#fred weasley

[jupitereleven]

my “twins weasley phase” wasn’t just a phase.

[somewherewithouttaxes]

JKR made him a siblingless orphan because she knew how powerful he would be as an Annoying Younger Brother.

lingering perfume - fred weasley, potter!reader

summary: harry has warned you that if you don't stop stealing his sweaters, he'll tell your parents about your boyfriend. but your parents are very much aware of your relationship, so harry goes one step further. wc: 1k+ cw: discussions of sex

Harry lifted his hoodie up, about to snake his arms into the sleeves when he noticed a familiar scent clinging onto it. He froze, pausing his movements for a moment to sniff the air around him. Harry groaned, lifting the hoodie up and inhaling into the fabric of the sweater before huffing in frustration.

He had countlessly told you not to wear his jumpers because your perfumed scent clung to the material causing his friends to tease him about having a girlfriend. The conversation was always the same: Harry would tell them it was his sister who stole it and they would all begin talking about how hot they thought you were.

You could borrow the jumpers he wore to bed, he elaborated, but not his outside jumpers. You had nodded, unconvinced as you continued painting your nails, the awful smell of chemicals filing your room. “Stop taking my stuff or I’ll tell mum and dad about your boyfriend!” He had huffed, stomping his foot angrily on the floor like a toddler. Laughing mockingly, you raised your eyebrows, mumbling “Yeah, go ahead.”

Harry knew you played the nonchalant role well, but when it would come to it, you would panic. The teenager rushed over to his closet, pulling out another jumper and shoving his nose into the fabric, yelling out a frustrated yell as he recognised the floral scent of your perfume.

Your brother stomped down the stairs furiously, his eyebrows furrowing in anger as he spotted you leaning into your mother’s side, looking through the newest edition of the quibbler with her as your father spoke animatedly to Sirius, sat on his left. All eyes were instantly drawn to Harry’s figure, waving a jumper in the air as he screamed “Y/n has a boyfriend!”

It was silent in the living room as Harry revealed the news, and Remus froze in the doorway from where he’d been entering the room. Lily shot you an amused glance from the corner of her eye and you shrugged. Harry, seemingly unpleased with the lack of reaction, pursed his lips before adding “And they have sex!”

Your eyebrows shot up at his audacity, and you chuckled quietly before turning to look at your parents. James decided it was an appropriate time to speak. “Yeah, love, we know.” Harry spluttered at the discovery, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. So you weren't playing a nonchalant role at all.

Not only did your parents know, but after you had lost your virginity to your boyfriend, you had panicked so hard because your period had been three weeks late that you trudged home on a Hogsmeade weekend to alert your mother.

Tears were rimming your eyes, and you slammed the front door open, immediately following the attentive call from your mum. “Hello?” Her voice had echoed in the house, leading you towards the kitchen. She wasn’t alone. Uncle Remus was there too, and they were clearly having a gossip session, when they suddenly stopped at the terrified look on your face.

“I lost my virginity and now my period is like so so late!” You sobbed, tears fully streaming down your face now. Lily didn’t bother asking how you got home, or scolding you that your clothes were not fit for the chilly weather outside. No, she came closer to you and wrapped you tightly in her loving arms. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s normal for your cycle to change after having sex for the first time.”

Whilst you interacted with your mother, sniffling softly and looking up at her with hopeful eyes, Remus put on the kettle to make you a cup of tea. After the initial panic passed, a smirk made its way onto both your mother and godfather’s faces, and your eyes widened, immediately knowing an interrogation would begin.

It wasn’t as bad as Angelina’s questions had been, but it was embarrassing nonetheless, with Remus ensuring that you had lost your virginity to Fred Weasley, your boyfriend, rather than a random boy. But when your mother’s question of “Did you enjoy it?” arrived, you instantly jolted up, looking around and stuttering as you made up an excuse to leave. “I have to go back to Hogwarts! It’s getting late.” But the two adults were well aware that it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

Obviously, the news travelled to your dad and his best friend at dinner, and James had been empathetic of his daughter, still his young princess, while Sirius externally panicked about you having sex.

His reaction had been similar to Harry’s, who threw a proper fit, and didn't speak to the Weasley for two weeks, opting to glare instead.

“Really?” Harry now insisted. Your mother hummed, and Remus reinforced it when he walked into the room by nodding along to what they were saying. “Yeah, honey, we’ve met him.” You giggled ecstatically at the look on Harry’s face, sticking up a middle finger at him. He groaned, flailing his arms around. “Just- stop stealing my jumpers!”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. Fred lent me one of his jumpers to wear over the break.” You grinned widely at the sea of red climbing up Harry’s neck, and revelled in the way Sirius chuckled at your brother’s misery.

Harry huffed, storming back up the stairs, and just to piss him off a single bit more, you yelled after him “How’s Cho, by the way?”

The only response you got was a door slamming shut.

A few long seconds passed before the door squeaked open again and you raised your eyebrows slowly, waiting to see what Harry would say. He tip toed down the stairs again, not even waiting for the eyes to return to him before he announced “I overheard her telling Angelina that he bent her in ways she didn’t know she could be bent.”

It seemed that had earned Harry the reaction he desired, everyone in the room gasping at the newly disclosed information. You didn’t dare to look at your dad, not in these circumstances, let alone any of the other adults in the room. Instead, you sprung off the couch to chase Harry back up the stairs, yelling threats at him. You wrestled against the door that Harry was trying to shut in your face, only freezing when a cackle was suddenly heard from the floor below.

Unmistakably, it was Sirius’s loud laugh. Harry took the opportunity to slam the door closed, and you huffed, returning to the stairs.

Halfway down, you froze, shaking your head, and turned around, ready to hide in your bedroom until you died.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter, @matcha-kitty13

[mssorceressupreme]

Hate and Love | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel.

Warnings/content: minors DNI 18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine (if u squint), raw penetration (wrap it plz), cumming inside, orgasm denial, fluffy ending, fighting death eaters, dom!fred, sub!reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

———

You stood near the wall, arms crossed, in the house of number four Privet Drive, the place where it all began for one of your closest friends, Harry Potter. The group of you were gathered in the empty living room, discussing the highly dangerous plan of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow.

Beside you stood the twins, listening intently as Mad-Eye Moody instructed orders.

Seven of them had just taken polyjuice potion, resulting in seven 'Harry's', all in accordance with Moody's plan.

“Right then, we’ll be pairing off. Each ‘Potter’ will have a protector and to make it simpler for you, I'll choose the pairs.” His mismatched eyes scanned the group, assigning pairs, and an aggravating pit settled in your stomach once Moody called out your name, “Y/N, you're with Fred.”

Your head snapped toward Fred, who groaned audibly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered, but George nudged him softly, urging him to be tolerable while they changed out of their regular clothes.

“Yeah yeah, happy to be paired up with you too.” you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in your tone apparent.

Fred and you had never gotten along. Since your days at Hogwarts, the two of you had been like oil and water—always at odds. He thought you were too uptight, too rule-abiding, while you found him utterly insufferable, reckless, and far too smug for his own good.

But for Harry, you’d endure today. He'd done a great deal to help you throughout your years at Hogwarts, so it was only fair of you to return the favour.

“Head for the Burrows, we’ll rendezvous there!” Moody finished. The room stirred with movement as everyone prepared for what was to come.

Outside, the night air was cool as you mounted Fred’s broom behind him. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, hit your nose, and you hated that you thought it smelled decent, inhaling a bit more. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist, well, 'Harry's' waist.

Fred stiffened slightly at your touch, “Don’t get too comfortable back there.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.”

Before you could snap back another remark, he kicked off into the sky, soaring above London, splitting up from the others.

Everything was eerily silent for a few moments. The flight seemed too smooth for your liking. You kept an alert eye, constantly scanning your surroundings.

You caught a shadow in the corner of your eye, and you whipped your head around, squinting your eyes at the figure in the dark.

"What the..." You muttered.

"Fred go faster...." You ordered, losing sight of the shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come fly the broom then." He retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Fred! I"m serious!" You yelled, gripping his waist tighter, as he exhaled before picking up the pace.

"In case you forgot, I need to be able to breathe to fly this thing properly." He grunted as you practically squeezed every breath out of him.

"Right, sorry," You loosened your grip ever so slightly, "...it's just, I swear I saw something."

You turned around again, catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure. The shadow was no longer a mystery figure but a person, or, three people rather.

Death Eaters.

"Oh shit! Fred! They're here!" You took your wand out and began fighting with them.

Spells shot through the night, streaks of green and blue illuminating the sky like a twisted fireworks display. The death eaters had appeared out of nowhere, zooming in, attacking viciously as they trailed behind you on their brooms.

“They’re following us!” you shouted over the wind, turning back around to gauge Fred.

“Oh, really? Thought we were just out for a lovely evening flight,” he shot back sarcastically, dodging a hex just in time.

You rolled your eyes but focused on firing spells behind you, hitting one death eater square in the chest and sending him spiralling downward.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, casting the second death eater off his broom. Two down, one to go.

