the man who murdered two of her uncles that she completely missed someone approaching her from behind.

“Crucio”

She fell and dropped her wand as intense pain spread through her body. It was pain beyond anything she could ever have imagined. She unwillingly let out a scream as the pain intensified before suddenly lessening. Despite coughing and struggling, she tried to get back up on her feet but fell yet again as the same kind of agony, only a hundred times worse forced her to focus solely on not passing out.

“Well, well, well… We counted on a few random aurors to stand in our way, but who knew we’d stumble upon a blood traitor as well, huh?” The death eater, Augustus Rookwood, leant forward and spat on the ground, right by her face where she lay twitching in the mud. “How does it feel down there, Weasley? Feel at home?” He pulled (y/n) to her knees and Dolohov, who had managed to untangle himself from the rope, walked up to her and grabbed her face roughly. “Striking resemblance”, he whispered before letting her fall again. She fought to get up but failed due to the horrendous curse still causing her pain. Her eyes slowly closed as she passed out on the cold, hard ground.

————————

“Good morning, dears.”, said Molly, cheerfully entering the kitchen after having forced everybody to get up at first light. She had been under extreme stress lately but seemed to be in a much better mood today and the rest of the family knew why - (y/n) was coming home. Sure, that didn’t take away from the fact that the upcoming wedding meant a lot of hard work and careful planning, but having her oldest daughter home would at least help ease Mrs Weasley’s worry. “She’s not back yet, is she?”

“No, mum”, yawned Fred. “but-”

“She said she wouldn’t be back before lunch.”, finished George tiredly.

Their mother didn’t answer, but muttered something incoherent and went to prepare breakfast.

————————

Hours passed as the family worked to get everything ready, both for the wedding and for Harry’s birthday. Molly was so busy with preparations that she completely lost track of time, however, Fred & George started sharing worried glances around 10 am. Bill eventually noticed and had, a few hours later, become way too curious.

“Why do you two keep looking at the clock every other minute?”, he asked. “She said ‘lunch-time’, that could mean another 2-3 hours? Besides, it’s not like you to worry?”

“Well…it’s just…”

“Whenever (y/n/n) lets mum know when she thinks she’ll come home, she usually adds a few hours, sometimes an entire day.”

“That way, when she ends up being slightly late, mum doesn’t immediately lose it…”

“To be honest, we were kind of expecting her in time for breakfast, definitely before noon.”

Bill pulled his hand through his long hair (which he had not allowed his mother and her scissors to come close to) and glanced quickly out the window before looking back at his younger brothers. “Well, there’s not much we can do at the moment, is there? She’s smart and strong. Besides, it’s best not to get worried too easily, it’s probably just that dim-witted head of the department forcing her to work overtime.”

————————

(y/n) groaned loudly as she slowly pushed herself up. She felt dizzy, her entire body hurt and she had no idea where she was. Actually, scratch that last bit. Looking around, she realized she was in a field of some sort and could see burned parts of the now broken carriage they had used to transport the prisoners. Her hair was dripping wet due to the heavy rain and she was freezing. (y/n) struggled to stand and tried to determine roughly where they could have been when they were attacked. She knew that they had travelled northeast from London, towards Norwich, and that they probably hadn’t made it much further than Chelmsford. Her exact location didn’t really matter, though. It’s not like she could walk from London to Ottery St. Catchpole. That would take like two, maybe three, weeks in her current state - and that’s if she made it at all. No, she’d have to apparate, just not the entire distance in one go.

————————

“Bill, dear”, said Molly worriedly. “When did your sister say she’d be back from work?”

“I- I’m not sure”, Bill stuttered, as he sped down the stairs. “Around… dinnertime, I think?”

“What?”, asked Ron. “You said she said lunchtime!?”

Bill threw his head back and sighed as Fred kicked his younger brother under the table.

“Oh”, mumbled Ron, finally understanding. “Yeah, Bill’s right. She definitely said the evening.”