Just as you felt a moment of victory, another spell whizzed past, striking the broom.

The wood splintered with a sickening crack. "Uhh, Fred?" You called out, glancing at the broom.

“Hold on—” Fred barely got the words out before the broom snapped completely, and the two of you plummeted toward the Thames River.

You hit the water hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you. You kicked frantically, breaking the surface and gasping for air. The coolness of the water had your body in shock, shivering as you forced yourself to stay afloat.

Fred emerged a second later, coughing.

Glancing above, you saw the third death eater laughing maliciously as he flew off, leaving you and Fred. He must've figured it wasn't the real Harry, given that you called him 'Fred'.

“Great! Look what you’ve done!” you accused, treading water furiously.

“What I’ve done?! That was you—you were supposed to be fighting them off!” he retorted, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He had transformed back into his original self, the fiery redhead Fred you knew.

You groaned, swimming toward the embankment where a set of stone stairs led to dry land. Your fingers were frozen as you pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the pavement. Fred followed, shaking out his drenched hair like a dog.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” you muttered, clutching one-half of the broken broom while he had the other. “Now how are we supposed to get to the others?”

Fred sighed, pushing his hair back. “Let’s just go somewhere dry first.”

You nodded begrudgingly, too cold and exhausted to argue.

When you emerged from the river, it was given that pedestrians would stare at the two of you strangely. Swimming in the Thames River wasn't exactly the most normal thing to do, let alone at this hour.

Though, in this particular instance, more of them were starring at you, rather than Fred.

Fred cleared his throat, eyes darting down to your chest then back up before averting his eyes immediately.

You furrowed your brows, glancing down, only to remember that you were wearing a white shirt along with the worst possible undergarment to pair with it, a black bra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as you covered your chest, "Let's just go..."

Fred shook his head, taking off the grey jacket he wore and putting it over you, "Here."

Though still wet, it offered the coverage you much needed and you were entirely grateful. "Thanks." You muttered softly, as you two began walking.

"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around flashing the whole of London."

The two of you walked in silence as you tried to figure out a way to get to the others. “We can apparate—” he started.

“Absolutely not. There are muggles everywhere,” you snapped, nodding to the late-night pedestrians strolling along the streets.

Fred scoffed, shooting you an eye-roll. “Alright, Professor McGonagall.”

You ignored him, scanning the area. A small, dingy-looking hotel caught your eye. Without another word, you trudged toward it, Fred trailing behind. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman in her mid 40s, barely glanced up as you approached the desk.

The hotel looked cheap enough for an overnight stay. All you needed to do was clear your mind and get a good night's rest before figuring things out in the morning; yes, that sounded ideal to you right this moment.

“Two rooms, please,” you said firmly.

She tapped at the keyboard, chewing on some gum as she did so. “We’re fully booked.”

Your heart sank. “What about one room? With two beds?”

"Sorry, we're full." She continued typing, then clicking on the mouse as she looked around the screen, "It's peak season honey, we're always maxed out."

"Please you've got to have at least one room, with two beds, anything?" You pleaded, desperate for whatever you could acquire.

"We'll take whatever we can get, you've got to have something." Fred added, backing you up as he stood closer to you.

She checked again, then looked at you, eyes lighting up. “Ah, it seems that we do have one left with two beds, but the heating is broken, that's why we didn't offer it to customers. Actually, I was supposed to call the maintenance guy, but he's my ex, you see, so it's a bit of a rough story. I always thought he loved me, you know, how could someone not, I mean look at me? I'm gorgeous. He was supposed to come by today but we—”

"We'll take it!" Fred interjected swiftly, clearly exhausted. "Thank you."

Relief flooded you as you he paid with muggle money. You were surprised he even had some on hand, but after all, he was a businessman.

"Interesting, all this muggle stuff eh?" Fred mused, as you both entered the lift, his eyes darting around as he observed his surroundings.

"I suppose so, yeah. I guess I was lucky enough to be born a half-blood, you get the best of both worlds." You shrugged, as though hotels and 'muggle elevators' were the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright then, you lead the way, Ms expert." He mocked, gesturing for you to lead the way once the doors opened.

You scoff softly, marching down the hallway before finding your room number. Fred reaches seconds after you, looping his arm around your body to swipe the keycard.

He placed an arm on the door to open it, letting you in first before closing it after he entered.

But the moment you entered the room, your jaw dropped.

One bed.

“What? She said there were two beds.” You blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

“She must’ve meant the couch,” Fred said, nodding toward the small, lumpy-looking couch a few inches beside the bed, by the window.

You swallowed, “Right, well, who's sleeping where?” Honestly, at this point, you didn't even mind taking the couch, as long as you could get some rest.

Fred's eyes darted from the bed to the couch, exhaling exasperatedly before finally looking at you, "I'll take the couch."

"I didn't know Fred Weasley had manners?" You gasped, faking your amusement.

He shot you a glare, grabbing a towel as he did so, "Could you be any more aggravating?"

You tried to think of a witty comeback, something, anything to get a reaction out of him. But alas, you were lost for words. He did have a point though.

Come to think about it, you realised that you might've only been behaving this way because you were not used to him being so much of a...gentleman. This was foreign to you.

"I'll have the first shower." He shifts past you, nudging your shoulder, which sends heat through your bodies temporarily.

“Be my guest.”

You hear the lock shut, and seconds later, the water starts running.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in your surroundings. This was no five-star hotel, but it was presentable and decent enough for an overnight stay. The walls are dark grey, with ambient lighting all around the room. Navy blue sheets grace the double bed, with a soft brown leather footer in contrast. There is a tea tray and a kettle, on top of the dark brown desk that sat in the corner of the room.

Minutes later, the door clicks and unlocks.

Fred steps out, a white towel hanging around his waist. His hair is wet, and his body glistening with water droplets. Your eyes couldn't help but drift down, his body was incredible defined, a stark contrast to your school days when he was merely a boy, now, he was a man.

Oh, he definitely works out. You noticed his arms, much larger and buffer than they used to be.

"All yours." He jerked his chin to the bathroom.

You gulped, brushing past him before hurriedly entering the bathroom and locking the door.

Wow, since when did Fred Weasley get so, attractive?

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the cold. You stood under the steamy shower for a couple of minutes, taking in as much warmth as you could.

With no new clothes to change into, you wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, sighing in frustration. It appears there was only a kids sized one left, and you had no choice but to wear it. Whatever, it’ll do the job for tonight.

You hung your wet clothes on one of the bathroom racks, and you saw that Fred did the same, you placed your clothes beside his.

You were humming to yourself when you stepped out, relieved to be in some dry clothes, dancing a little as you strolled to the bed.

When he heard you walking, Fred glanced up, something flickering in his expression, though you're not quite sure what.

“That bathrobe is way too small for you." He remarks, laying with his legs out on the couch, two arms behind his head as he rests.

"What was I supposed to do, wear my wet clothes to sleep?" You respond as you hop into bed, tugging the covers and snuggling in.

"It could be an enlightening experience." He hummed, as he shut his eyes, adjusting himself on the couch.

"You try it then." You counter, scoffing at his idiocy.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are dim. Silence fills the room as you both unwind for the evening. Before you shut the lights from the switch beside your bed, you call out, "I'm going to off the lights now, need anything before I turn them off?"

"Yeah actually..." He perks his head up, turning to face you.

"What?" You ask, listening keenly.

"For you to be quiet." A small smile played on his lips as he laid back down.

You rolled your eyes, before hitting the lights.

"Good night." He cooed.

You lay there, tossing and turning, but you couldn't seem to fall asleep for the life of you. It didn't help that the room was so cold, due to the heater being unfixed.

Minutes passed in silence before you turned your head slightly. Fred was stretched out on the tiny couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the armrest.

It was evident that he was way too tall to fit on all that, he did not look the slightest bit comfortable.

“See something you like?” Fred smirked, feeling your stare though his eyes were shut.

“What? No! I was just—”

“Just what? Admiring this handsome face?”

"Honestly Fred, how conceited are you?" You sat up now, shooting daggers at him. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in fact, handsome. Annoyingly so.

Truth be told, had he not been so irritating, you might've actually considered dating him.

You loved the Weasleys, Ginny was like a sister to you, Ron, your close friend, George, always on the lookout for you. He even took you down to Hogsmeade for a meal and bought you treats when you cried over one of the Slytherin boys rejecting you back in your fourth year.

But Fred, oh Fred, you could never see eye to eye with him. You only ever tolerated him because his family was so warm and welcoming.

A tiny part of you felt guilty that he was forced onto the couch, despite being the one that paid for the room.

You wanted to offer the place beside you to him, seeing that the bed was larger than anticipated once you were actually tucked in.

"Well you are staring, something you need?" He countered, his eyes are still shut, arms still behind his head.

"Well, I was thinking...." You hesitated, "well, you could sleep on the bed. It's actually more spacious than I thought."