————————

But, dinnertime came and passed. Still no (y/n). When she still hadn't made it home a few days later, the Weasleys were forced to simply accept that something more serious had happened and just try to keep their hopes up. Molly, naturally, refused. Arthur had, while at work, done his very best to contact the other aurors that had been working that night, but unfortunately remained unsuccessful due to the now tense and strained situation at the ministry. Fleur had suggested delaying the wedding, but Bill insisted, claiming that this gave them even more of a reason to do it while they still had the chance. He could, however, barely stand the thought of not having one of his sisters there; it was difficult enough that Percy refused to come…

————————

She didn’t know how much time had passed, maybe a week, but eventually found herself slowly approaching her childhood home. After taking a few heavy steps, she stumbled slightly and would have tripped if not for two strong arms firmly grabbing her shoulders to keep her standing. She should probably be scared but somehow knew not to fight them.

“(y/n/n)!? Bloody hell, what in Merlin’s name happened to you?”

“Charlie?”, she gasped and grabbed her older brother’s coat as her legs suddenly gave out. “Is it really you?”

“Yeh, of course, it’s me.”, he put his sister’s arm over his shoulders. “(y/n/n), I literally just came home, where have you been? What happened? Who did this to you?”

“Work, attacked, Rookwood”

He looked her up and down with a pained expression on his face. “Okay, come on - let’s get indoors.”

They walked slowly, Charlie carefully making sure that (y/n) didn’t fall and simultaneously pepping her with questions. “How long have you been away? When were you supposed to get back to mum and dad’s?”

“Ehhh… I-I don’t know… A couple of days ago, maybe? It’s all kind of hazy right now, to be honest.”

“Holy Merlin… But wha-”

“Charlie, sorry”, she coughed slightly, “but would you mind if we wait? Mum and dad are going to want to hear everything and I don’t wanna have to relive it more times than needed…”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He knocked carefully on the door, and it was only a matter of seconds before Arthur slowly opened it. He had his wand in a tight grip and was about to have Charlie confirm his identity when he noticed the state of the person standing next to his son. Their father’s eyes widened in shock and he looked absolutely horrified.

“Molly! Bill!!”

(y/n) hadn’t heard such fear in her father’s voice since Ginny had been taken into the chamber of secrets four years earlier. He swallowed deeply. “Come in, quickly.”

Charlie put his sister on the sofa just as their mother, older brother and the twins came running down the stairs. They all grinned happily when they saw Charlie, but the smiles faded almost instantly.

“(y/n/n)?” George effortlessly jumped over an old armchair and kneeled by the couch. “Are you okay?” He removed some blood from her face using the sleeve of his jumper.

She smiled and nodded weakly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t” *cough* “don’t worry. What happened to your ear?”.

Bill and Charlie embraced each other quickly while Molly joined George on the floor. The two oldest brothers both glanced at their sister. She lay so incredibly still; completely motionless save for her steady breathing. Just as those thoughts crossed his mind, Charlie noticed something and was about to point it out when Bill beat him to it.

The oldest brother had walked over to join his family by the sofa and placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “(y/n/n)? You’re twitching.”

“I know.” She sighed deeply. “It’ll pass, though.

He looked deep into her eyes and fought to keep eye contact when he whispered, “was it-”

“Yes”, she answered honestly. “But, Bill, I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay. Besides, it was way worse a few days ago… Speaking of which, what day is it?”

“Wednesday”, said Molly bitterly, obviously understanding the meaning of the words just exchanged between her oldest son and daughter, but deciding not to push it further. “10 days. 10 days, (y/n/n). Not a word?”

“I’m sorry, mum. Truly.” She then explained everything, from the detailed plan to the overwhelming defeat. “Imagine if we had taken them down instead?” She put her head in her hands and sighed sadly. “Imagine how many people will die now, because we let them all go.”

“Sweetie”, sighed Arthur, taking her hands in his. ”You didn’t ‘let them go’. You did everything you could.”

She closed her eyes sadly. “Not enough, dad.”

“(y/n/n)”, said Bill seriously. “You can’t think like that. We’re at war, we can’t go in expecting to keep everybody safe. There will be casualties. Some of the death eaters didn’t make it either. Think instead of all the people who will survive the war now thanks to you.”