His brows shot up, and he opened his eyes, turning to face you. “In the bed? With you?”

“Don’t make it weird, Fred,” you huffed. “The couch looks uncomfortable.”

"Are you, being nice to me?" He teased, the urge to take back your offer growing stronger.

"Don't make me change my mind, Weasley."

After a beat, he groaned. “Fine. But don’t hog the covers.”

"Please I sleep like a log, it's not like I'm going to cuddle you or anything."

"Cuddle me eh?" He mused.

"Not bloody likely, besides you're too annoying to be my type." You retort.

Fred stood up, walking to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you, and the bed suddenly felt too small. You kept your back to him, but quickly got up and put one of the spare pillows between you.

"See this line? Don't cross it and you're good." You commanded, and he chuckled lightly,

"Alright alright." He raised in hands.

You turned away from him, back to him as you attempted to fall asleep. You hadn't realised how far you were from him, you were practically tipping over the edge of the bed.

You scooted inside a little, bumping into the pillow wall you put.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, you sighed in defeat. The room was cold, and the blankets were not much help.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were the only one awake. You extended your arm behind you, trying to find the pillow 'wall' you had put up. But with all the tossing and turning from the two of you, the pillow must've slipped out of place and down the lower half of the bed somewhere.

As you extended your arm behind you, you accidentally came into contact with Fred's back, and he shifted slightly before turning to face you instead.

It's dark, almost pitch black, but with the small glimmer of light, you can see that his eyes are shut. Curious you called out, "Fred?" you whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now, no thanks to you." He fluttered his eyes open, facing you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Don't be." He sighed, "Couldn't sleep a wink either. This room is bloody cold."

"The blankets aren't doing anything." You exhaled, agreeing, before an idea popped into you head.

"This might sound silly, but, if we revert back to old fashioned methods, we could, um��actually it's stupid, nevermind." You began, but quickly dismissed it.

"Go on, I'd like to hear what genius solution you've come up with."

"It's dumb, I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." He replied.

You hesitated again before suggesting, “We could—uh—use body heat.”

He stared at you momentarily, it looked as though he thought about it, considering it before responding, “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, whatever, I just thought it was a feasible option. These robes aren't exactly pyjama material either." You say, trying to tighten your robes, with the hopes of warming up your body.

You both fell into silence again your back facing him once more, before Fred spoke up, "Come here."

"What?" You turned around.

"I suppose, we could try the body heat thing."

"Oh so now you want to try my idea?" You raise your brow, scoffing as you shift over slowly, and he extended his arm, pulling you in.

"Don't get any ideas, I just need to sleep and call it a day." You firmly spoke, pressing your back to him, as he faced you. You felt his heat, no doubt, it was working, and you were starting to warm up. In all the places apparently, your cheeks, and an area of yours down there. Your heart pounded as his hand rested against your back, his breath tickling your ear.

"Let's do shoulder-to-shoulder." You suggested, trying to hide your flustered-ness.

He didn't argue, respecting your decision. The two of you lay there, facing the ceiling as your shoulders touched. Though not as warm as before, it was still warmer at least.

You turned your head, Fred's face illuminated by the dim light coming through from the curtains, his jawline ever so chiselled. Merlin, he was undoubtedly a handsome chap. You shut your eyes, trying, yet again to enter a slumber.

As you laid there, eyes shut, Fred opened his, gauging you. He smiled softly as he took in your features, rolling his eyes fondly as he saw you breathing slowly.

You swore you were about to cast some sort of sleeping spell, because you still could not fall asleep for the life of you. You keep moving, accidentally brushing against Fred's body countless times but you couldn't help it, you needed to find a comfortable position.

You move your arm around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position for yourself until you accidentally graze something, unexpected.

You freeze.

Did you actually just graze that?

Was he....?

You slowly turned to face him, your body merely an inch away from his. You see him shut his eyes, heavily breathing, his Adam's apple bopping up and down from swallowing hard.

"Would you quit moving so much?" He whispered, trying to contain himself.

"I....Fred, I didn't mean to." You pause. "You're still awake?"

"10 points to Y/H (your house), captain obvious."

You furrow your brows, turning on the bedside lamp which offered the tiniest bit of ambient light in the dark room.

Your gaze flickered down, and well, you saw, a little friend poking up from the sheets beneath him.

"Is that, because of m—" You swallowed not daring to finish the sentence, looking at his hard on. "I'm sorry shouldn't have moved so much."

"Alright, it's okay, it's not a big deal, so what it's normal right. I didn't mean to accidentally keep grazing or grinding on you, I was merely trying to find a comfortable position. Listen, I'm not weirded out or anything, you can go sort it out. Who am I to judge? This time tomorrow we'll all be at the burrow and I'll be sharing a room with Ginny and 'Mione, so it's fine, we can—" You began ranting out of nervousness, but Fred had enough, opening his eyes to sit up with you,

"Merlin, Y/N. Ranting like you're so innocent, moving around like that? On me?" He leans in closer, growling, "I bet you'd really want to know what got me provoked in the first place, yeah?"

You gulped, inspecting his features as he leaned in closer to you, now an inch apart, "You aggravate me, pushing my damn buttons all the bloody time. Maybe if you weren't such a whiny brat complaining about everything, I would've fucked you an hour ago till you were silenced.” He ranted before continuing,

“You want to know what got me so hard? You waltzing around in those darn bathrobes that are far too small, exposing every inch of your body, your cleavage is practically begging to be seen. I can't keep my fucking eyes off you. Ever since Hogwarts, it was always you, grating on my last nerves. I thought I hated you so, until I realised that there was a fine line between hate and attraction."

"Fred..." your eyelids flutter; how did his voice get so low and sensual? You could feel yourself throbbing, growing wetter by the minute, and you found yourself growing more needy for him.

"Bloody hell Y/N, you've got me wrapped around the irritating finger of yours."

"Just shut up and kiss me Fred." You breathlessly whisper, not realising that you'd been holding your breath the entire time.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, he wasted no time pouncing on you. His hand is behind your neck and he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering on top of you.

Fred's lips meet yours furiously, desperately, never in your life has someone kissed you this passionately before. You open your mouth, and he slides his tongue in, a desirous clash of tongues. He savours every inch of your mouth and it makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to do this for.

"May I?" He asks for permission as he tugs at the belt of your bathrobe.

You nod, too breathless to speak as you gaze up at him. Fred undoes your robes, leaving you clothe-less on the bed. He does the same, kneeling between your legs which are spread open and on either side of his waist. You subconsciously give him doe-eyes as he does so, merlin, he looked so deliciously attractive.

"So fucking beautiful, all this hidden from me all these years?" He leans down and gently kisses your neck while gripping your waist, sucking on a sensitive spot which earns a moan from you.

"Going to leave hickey's on you so everyone knows you're mine gorgeous."

"Who said I was yours?" Every so daring you retort, though you lacked conviction.

He chuckled lowly before sucking on another sensitive spot, leaving a reddish mark on you, "Fred..." you moan again. His kisses grow more wet and fervent as he plants kisses trailing down your body. His hands move from your waist to your breasts, massaging them gently as he continues further down your body.

You're barely able to control the obscene moans slipping from your mouth, any attempts at suppressing them growing more difficult by the second. You didn't even care that people around you might hear.

"You're soaking wet, and yet you say you're not mine." Fred cooed, his eyes glued to your heat, coated with glistening wetness.

You revel in the fact that he can barely take his eyes off you, you glance at him, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust. Once he catches sight of your lustful eyes, desperate for him, he can't tear his gaze away from you. He slowly leans down, sensually licking your coated slick.

Your sensitive cunt throbs even harder upon the contact from his tongue, "Fred please..." You whine, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He traces the shape of your vulva, pressing kitten licks on your needy clit, causing your legs to clamp around his head. He doesn't break eye-contact, as he continues to work his mouth around your core.

He continues sucking your clit, his tongue working his way on your swollen pearl.

You tangle your hands in his head, tugging lightly. Your body can't help but arch into his face due to the overwhelming pleasure, as he continues indulging in your cunt. "Merlin Fred!" You cry out as he suckles on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You taste so damn good love, so sweet unlike that bitter mouth, hm?"

"I'm yours Fred....all yours..." You whimper, succumbing to his words.

"Say that again." His voice low, commanding, you could feel the heat from his mouth near your throbbing cunt.

"I'm yours, Fred." You moan, as he continues straight into your core.

The feeling is heavenly, both hands tangled in his red locks as he gives you the most pleasant head you've ever felt in your life. Once he stops assaulting your clit, he lifts his head and faces you, his eyes smiling up at you, as though you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Oh, you're so close, tilting over the edge of something mind-blowing. He leans down and gives your clit a few more kitten licks, planting soft kisses before pulling away, just as you were about to cum.

"Don't stop," you whimper, "I was so close...."

"Fred?" You plead, again, but he sits up and crawls to you, now hovering over you his hands on either side of your head. "Please let me cum...."

"You will, darling." He cooes, leaning down to your ear, "Around my cock."

You felt yourself throbbing yet again, upon his words. What the hell was he doing to you, causing you to feel this weak beneath him? This powerless? Your sharp, witty tongue, nowhere in sight.

"Please Fred, I need you." You whine, begging him for more.

"What ever happened to, 'I despise you'?" He hovered over you and you sat up, meeting his lips. Giving him a passionate, hungry kiss before pulling away,

"There is a fine line between hate and love, and I think today I've learnt that you've been sitting in the wrong category all along."

He smiled, brushing a hand on your cheek as he gazed down at you lovingly, "Took me so long to realise that you're the only person I've ever felt something with."

"Took us bloody ages." You roll your eyes fondly, before giggling as he pecked your forehead gently.

You gazed up at him with doe-eyes, and him down at you, to your lips then back up, his mouth parted slightly as he took in how breathtaking you looked beneath him. Shit, you were always beautiful to him, he'd only now realised.

"Need you inside me Fred." You plead softly, desperately, which only fuelled his desire for you even more.

"Anything for you, love."

You never thought you'd admit it, but he has a fucking incredible dick. You assumed he'd be packing because he was 6"3, but the sight of it made you drool. Bloody hell, he had every right to be so smug.

His slit was already leaking with precum, his eyes lock onto yours as he lowers himself. Your legs are still on each side of his waist, he grabs his dick and teases it along your wet entrance, sliding it a few times to coat it with your slickness.

You involuntarily buck your hips, desperate for penetration as you whimper. He slowly lowers himself down, and finally into you.

At first, you hiss at the pain upon being stretched out by his hugeness, you could feel him stretching your walls, registering that fact that he was fully inside you now.

"Fuck...." he moans, letting out a groan, "So tight for me hm?"

"Freddie...." You moan as he begins moving, rocking his hips slowly. You get used to the size of him, filling you to the brim, every slight bit of movement causing your walls to tense around his dick, rubbing within you sensually.

"I know baby, I know." He responds softly, continuing at this pace.

With every rock, his breathing increases, your soft pleas and his eager pants filling the room as he speeds up, going faster and harder.

Your moans start to get louder, getting more deafening by the minute. Fred leans down to plant kisses on your neck, and pecking your lips occasionally, you moan into him as he drives himself further into your core.

"You're doing so well baby." He coos into your ear, murmuring praises as he continues to thrust into you.

Fred doesn't stop pounding into you, you move your hands to his back, your nails practically digging into his skin from the pleasure.

Skin slapping against skin, you feel every jolt of his body into you. He's fucking you so gently but hard at the same time, treating you as though you were the most fragile thing on the planet.

"Baby..." You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, as he continues thrusting into you deeply, you are overwhelmed with so much pressure that you might cry, but it just felt so damn pleasurable.

"I'm getting close Fred." You pant, breathing heavily, as he picks up his pace.

"Look at me." He demands, and you open your eyes, gazing into his hazel ones. For once, they aren't filled with irritation, or the usual annoyance you were used to seeing, they were more gentle, admiring you, it was a look of love.

"Fred, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling an orgasm coming closer, "I'm gonna—" you can barely finish your sentence, the pressure. on your g-spot and the intense penetration becoming too much for you to handle, along with the gaze of hazel eyes burning into you.

You let out an obscene moan as your walls clench around him, you jerk harshly, causing him to let out a guttural moan. It's a pleasurable ache, your entire body pulses beneath him.

"Gonna come inside you baby, that okay?" He asks, and you nod, to breathless to speak.

Seconds later, he comes undone, squirting his juices inside you. The world slows down as you enter your state of euphoria; you're entangled in pure bliss as you come down from your high. Your body is still electrified from the feeling before.

It takes a while for you to fully settle down. You slowly flutter your eyes open to find yourself engulfed in Fred's buff arms, your breathing in sync. The two of you lean against the wooden bed-frame, and you lean your head on his shoulder, while he cradles you.

You glance down at your body and notice that it's covered in marks, which looked bloody hot. Merlin, you really were Fred's now huh?

"So much for body heat." You chuckled softly, as he stroked your back gently.

He laughs, and you feel the vibrations of his chest, "The best kind of heat if you ask me." He says which earned an eyeroll from you.

Fred plants a soft kiss on your head, "Y'know I'm not one for apologies, but I was a bit of a jerk to you back in Hogwarts, and I want to apologise."

"It was a two-way thing, Freddie, suppose I should apologise for being one too. Merlin, you did grate on every last one of my nerves though." You tease.

"Always a pleasure." He grinned down at you, engulfed in his arms as you looked up at him, sharing a moment of sweet silence as you put the past behind you.

A ray of moonlight shone through the tiny gap in the curtain. You turned your head, glancing out the window as you pondered about the others back at the burrow.

"What're we going to tell the others when we find them tomorrow?" You giggled, taking in the state you were both in.

"I have a feeling they won't be surprised." Fred confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in my family thinks we have a thing for each other, especially Ginny. Won't stop talking about us that sister of mine."

"Since when?!" You were amused, the two of you were the epitome of the word hate back in Hogwarts and to hear a statement like this shocked you.

"Since school apparently." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought it was silly too, but look where we are now."

"Just wait one day, you'll eventually get married." He mocked Ginny's tone, mirroring her facial expressions too, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Please, you and me?" You raised a brow, teasing him, though biting back a fond smile.

"Neverrrr." He scrunched up his nose, holding you closer as you both now laid down in bed, safely in each other's grasp.

Finally comfortable, you found yourself drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The same could be said for Fred, it was safe to say the body-heat idea turned out better than anticipated.

And with this newfound love, perhaps the broomstick breaking was a blessing in disguise.

[vrtualchg]

SIT PRETTY FOR HIM

he always knew she was smart. knew she was brilliant, really—sharp-tongued, stubborn, way too serious for her own good. but exams made her spiral. and fred couldn't stand watching her fall apart when she deserved to fall apart on him instead. maybe she thought she could out-focus him. outlast him. but she should’ve known better—because fred weasley wasn’t about to let his girl forget how good it felt to be taken care of. even if it meant fucking her through the stress, filling her up so thoroughly she’d leave the library dripping. he loved her. but he also loved making her fall apart for him. over and over again.

pairing: Fred Weasley x stressed!reader

genre: smut, soft dom!Fred, slight comfort, Hogwarts era

tw: MDNI 18+, sexual content, size kink, breeding kink, public risk (library), praise kink, overstimulation, aftercare, soft dominance, fingering, penetrative sex, possessive thoughts, Fred being obsessed in the sweetest way, cockwarming, mild power play (consensual), emotional support through sex

NEWTs loomed like storm clouds—unforgiving, relentless, all-consuming. Hogwarts thrummed with anxious energy: students hunched over desks like prisoners to their revision, quills scratching with frantic desperation, parchment stacking in teetering towers. Even the castle seemed to hold its breath.

Fred Weasley, for once, was almost stressed. He’d never say it aloud. Not with his signature grin, the easy charm that made stress bounce off him like rain off an umbrella. But the truth was, he was worried. Not for himself.

For her.

Y/N was unraveling.

Her brilliance was the kind that made professors whisper and peers seethe with envy—sharp, precise, terrifyingly clever. But now she looked like a storm herself: eyes rimmed with exhaustion, lips bitten raw, shoulders knotted with tension as she buried herself in another impossibly dense potions textbook.

Fred found her in the farthest corner of the library, so still and so tense it made something primal twist in his chest. She hadn’t even noticed him approach.

He stepped behind her and leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of ink and lavender.

“You hiding from me now?” he asked, voice low and teasing, his breath grazing her ear.

She didn’t look up. “I’m studying.”

But she reached for him anyway—always did—her hand ghosting over his as he slid into the seat beside her. He smiled. She was cracking at the seams and still, she reached for him.

“Let me help,” he said gently, arms snaking around her waist, tugging her into his lap like she weighed nothing. “Come on, clever girl. You’ve been at it for hours.”

Her body stiffened in protest, but he was already adjusting her, letting her rest against the broad plane of his chest, her back pressed to him like a second skin.

“Fred—” she began, heat creeping up her neck. “We’re in the bloody library.”

“And it’s late. Quiet. Empty. And you’re barely breathing, love.” His voice dipped, lips brushing her ear again. “Let me take care of you.”

The textbook was still open, pages cluttered with potion instructions, her handwriting scribbled in the margins. He shifted her just enough to lay the book in front of them.

“Read it to me,” he murmured. “Out loud.”

She blinked. “You want me to read…?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, fingers already skimming beneath her skirt, warm palms rough and careful all at once. “Productivity, right?”

She hesitated. Then began.

Her voice was soft, shaky—struggling to stay steady as his hand found her inner thigh and stroked up, deliberate and slow. His touch burned like a promise, teasing her through the thin fabric of her panties. She gasped softly, the word *"asphodel"* breaking on her tongue.

“Keep reading,” he whispered, brushing his mouth against the shell of her ear. “You stop, I stop.”