“Bill, I know for a fact that Rookwood and Dolohov got away. We’re all…”, she glanced carefully at her mother. “All aware that they won’t hesitate to kill. A-”

“It’s not like they’re invincible now?”, Fred interrupted. “(y/n/n), you’ll get another chance. Just rest now, please. You’ll be back in the field in no time, and it’ll be like this never happened.”

“Sure, bu-”

“No!”, said Molly with a firm tone. “No buts! Fred is right, you need to rest, dear.” She kissed her daughter on her forehead and left the room. The others took that as a sign and left the room with a quick ‘sleep tight’ or ‘g’night’.

(y/n) Weasley tried to listen to her family and put this minor setback behind her. She managed it for a while. At least until that fateful day of the final battle between good and bad. The day when the consequences of her failure became clear. The day her younger brother lost his life because of her.

~ L

Masterlist

Mischief Managed

“You know you don’t have to decide for me, right?”

“We just want you safe and sound, Y/N.” intervened George. “We know you can do this, but we would be worried and -”

“And you think I won’t be?” I interrupted him. Fred and George exchanged a look I couldn’t read, which annoyed me a bit more. They had always been like this, with this deep connexion I didn’t share with anyone. Don’t get me wrong; I was extremely close to them and we understood each other perfectly, but there was something unique between these two. “Practically all our family will be in danger, and you two will be out there without me and- and if anything happens, I don’t know what-”

“That’s exactly why you’re going to stay at home.” Fred put his hand on my shoulder. “If you’re not out there, nothing will happen to you and if, by the greatest of misfortunes, we die tragically, you’ll be there to carry our legacy. What do you think?” he added with a wink. 

“I think you’re a git. You’re both gits.” I mumbled before storming out. 

At this point, I knew arguing was useless: the plan was ready, and all of this was bigger than just my worries. But I just couldn’t picture myself waiting patiently on the couch while they were outside, threatened to be killed at every second, fearing the moment they would come back injured, and dreading the moment someone would tell me they were dead. I would have given anything to be able to go with them, even though risking my life to not fear for my family was selfish. 

I was downing the stairs as quietly as possible - even Filch hadn’t ever uttered insults as demeaning as the ones Sirius’ mother loved to throw to us - when shouts came to me. They seemed to come from a little room at the end of the corridor and I recognized Remus’ voice. I slowly approached the door. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, just to know if I could help, but what I heard made me stop. 

“You can’t go! I forbid you, you just can’t put yourself in danger!”

“But that’s my job, Remus!” It was Tonks, and her voice was high-pitched. I was sure her hair was currently bright red. “And the plan is ready, we can’t change it.”

“We can ask Y/N to take your place and-”

“And let her put herself in danger like this?” interrupted Tonks. “She’s too young!”

I groaned and decided to make my big entrance. 

“What’s happening?” I asked with my most innocent voice while opening the door. 

I met Remus’ eyes and mentally scolded myself. I used to reserve that voice for the professors when Fred, George and I were caught after a prank and I had forgotten for a second that Remus had heard it more than once. Now, he knew for sure I had heard everything. 

“Nothing!” replied quickly Tonks. “Nothing! Tell me Y/N, can you go and ask Molly if-”

“She’s pregnant.”

A long silence followed, during which Tonks was glaring at Remus who was looking at me with a determined look. And me, between the two, looking at them in turn with my mouth wide open, I was understanding why she couldn’t possibly participate in the mission. 

“Y/N, I’m begging you, you have to exchange places with her!” said Remus. 

“Of course.” I immediately agreed. “I’ll do it, yes, you can’t put your life and your baby’s in danger.” Another silence and I exclaimed. “I’ve almost forgotten! Congratulations!” 

But the couple didn’t seem in the mood of rejoicing and they were still tense. 

“Do you think Molly will agree?” finally asked Tonks.

“She won’t really have the choice.” I shrugged. 

“And Fred and George?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll understand.”

_ _ _

“Are you crazy? We told you no!”

How could I think they would be okay with that? 