The fabric between them was growing damp. Fred groaned, so low it vibrated against her spine.

“You’re soaked already?” he teased, his voice all velvet and heat. “You like this, don’t you? My clever girl pretending she can focus with my cock pressed against her.”

She whimpered, hips twitching—and he immediately stilled her with a firm grip on her waist.

“Don’t move. Not yet.”

And then she felt it—the unmistakable sound of his belt loosening, the rustle of denim, the sudden, heavy weight of him nudging at her entrance.

“Fred—” she breathed, voice tight, caught between panic and arousal.

He chuckled darkly, soft and affectionate. “You know how big I am, love. You know I need time to stretch you out. Just sit pretty for me baby, yeah? Be good.”

She clenched around nothing, aching, the anticipation unbearable.

When he slid inside, it was slow, inch by inch, thick and unrelenting. She gasped, hands scrambling for the edge of the table to ground herself as he filled her completely.

“Fuck,” he growled against her neck. “You’re always so tight. Always take me so well.”

He stilled once he was buried to the hilt, arms tightening around her middle like he was holding himself together by a thread. She could feel every twitch of him inside her, every soft pulse.

“Just sit pretty,” he murmured. “Read for me.”

Her voice was nearly gone, breathless, cracked. Still, she obeyed, her body trembling as she stumbled over potion ingredients, her thighs shaking as Fred started tracing slow circles over her clit.

“That’s it,” he praised softly. “Good girl. Let me take care of you.”

Her orgasm built fast—too fast. She bit down on her sleeve to muffle the moan, hips jerking despite herself. Fred groaned, low and guttural.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Soak me. Show me how much you need me.”

She shattered around him, body convulsing in his lap, trying so desperately to stay quiet as she fell apart. Fred didn’t stop—he kissed the side of her face, her neck, whispered praise into her skin like she was a prayer.

And then he started moving.

Slow, deep thrusts, rocking into her from beneath. She was so wet he slid in easily, the sounds obscene in the silence of the library.

“I love you,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

She barely managed a reply, her body boneless in his arms.

And then he said it—low, right against her ear, like a secret:

“Gonna fill you up again. Want you dripping when you walk back to your dorm. Wanna see it leaking down your thighs, love. My cum. My girl.”

She moaned, clutching at his arms, overwhelmed.

“You like that, don’t you?” he cooed. “You like being full of me. Bet your pretty little cunt was made to be bred.”

She clenched around him at the words, another orgasm cresting as he thrust harder now, chasing his own release.

“Fuck—gonna come—gonna fill you up,” he groaned, hands holding her in place, hips stuttering as he spilled into her, hot and thick, so much she could feel it leaking already. “Take it. All of it.”

They stayed like that—panting, shaking, still connected—until her breathing slowed.

She turned her face, pressing a dazed kiss to his jaw.

“I’m gonna fail my exams,” she whispered, limp and fucked-out in his arms.

Fred chuckled, still half-hard inside her. “You’re top of the class, love. You’ll be fine.”

He shifted slightly, and she gasped again.

“You’re not done?” she asked, breath catching.

His grin was all teeth, wicked and soft.

“I said I’d help you forget, didn’t I?”

[luvendiary]

hot summer nights / f. weasley

fred weasley x black daughter!reader

summary: you had always found 12 grimmauld place suffocating. but your next door room neighbor, might have just made the summer much more interesting. a/n: someone take google docs away from me. i'm supposed to be doing uni work. i'm literally a week away from my deadline, and i can't stop writing for this man, send help. also, can you tell the summer air is already hitting where i live? i am mentally back in my country already. warning: suggestive content ahead. 5.1k words. no use of y/n.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place was full of things that creaked, groaned, and whispered when no one was listening. The walls were thick with dust and thicker with history. The portraits on the wall never seemed to stop chattering amongst each other, sometimes even commenting about the visitors. 

You knew that to be true firsthand — you were, after all, their favorite topic of conversation. Well, your lineage to be exact.

The daughter of Sirius Black.

That would have been scandalous enough for the house’s previous occupants, given how thoroughly your father had burned every bridge with the Black family name. But add in the fact that your mother had been a Muggle — not even a Muggle-born witch, but a full non-magical woman no one in the family tree could find a trace of — and suddenly, you were the whispered shame that had taken physical form.

Your mother’s name wasn’t even worth sneering, apparently. They didn’t know it, and so they called her other things. “That woman,” “that filth,” or “the stain.” You had learned quickly not to flinch when they did. If they wanted you to be ashamed, they’d have to try harder.

You had grown used to it. The muttering when you passed. The disdain laced in every sigh.

You had started to collect the insults, jotting them down in a small notebook and adding a tally-count every time one sounded out. It was your private little game. 

“Half-blood filth.”

“Unnatural.”

“He should’ve had the decency to never breed.”

They didn’t even bother to whisper most days. Especially not the grander portraits — rigid old patriarchs in lace cuffs and curled wigs who hissed behind their frames as you strolled past.

But you didn’t hide. You never had.

If you reached a certain count by the end of the day, you allowed yourself to put an extra spoon of sugar in your tea that night. 

“To combat their bitterness,” you had explained to Sirius when he had asked you about it.

He barked a laugh.

The only time the portraits grew quiet was when Sirius walked the halls beside you. They might hate you, but they feared him. Or what he'd become. Or maybe the fact that he laughed now, too loudly and too often, and that he'd given you his bedroom without even a second thought. The same one they'd once locked him in for weeks.

You had inherited more than just Sirius Black’s room and his thrill-seeking smile.

The records, for one. You’d found them stashed in an old trunk beneath the floorboards in the drawing room, sleeves worn at the corners, a few scribbled on in his lazy handwriting. “Skip this one — too many feelings.” “This one slaps. Play loud.”

You did.

Every night, without fail, you slid a record onto the dusty player he’d charmed back into working order. The first time you’d played Queen — loud enough to rattle the chandelier — you’d heard gasps and furious muttering from the portraits three halls down.

After that, it became routine. Ritual, almost.

Because if the house wanted to choke you with silence, you’d answer with music.

And tonight, on this stifling summer night, the needle scratched softly before Somebody to Love roared to life. Your window was cracked open, letting in warm air that didn’t do much except shift the curtains. You were in one of your father’s old shirts — thin with age and slightly too big — and nothing else. Your cheeks were already flushed from the heat, your bare legs sticking a little to the floorboards as you twirled.

You spun slowly at first, arms loose at your sides, mouthing the words. Then the chorus kicked in and you laughed, head falling back, hair brushing your shoulders as you let the music pull you.

Freddie Mercury’s voice filled the room, high and sharp and pleading. You danced like no one was watching — because in the privacy of your room, no one was. It was a performance for your eyes only.

The beat swelled, and you spun once more, light-headed from the movement and heat, heart beating in rhythm with the drums. You didn’t care how you looked. That was the whole point. You weren’t meant to be quiet or pretty. 

When the song ended, you stood still, breathless and glowing, hair sticking slightly to your forehead, before collapsing onto your bed. Your heart still beating with adrenaline, and your head still spinning. You grinned up at the ceiling.

And then — applause.

Soft, slow clapping through the wall.

You blinked.

The sound came again, more definite this time. Three measured claps. Then a pause.

You walked over to the wall near your bed, listening.

“Hello?” you asked no one in particular.

“Impressive performance, I must say. I only wish I could have seen it.”

You leaned in, pressing your ear to the old wood, and spotted it — a small, dust-caked vent on the floorboards. Narrow enough to miss, just wide enough for sound to slip through.

You crouched, peering in.

“Fred?” you guessed.

“Unless George developed charm overnight, then yes. It’s me,” he replied. Slightly further away you heard the voice of who you assumed to be George saying something along the lines of ‘everyone knows I’m the handsome twin’.

You smiled, still breathless. “You heard that?”

“Hard not to. The whole house probably did. The portraits are livid, by the way. I heard one muttering about bloodlines and disgrace.”

You grinned wider. “Good.”

You sat back on your heels, still catching your breath from the song, the dancing, and now from this — whatever this was.

“Was that a muggle song?” he asked after a while.

“Yes, but not only any muggle song. It’s from one of the best bands ever,” you said.

“Didn’t peg you for the type."

You grinned, glancing over at the record still spinning lazily on the turntable.

“Inherited taste I suppose,” you murmured. ”Sirius says wizards have rubbish music and even worse rhythm.”

Fred chuckled. “He’s not wrong.”

You traced your finger along the edge of the vent, brushing away some of the dust. The air still felt heavy, humid, clinging to your skin, but you didn’t mind it as much now. Not with his voice slipping through the walls like this. Like a thread pulled between rooms.

“I have a theory,” you said, still crouched, voice softer now.

“Oh?” Fred replied, that smile somehow audible. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you hate good theories.” You rested your chin on your knees, arms wrapped around your shins. “I think you would definitely be one to like Queen.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because in another life I think you would have been great friends with Freddie Mercurie. Same flair for dramatic entrances and slightly inappropriate jokes.”

Fred let out a small laugh, the kind that sounded like he hadn’t expected it. “Bit of a compliment, that.”

“It is,” you said. “Don’t get used to it.”

You hesitated, then added, quieter, “I, for one, would’ve made an excellent groupie.”

There was a pause — not awkward, just... waiting.

You grinned at the vent. “Don’t tell my dad I said that.”

Fred’s reply came after a beat, his voice lower now, amused. “I’ll keep your secret. Though I might need some leverage if you start making fun of my singing.”

“You sing?” you asked, extending your legs before you.

“I perform,” he said, he would’ve sounded completely serious if not for the fact that his grin spilled into his words. “Mostly in the shower. Occasionally on rooftops. Highly exclusive audience.”

“Tragic,” you replied. “We could’ve formed a band.”

“I’m not ruling it out. You’ve got the moves. I’ve got the charm. George can play the triangle.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand. “Poor George.”

“Poor George indeed,” came a voice further away.

You laughed.

The silence that followed wasn’t really silence. The turntable still hummed faintly behind you, spinning the quiet end of the record. Somewhere down the hall, a portrait grumbled something unintelligible — maybe it was about you. Probably; most definitely about you.

Fred sighed, softer this time. “Do they ever get tired of complaining?”

“No,” you said honestly. “But it’s alright. They’re stuck in frames. I’m not.”

Something about the way he went quiet made you wonder what face he was making now. You wished you could see it.

“I used to think this house was suffocating,” he said after a brief moment.

“It is,” you said, stretching out on the floor now, one arm above your head, hair spread across the floorboards. “But you can live through it. Just have to find the cracks.”

Fred tapped the vent twice. You tapped back thrice.

He yawned. Not loud, but enough that you heard it.

“Go to sleep, Weasley.”

“Can’t,” he whispered. “There’s a girl whispering things to me through the floor.”

You smiled, eyes drifting shut. “I’ll stop talking then.”

“That would be a shame,” he replied. 

Another beat. You didn’t want to end the night, but sleep was creeping in at the edges.

“Night, Fred.”

“Night, Black.”

He tapped the vent again. 

You didn’t tap back — but only because you were already smiling into your pillow, eyes closed.

The next night, the heat hadn’t broken.

Grimmauld Place was still thick with it — the kind of heat that made the walls feel closer and the air taste stale. You’d barely bothered with pajamas this time. Just the same oversized shirt and a glass of water sweating on your nightstand.

The record player sat silent tonight. Not because you didn’t want to play it, but because you’d already won. The portraits had been so loud all day — furious, in fact — that you’d caught Sirius grinning over his tea. A personal best.

So you let the house stay quiet now, in the way that only made sense late at night. You lay on your bed, legs stretched out, and stared at the ceiling, waiting.

And then — two taps coming from the small vent.

You smiled before you even turned toward it.

You dragged your pillow to the floor and settled next to the vent again, arms folded beneath your chin, cheek pressed to the cool wood. And then, you tapped three times.

“You snore,” was the first thing you heard him say.

You laughed loudly. 

“I know for a fact I do not.”

You could hear him chuckle from the other side. “Yeah. I lied.”

“That’s not a great habit.”

“I’m not exactly a model citizen,” he replied.

Neither of you said anything for a while. Not because there wasn’t anything to say, but because there didn’t need to be.

Then Fred spoke again, a little quieter this time.

“Bit strange, this house.”

“Only a bit?”

“Alright, very strange.” A pause. “But I don’t hate it as much at night. Not when it’s like this.”

You understood that. At night, when the walls weren’t watching and the portraits had dozed off into their own scowls, Grimmauld Place felt... less haunted. Or maybe just haunted in the right ways.

“I used to imagine it different,” you said. “Before I lived here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe it would feel like my father. You know. Big and wild. I thought he would have broken it in.”

“What did it feel like?”

You stared at the dark wood grain between the floorboards.

“Like I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Maybe you can break it in.”

You smiled and stared at the floorboards. “Big task.”

“Brave girl.”

You allowed another moment of silence to pass between you.

And then: “Tell me something,” you said.

He chuckled from the other side.

“What would you like to know?”

You thought for a bit. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

You heard him shift against the wall.

“A dragon tamer. I always thought my brother Charlie was the coolest person ever. I wanted to be just like him.” A pause, “besides, when I was little I always thought it was the sort of thing you could brag about.”

You laughed at that. “That does sound like you.”

“What about you?”

“I wanted to be a singer.”

He chuckled. “Fitting. Have you always liked singing then?”

“No. But I liked the idea of people listening to me and not telling me to shut up after.”

He hummed in response, but you could practically hear the grin spreading across his face.

“You should dance again tomorrow night,” he said suddenly. “I’ll be here. Front row.”

You tilted your head, smirking into the floor.

“You’re getting bold, Weasley.”

“I’m building a reputation,” he replied easily. “Might as well do it properly.”

You didn’t say goodnight this time. You just tapped the vent thrice. He responded.

By the third night, it had a rhythm.

It always started the same. A series of taps. You each had your call, and you each had your response. 

It was always followed by a voice.

Sometimes it was just a breath. A quiet “You awake?”

Sometimes it was:

“Interesting sock choice today.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you smiled into your pillow. “They were clean.”

“One was green. The other was... tragic.”

“You wore a jumper that had a hole in the armpit.”

“I call it ventilation. Fashion-forward, really.”

You didn’t talk about anything serious — not often, anyway. Mostly it was fragments from the day. Who had tripped over the troll leg umbrella stand. How Mrs. Weasley had nearly hexed the curtains. How Fred had nearly hexed Ron just because.

George chimed in once in a while, usually when he was half-asleep and vaguely confused about who Fred was talking to.

“Tell her I said she’s brave for eating that casserole tonight,” he muttered once through the vent.

“George says—”

“I heard him,” you replied, grinning. “Tell him I said thanks. And that he’s a coward.”

Fred relayed the message. There was a muffled pillow thud on the other side.

During the day, it was different.

You didn’t talk in person. Not directly. You passed each other in hallways. You sat on opposite sides of the drawing room. But the glances happened — always. Small, deliberate flickers. He'd look at you over his cup of tea. You'd catch him watching you braid your hair at the breakfast table.

And when he laughed — really laughed — he’d always glance sideways, like he was checking to see if you were listening. You were.

Once, during a late lunch, you'd caught him staring at your hands. You didn’t look away. Neither did he.

That night through the vent:

“I saw you watching me today.”

He didn’t even pretend to deny it.

“I saw you watching me first.”

You hummed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He laughed. “Too late.”

Some nights you didn’t talk much at all. You’d lie on the floor, cheek against the cool floorboards, and just listen to him breathe on the other side. Once, you heard him scribbling on parchment — slow and paused.

“What are you writing?”

“Names for our future band.” A pause. “So far I have ‘The Howlers’ and ‘Vent Confessionals’.”

You groaned. “Please stop.”

“George suggested ‘Mischief’. But he’s clearly not the creative twin.”

“Clearly.”

You thought he might be leaning against the vent too now — your voices had the same nearness, that same faint echo of intimacy that didn’t require looking at each other.

And yet —

The looking never stopped.

Once, passing each other on the stairs, he had said nothing at all. But he looked at you. Really looked. From the hem of your skirt to the way your collarbone peeked from Sirius’s old shirt. You had felt the warmth of that gaze for minutes after.

You didn’t speak then. Not until much later.

“You’re terrible at pretending you weren’t staring,” you murmured into the vent that night.

“So are you.”

You grinned. Then, gently: “I’m not pretending.”

Silence.

“Neither am I.”

You let the record spin again.

This time it was Killer Queen — sharp, glittering, a bit smug. The kind of song that made you toss your hair and roll your hips like you were performing for an audience that didn’t deserve you.

It was nearly midnight, the house heavy with warmth and the kind of stillness that only came after everyone had given into the exhaustion of the day. Your window was open again, a low breeze barely moving the curtains, and your shirt was slipping off one shoulder.

You danced like you were daring someone to watch. You knew the portraits hated it. You almost wished they could see you — mouth soft with a smile, legs bare to the thigh, spinning lazily around the room.

And when the song ended, there was a beat of silence.

Then, as expected —

“You’re trying to kill me.”

You laughed, not bothering to move from where you’d collapsed at the foot of your bed, limbs tangled, skin flushed and warm.

“Good evening to you too,” you called toward the vent.

Fred groaned. “You should put out a warning before you start these concerts.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll outperform you?”

“I’m afraid of apparating into that room without thinking it through.”

That made you sit up, hair a little wild from where it had stuck to the back of your neck. You grinned at the vent.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

There was a pause. Then, with a teasing lilt, “Try me.”

You leaned closer to the floor, dropping your voice like a secret.

“I should mention — for the sake of your sanity and my dignity — that I’m only in my knickers.”

Fred groaned again, louder this time. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Absolutely.”

“Scandalous.”