I had joined Mum, Dad, Ginny, Fred and George in the kitchen. They were talking about how Aunt Muriel would be happy to see two members of the Order bursting in her place when I had innocently dropped the news. Ginny was glaring at me, Mum and Dad sharing worried glances, George rolling his eyes and Fred infuriated. 

“You do remember you have no right to forbid me anything, right?” I asked sarcastically. 

“She’s right, boys.” intervened Dad, which caused him to deal with some murderous looks. “She’s as adult as you both are.”

“Yes, I’m even older than you, George. Respect your elders.”

“Shut up, there’s only twenty minutes of difference between us!” replicated George. 

“That’s twenty minutes of constructive experiences more than you have.”

“Stop this!” interrupted Mum. “Stop now, or else I swear none of you will go out there. Y/N, whose place will you take?”

“And why?” added Fred. 

“Tonks is pregnant.”

Mum seemed torn between her concern for us and the happiness brought by the news of a baby’s arrival. 

“I understand…” muttered Dad. “That means you will protect someone else. Are you sure you will be okay? Maybe you can trade place with Fleur, I’m sure she will-”

“No, it’s okay! Bill wants to stay with her, I can’t separate them.”

Plus, I had understood during the meeting that Tonks would have been paired with Ron, and I was relieved to be able to stay with him. I knew my little brother had a true gift when it came to finding the problems, even more than Fred, George and I. And even though I loved all my siblings unconditionally, I had always had a soft spot for Ron. I was feeling like I had to be the one staying with him for this mission. 

“What’s happening here? I bet all London can feel the tension.”

Ron had opened the door but was staying on the doorstep, eyeing us all suspiciously. 

“Yes Y/N, what’s happening here?” asked Fred in a cranky way that was getting on my nerves. 

“Hope you still know how to fly on a broom, I won’t wait for you.” I winked and Ron smiled before frowning when George groaned. 

_ _ _ 

“Come on guys, you’re not going to ignore me forever!” I whined as Fred left the kitchen unceremoniously.

Mum shot a glance at me and turned her attention back to the pie she was baking. We were back at the Burrow and the house, even though it wasn’t particularly emptier than usual, was more silent. Something like a heavy tension seemed to be stifling all the sounds, and it made it even more obvious that my brothers were mad at me. If George was just a bit more withdrawn when he was in the same room as me, it was a whole other story with Fred. It’s not like I didn’t know he would be the worst about it because let’s be honest, I knew he was the most impulsive. But not speaking to me in three days? It was childish and definitely hurtful. 

“You know he’s just worried, right?”

George’s voice made me jump and I looked up. His back was resting against the back door. He was just standing there, his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes soft. 

“All I know is that he’s being a prat.” I muttered. 

Of course I knew he was worried, not only about me but also about the rest of our family. I knew this little voice he had probably in his head, the one that said There’s no way everyone is going to come back alive.

“And you’re being a prat too, Georgie.”

“Shut up.”

“You, shut up.”

George rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even tolerate you.” he said while patting my shoulder as he walked past me. 

“Because you love me?”

“Obviously.”

“George?”

He stopped and looked back at me, his eyes a bit darker than usual. 

“I know,” he sighed heavily and grabbed a chair to sit next to me. 

For a minute or two, we watched silently as Mum was walking everywhere in the kitchen, grabbing things and putting them elsewhere, cleaning a corner of the table and placing an apple back on the basket. She eventually left the kitchen to go I didn’t know where, clearly disappointed as we hadn’t said anything else yet. 

“I’m as scared as you are, Y/N.” murmured George. “And so is Fred. You know how he is,” he added with a humourless chuckle. 

“Of course I know. George, we’ll be six out there, there’s no way-”

“Talking about our bright future without me? I’m hurt.”

Fred grabbed a third chair and pushed his way between George and I, the beginning of a smile on his lips. 

“Oh, so you suddenly remembered I’m your sister?”

“Yeah but unfortunately I haven’t forgotten how stubborn and annoying you can be.”

“That’s one of the nicest things you’ve told me these days. Oh wait- that’s the only thing you told me!”

George was watching out bickerings with a smirk. 

“Sometimes I wonder who is really the youngest,” he stated. 