“Incredibly indecent.”

“Do you want me to die?” he asked, sounding genuinely pained now.

You smiled and stretched out on the floor, cheek to the wood, voice casual. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

“I’m past from being on my toes. In fact, I’m lying facedown in despair.”

You bit your lip, enjoying every second.

Then, after a pause, a quieter voice through the vent:

“You’re gorgeous, you know.”

You blinked. The warmth in your cheeks had nothing to do with the summer heat.

“… You haven't even seen me like that.”

“I haven’t,” he said, honestly. “That’s what’s driving me mad.”

Silence. Full, and weighty in a different way now.

You let the record needle spin on the silent end of the vinyl, the crackle of dust the only sound for a moment.

And then, soft:

“Good. I’d hate for it to be too easy.”

Fred let out a breath — like a laugh that didn’t quite make it.

“You’re cruel.”

“And you’re still lying there.”

Another groan.

You smiled at the ceiling.

The vent became routine.

You talked most nights. 

Not long conversations, not always flirty. Just… threads, tossed back and forth between rooms. Little things.

And outside of those moments, it was like some sort of agreement had been reached between you two.

You would save your words for when you were together — late at night.

There was no need for them during the day, and especially not amongst other people.

But things shifted. Quietly.

You passed Fred in the hallway one morning and he nudged your shoulder instead of saying hello. You bumped him right back. Neither of you said a word.

Another time, in the kitchen, he handed you a piece of toast without looking up — buttered just how you liked it, the corner already bitten off.

“Lost the other half,” he muttered, like it explained everything.

You didn’t reply. Just took it and let your hand brush his, lingering a second longer than necessary.

And then there were the looks.

Not staring, exactly.

Just… not looking away.

You caught him watching once as you sprawled on the library floor, flipping through one of Sirius’s old spellbooks. You looked up slowly — and instead of glancing away, Fred winked.

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped traitorously.

There were almost-moments. Moments where you were tempted to break this intricate dance you had created.

Moments where you stood outside his door, fingers just touching the knob before you turned away.

Moments where he knocked on yours, and then said nothing — just let his knuckles rest against the wood for a second too long.

On the nights you danced, you made sure it was angled towards the wall. 

As if he could see you.

As if somehow, somewhere, something had changed. Your performances were not just for yourself anymore. And you were totally okay with that.

You caught yourself performing for the vent. For the idea of him.

And afterwards, he always said something — sometimes clever, sometimes devastatingly honest.

“I like that song.”

“You hit the wrong note.”

“You sound happy.”

That one stuck with you.

“Why haven’t you come through yet?” you asked one night, after one of said performances.

Fred was quiet for a long time.

You stayed curled near the vent, cheek against the floor, your fingertips brushing its edge. You could hear faint movement — him shifting, maybe lying down, maybe sitting up.

Finally, his voice, low and a bit raw:

“Because I don’t think I’d leave.”

The breath caught in your throat. You didn’t answer right away. What could you say to something like that?

Your heartbeat drummed in your ears.

“You say that like it’d be a bad thing,” you said eventually, trying to sound light, teasing — but it came out quiet instead.

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that didn’t reach full volume.

“I don’t know if it would be. But it’d change things.”

The near-misses only grew more frequent.

You’d round the corner of the upstairs hall, and there he’d be — talking with George or any other of his siblings, and he’d just stare at you as you walked into your room. There was something in the way he looked at you now. Something warmer. Hungrier.

In passing, he started brushing your shoulder with his hand. Sometimes, his fingers would just barely graze your wrist as you walked by each other. You never pulled away.

You met his eyes across the table one morning at breakfast — a silent stare held longer than polite. You took a bite of toast without looking away. He grinned. George rolled his eyes.

As summer grew warmer, apparently so did the tension between you two. 

It started like almost every almost. 

A glance. A pause in the hallway.

You were barefoot, your hair pulled up loosely, wearing one of Sirius’s threadbare old shirts and a pair of shorts you never bothered wearing outside your room. Fred had just reached his door at the same time — shirt untucked, collar a little wrinkled, like he’d changed his mind halfway through the day and then never fixed it.

You both stopped. Neither of you moved.

It was late — later than it should’ve been for words.

The house was silent.

And yet, it felt loud in your chest.

“Night,” you said, too softly.

“Night,” he echoed, like it hurt.

He lingered a beat longer. Then turned and disappeared into his room with a quiet click of the door.

You did the same, shutting the door behind you. 

Your room was warm. The record player sat unused tonight. The window hung open. But none of it reached you.

You just stood there, back to the door, your heart skittering against your ribs, your skin still humming from the way he’d looked at you — like he wanted to say something else. Like you almost had.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you moved.

Fingers on the doorknob, turning, pulling—fast and breathless and desperate in a way that felt entirely new.

You sprinted into the corridor.

Only to find him there.

Already out. Already looking for you.

Fred stopped mid-step. You did too.

There was a moment, where you just stared at each other. Eyes wide. Not sure if anything would come out of this.

But as if that had been merely a dream, you both moved at the same time.

No words. No hesitation.

He reached for you like he was starving, hands at your waist, pulling you in. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him down, your mouth already meeting his like this had been waiting in your chest all summer.

The kiss was messy. Eager. Like you were both trying to make up for every night you didn’t cross the hall.

You backed him into the wall, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, not even daring yet — just touching, anchoring himself to the fact that you were real and in front of him and finally here.

You smiled against his mouth.

“You were going to knock, weren’t you?”

He kissed you again. “I was going to drag you into my room.”

You gasped a laugh as he spun you, pressing you gently against the opposite wall.

“I beat you to it,” you whispered, breathless.

His hands were in your hair, cupping your jaw, and holding your neck… 

You were overwhelmed in the best way possible.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered as he made his way down your jaw.

Somewhere behind you, the old portraits might have groaned.

But you didn’t hear them.

You didn’t care.

Not with Fred’s hand already sliding up your back, pulling you in like he couldn’t get close enough. 

Your door was behind you, but it barely registered. Not with the way he was kissing you, like he’d been starved for weeks.

Your fingers fumbled blindly for the doorknob behind you. You twisted it with a soft curse against his mouth, missing once, twice, before the latch finally clicked open.

You didn’t even make it two steps into the room.

Fred was already following you in, lips still on yours, bodies tangled and swaying. You pulled him by the collar, the door swinging shut behind you as your backs hit it with a quiet thud. His hands roamed — not rushed, but hungry — like he was trying to memorize the lines of your body after all those nights whispering through walls.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, almost against your collarbone, one hand sliding up beneath your shirt — not pushing, just touching, resting over your ribs. “Say the word and I will.”

You didn’t say the word.

You couldn't.

Instead, you tilted your head, giving him more skin, more permission — your answer wrapped in a breathless exhale as your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of him, the tension in his muscles, the way his breath caught when your fingers traced just below his ribs.

“Not stopping,” you whispered, barely a sound, more breath than voice. “Not tonight.”

Something in him unraveled at that.

His lips returned to yours, rougher now, deeper — like he’d been holding back and finally let go. He backed you toward the bed in slow, uneven steps, as if reluctant to break any part of the kiss, hands moving with intent now — under your shirt, along your waist, up your spine.

You gasped as his mouth moved again — jaw, throat, collarbone — slow drags of his lips that made your knees weak and your hands desperate.

You barely made it to the bed.

Somewhere between the shirts tugged over heads and the laughter caught between kisses, your legs hit the edge of the mattress. 

The backs of your legs hit the bed and you sank down, pulling him with you.

Fred followed like he couldn’t stand to let go — crawling over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other tracing your thigh.

For a moment he just stared at you. 

You couldn’t help but shrink under his gaze.

When he saw your arms going to cover your bare chest, he shook his head —slowly and imperceivable— before taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers together above your head.

“I was right,” he murmured. “You are gorgeous.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow beneath him. His words shouldn’t have undone you like that. But they did.

He kissed you again, softer now — almost reverent — like he’d remembered to slow down, to take in everything he’d wanted for weeks. His mouth traced the edge of your jaw, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, lips dragging slowly, deliberately, like he was learning you one inch at a time.

His free hand skimmed up your side, not greedy, not rushed — just… aching. Like he needed to commit this to memory.

“You make it hard to think,” he murmured, voice rough against your skin.

“You’re thinking?” you breathed, a half-laugh caught in the back of your throat.

“Trying.” His mouth was at your sternum now, dragging heat and breath and shivers in his wake. “Failing.”

You gasped as his fingers moved lower, under your hips, pressing long languid circles into the skin.

“You’ve been dancing in thisroom,” he said, lifting his head to meet your gaze, “making me lose my mind.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You don’t even know what it did to me,” he went on, voice low, the confession raw at the edges. His mouth pressed soft kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Hearing you laugh through the wall. Listening to you spin records, not knowing what you were wearing, but knowing it wasn’t enough—”

You arched toward him with a soft sound that made him break off, his breath hitching as his mouth found a particularly good point and dragged a moan from somewhere deep in your chest.