The effect was immediate. Fred and I shared a glance before defending with an all renewed vigour our oldest-ness, and we kept screaming until George’s chuckles made us stop. 

“Here, I was beginning to think I would have to get Mum involved to get you two to talk again!”

“Same for me!”

Mum entered the kitchen again, a small smile on her lips. She made her way toward her, caressing my cheek and ruffling the boys’ hair before sitting in front of us. Any trace of joy had left her face; at this moment, the realization that she had never looked older hit me, hard. 

“I know we’ll all be worried to death tomorrow,” she began, and her lower lip trembled, making her stop a second. “I know it, but I also know how you three will be. I just wanted to remind you that no matter how hard it’ll be, you’ll need to focus on getting home safe and sound. Okay?”

“Come on Mum, you know we’re always focused!”

_ _ _ 

“Y/N, you need to focus!”

Ron’s voice arrived in my ears like a distant echo, but the urgency in his tone made me look away from the spot in the sky where the green light had just disappeared. I didn’t know who it was, but my mind couldn’t stop imagining the worse even though I didn’t even know what exactly the worse would be. Fred, George, Dad, Bill, my heart was aching at the very thought of one of them even slightly hurt. 

“Y/N!”

My instinct reacted for me, and my broom swerved violently to dodge the curse. Ron came closer to me and accelerated, making me understand I had to follow him. 

“Ron!”

For a split second, I thought that he had been hit and was going to fall off his broom, but it was knowing very little about my little brother. Not only did he dodge and regain his balance, but also stupefied the Death Eater, the spell hitting him right between the eyes. I didn’t have enough time to say anything though, because an intense sensation of heat enveloped me. With horror, I realized my broom was burning, and the responsible was just behind us with four of his friends. 

“Ron, leave!”

I barely registered him shaking his head and extending an arm toward me. 

“Y/N, take my hand!”

I couldn’t though, because I was falling, fast. The sound of my scream was getting lost in the deafening noise of the wind in my ears. The floor was getting closer and closer, and my thoughts got confused, becoming nothing more than an ocean of regrets, the biggest of them being failing my brothers, my family. I wouldn’t get Ron home, I wouldn’t get to see Fred and George again, and Bill’s wedding, I wouldn’t be able to hug my parents and Ginny, to reconcile with Percy and to hear Charlie’s stories. 

The vague thought that I still had a few seconds to live crossed my mind, and then I closed my eyes. 

_ _ _ 

It wasn’t the soreness of my body that woke me up, or the flow of thoughts that was crossing my mind, but Ron’s rambling. 

“Bloody hell,” he said, “what’s wrong with this family? No one is able to stay safe, crazy that we’re even still alive. ‘Ron, leave’? Seriously, Y/N? Come on I’m not a coward and certainly not a quitter, I thought you knew me better than that. You’re getting heavy though, I would love it if you-”

“That was mean.” I murmured.

All absorbed by his thoughts, Ron realized two seconds later I had spoken up and almost dropped me. 

“Y/N! Glad to hear your voice! You scared me to death earlier, I barely caught you before it was too late but I broke my broom. That’s why,” he stopped before letting go of me and wrapping an arm around my waist as I faltered, “we’re walking to Muriel’s. I think we’re almost there- here, isn’t it this awful tea room she loves?”

“You mean the one George almost set on fire when we were four? You’re right, it’s just here.”

_ _ _

Saying that Muriel wasn’t pleased with us being late would be a massive understatement. The portkey disappeared just before our eyes, meaning that we would have to take another broom, and it obviously wasn’t going to happen without us receiving “the lecture Molly and Arthur should have given to all of you when still in the crib”. If usually it was hard to listen to Muriel rambling about our lack of education, at the moment it was definitely the most infuriating thing I had ever experienced. It was getting more and more on my nerves, and I would have exploded if Ron hadn’t decided he had had enough. 

“Listen Aunt Muriel, we’ll finish this great conversation at the wedding okay? We have to go back home. Bye!” he added with a loud voice to cover Muriel’s protests. 

We got out and snuck into one of the neighbour’s garden to grab a broom. It was old and not very well maintained - which made Ron groan, how could someone with a Firebolt leave it in the garden all night long? - and eventually flew back home. 

I heard Ron mumbling something but the wind didn’t bring his voice to my ears, only vague sounds. I was behind him, tightening his waist as hard as I could as I didn’t trust my arms. They were shaking, as were my legs and pretty much all the rest of my body. I was trying to convince myself that it was because of my fall, but vicious images of Fred or George or anyone in my family being hurt kept creeping in my mind. It was a huge relief that the Burrow appeared in my sight, and as soon as our feet hit the ground, Ron let go of the broom to join Harry and Hermione, who were waiting in the garden, and I rushed to the door, oblivious to the voices calling for me. 

I had never actually felt my heart stopping beating. Sometimes, it was very close calls, like the day McGonagall had told us Ginny had disappeared in the Chamber of Secrets, but the second I registered the dried blood and the hole…

“George!”

My voice was high pitched, my sight blurry and my legs trembling, and I didn’t even hear what was said after my entrance. In a breath, I had crossed the living-room and I was now hugging George as tight as I could. My arms didn’t stop moving, trying to get a better hold on his body to make sure he wouldn’t leave and get himself in danger more than he had already. 

“George… Georgie you- you-”

“I’m okay Y/N, don’t worry. Don’t worry.” he added softly. 

I looked up, not even realizing I was crying. Once I was sure George wouldn’t magically disappear in the next seconds, I let go of him to engulf Fred in an equally tight hug. His arms wrapped strongly around me, and after a few seconds I grabbed George’s sleeve and pulled him toward us. 

I didn’t know if the living room had become silent or if I just wasn’t paying attention to anything that wasn’t Fred and George's breath. I could have stayed like that for years, making sure they were alive, they were okay and here with me, but they obviously decided otherwise. Fred pushed me gently backwards, and my eyes fell on him after having watched worriedly George’s weak movement to lie back on the couch. 

“Where the hell were you? What happened to Ron and you? Y/N, do you even have an idea on how worried we were?” 

“I- we were followed and- Ron, he saved my life. I was falling and-”

“Falling?” 

Fred’s horrified look only left his face when Ron finally entered the living-room, followed by Harry, Hermione and Bill and Fleur, who had just arrived. I jumped on my feet and rushed to Bill and Ron, hugging them both tightly before being pulled out of the embrace by Mum, and then it became a blur because of all the hugs that succeeded one another. 

Such sentimentalism was rare in our family, and it was in time like these that I regretted it the most. 

_ _ _ 

Everyone had gone to bed for a while. Fred and I were sitting on the floor next to the couch, keeping an eye on George who was sleeping soundly. His pain had only seemed to fade away when he had closed his eyes, and he had gotten two hours of sleep so far.

“You should sleep,” I murmured when Fred yawned extensively. 

“If you don’t sleep, I don’t sleep either.” 

“And I’m the stubborn one?”

Fred chuckled. 

“Guess that’s something we share.”

A moment of silence followed, the both of us watching George stirring weakly. 

“I couldn’t believe my eyes…” whispered Fred. “When I saw him I just- I didn’t even freak out, it was so much more than that. So much worse.”

“It felt like I just died on the spot.” I added on the same tone, my voice so low George probably wouldn’t have heard it if he had been awake. “I’ve never felt that before and I- I would give everything to never feel it again.”

“I’ve never seen Dad like that before. It scared me, Y/N. I thought ‘If Dad loses his calm like that- it’s not good, right?’”

Fred wiped a tear from his cheeks and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. 

“And then you weren’t coming back. For a second, I thought the both of you had left me and-”

“It’ll never happen Fred.” I interrupted him, my voice not really steadier than his. “Never. It’s the three of us, there’s no other way. Believe it or not, but you’re quite good to be around.”

“I’m flattered, Y/N.” Here it was, this smirk I liked to see, the one he, George and I used to have almost daily. “I could say the same for you, actually.”

“You know what? I think I’ll sleep. You should too, Freddie.”

“I will. Good night, insufferable little sister.”

“Barely little sister.” I mumbled before closing my eyes, comfortably snuggled against Fred, just next to George, in the warmth of our childhood home.