“I thought about this,” he whispered, peering over at you, his hands now spread out on each leg,  “more times than I should admit.”

“Fred–,” you gasped, threading your fingers into his hair.

That did something to him — your voice like that, your body open beneath his, no more teasing walls or whispered vents.

He moved lower, heat in every breath, and you let yourself give in — to his hands, to his mouth, to the way he kissed and sucked and licked.

“Promise me something,” he said, pulling back just long enough to meet your gaze again. His pupils were blown wide, hair mussed, lips swollen.

You nodded, breath caught.

“When this is done,” he murmured, brushing a kiss just under your navel, “you'll dance for me. For real. Nothing between us. Just you.”

You exhaled, shaky, head tipping back. “Yes.”

He smiled, wicked and warm and something deeper and far more wild than you could have evr imagined.

“Then hold on.”

And he disappeared against your skin — no hesitation now, no careful pace.

Just Fred, finally touching what he’d only dreamed of. You, finally letting him.

[jeepers-creeperz]

Friends Who Kiss

Fred Weasley x Slytherin! AFAB! Reader

What happens when Fred Weasley and his best friend spend a night together that turns their friendship upside down? Between awkward encounters and misguided words, you wonder if you and Fred will ever be able to return to your once beautiful friendship.

MDNI 18+ Hogwarts University AU - All characters are in their early 20s, reader is a half blood with one muggle parent.

Warnings: LOTS of angst. Mentions of smut, brief depiction of smut (PinV), swearing, pretty dialogue heavy.

How can we go back to be being friends when we just shared a bed?

A/N: I didn’t fully proofread this, apologies for any typos. I wrote this on a whim. Once again, any and all feedback is appreciated 🤍

Word Count: 5.3k

……………………………………………………………………………………

You laid in Fred’s bed, blankets covering your chest, staring straight up at the red covered curtains that cloaked your best friend’s four poster bed. As he lay next to you, you wondered how you even got yourselves into this situation. As you raked your brain going over how everything about your shared night could ruin the best friendship you’ve ever had, he slept peacefully. A warm, gentle smile placed delicately on his face. You bit your lip looking at him. This was extremely uncharted territory and it scared the shit out of you. You looked at him a moment longer, appreciating all of his peaceful features, hoping it would ease your anxiety. As you laid there, your mind in a trance of both your best friends subtle beauty and absolutely berating yourself, you decided you’ve overstayed your welcome.

You pulled the warm sheets off of your body, whimpering a little as the cold air washed against your bare chest like a wave from the ocean in the middle of winter, goosebumps rose instantly. You heaved yourself out of his bed and grabbed his bathrobe that he always had hanging on one of his four posters and wrapped it around your body, not threatening to make a single noise, scared to wake Fred and have him catch you sneaking away. You gathered your belongings quickly, tiptoeing away, closing the heavy wooden door behind you as quietly as possible. You almost winced at how the door haphazardly slamming would ruin everything.

After getting dressed in the bathrooms of Gryffindor tower, the trip back to the Slytherin common room felt like the longest shameful walk of your entire life. Head hanging low, twiddling with the hem of your skirt, you felt as though you’ve done something terrible. Did you really just have a one night stand with your best friend? And leave him there alone? Your mind was endlessly reeling. You cringed as you sauntered down the stairs to the dungeons, wanting to smack yourself for being so selfish.

It wasn’t that Fred was bad in bed, in all actuality, he was the best person you’ve slept with. No, it was the fact that you just so easily let yourselves trample all over the friendship that already took a lot of neutering to build. It was no secret that Gryffindors and Slytherins had a rivalry. And with you being a more than decent chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, always giving them a run for their money, you and Fred didn’t exactly start off on the right foot. In fact, he made your life a living hell for the first three years of your life inside the walls of this castle that now seemed so much smaller than it did before. It wasn’t until you started playing by the rules of his own game that the flame of your friendship kindled.

You smiled reminiscing about your old prank wars. The juvenile laughter and careless actions that landed you in detention with the twins so many times that you were almost pushed into a friendship with them by forced proximity alone. Prank wars quickly became shared ideas on how to prank other innocent students and the rest was practically history. Fred Weasley became your favorite person and the one you trusted most in this world.

“Hey Y/N.” Pansy chimed from her spot on the couch in the Slytherin common room, knocking you out of your inner monologue.

“Oh, hey, Pans.” You mumbled, not in the mood for small talk.

“Where have you been?” She wiggles her brows, smirking wickedly at you.

You took a heavy sigh, rubbing your eyes from both frustration and exhaustion. “It’s not really any of your business now is it? Why are you up so early anyway? It’s like 7 in the morning and it’s Saturday.”

“Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of someone else’s bed.” She griped rolling her eyes at you.

“Ugh, Pans, I’m sorry. I just got barely any sleep last night-”

“That’s apparent, yes.” She giggled to herself.

You glared at her, not very pleased with her remark or cutting you off. “I’m leaving.”

“No no! I’m sorry. Come sit please.” She scooted over on the couch and patted the spot next to her. You groaned, really in no place to be having this conversation with her so early in the morning, but you decided to dramatically plop down on the couch next to her anyway. You breathed out heavily through your nose and stared up at the ceiling trying to disconnect with the world as much as possible. “Have you ever slept with someone and instantly regretted it?”

“Most of the time, yes.” She nodded.

You groaned and brought your hands up to your face, rubbing it furiously. “Pansy, I think I really fucked up last night.” You bit your lip, shaking your head as you went over everything all over again. “It’s not like he was bad or anything like that, it just royally fucks everything up.”

“Oh God. Please don’t tell me you slept with a professor.”

“What? Ugh, Pans! Ew!”

“I’m Sorry! I was just making sure you didn’t totally sell yourself for an O in potions….Literally and figuratively.”

She jested, laughing at her own foul joke.

“You’re disgusting. I’m going to bed.” You got up from your seat, dismissing any protest she was giving you to stay and tell her any gruesome detail you’d give her. You simply continued on your way up the stairs to the girls dormitory, flipping her off on the way.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Later that day, you sat in the great hall pushing your food around with your fork, completely oblivious to anything and anyone around you. However, you were taken out of your mopey day dreams as a paper airplane note landed right on top of your plate. You bit your lip and stared at it for a moment, ultimately deciding to drop your fork and slowly opening up the note.

“We need to talk.” Was all that it read. You sighed through your nose trying your best to hide your embarrassment and annoyance. Looking up through your lashes towards the Gryffindor table, you saw Fred staring hopefully at you while subtly pointing his finger towards the door of the great hall. There are about a hundred things you’d rather do than have a conversation with fred right now about feelings and how everything may be ruined. You weren’t sure why you were so terrified of him all of the sudden, for crying out loud, he is your best friend. All you were sure about was that it was in fact weird now.

You dreadfully stood from your spot at the table and carried your way towards the giant doors that enveloped almost an entire stone wall. Fred followed quickly behind you, hot on your heels. Finally out of the room, you made your way down the hall a bit so that curious eyes couldn’t watch over you.

“You wanna tell me why the fuck you completely ditched me this morning?” He whispered angrily through gritted teeth. You simply crossed your arms and shrugged, not daring to make eye contact with him. He scoffed while shaking his head at you. He looked to be absolutely baffled with you.

“Well, I never heard a bad review last night so it can’t possibly be that you were dissatisfied.”

“Humble.” You mumbled. You weren’t about to entertain his bad attitude.

“Sorry, but Y/N, come ON! Was it really so disturbing that you had to leave without leaving so much as a note? And for fucks sake at least have the descency to look at me.” He scoffed once again.

“Fred, what do you want me to say?” You asked, finally looking up to see his face a shade of red that almost matched that of the hue of his hair. He narrowed his eyes on you. “There something in my teeth?” You scowled at him.

“What has gotten into you?”

“YOU! YOU’VE GOTTEN INTO ME! THAT’S THE WHOLE ISSUE!” You yelled before immediately groaning and stomping your foot out of utter frustration. “God, Fred, I really don’t wanna have this conversation with you.”

He looked at you like you had just shot a puppy with the cruciatus curse, and honestly, you felt like you just did too. His usually warm, happy eyes that glimmered so stunningly now filled with anger and sadness. It was a look that did not suit him well.

He slid his tongue across his teeth with a loud click, placing his hands in his pockets so you couldn’t see his fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles were white hot. “If that’s how you feel, then fine. We don’t have to talk about it. In fact, how about we never speak again, how’s that?”

“Wha- Fred, don’t say that.” You pleaded.

Suddenly you heard footsteps coming down the hall and you turned your head away from Fred, hoping that it didn’t look like you were having a quite heated conversation.

“Oh. Hey, Y/N.” Chimed an all too familiar voice. You glanced up at Pansy, offering her the best fake smile that you could muster. “Weasley.” She griped in a disapproving tone. “Is he bothering you?”

“Put your hackles down, Pansy. I’m fine.” you scowled at her. She gave you an odd look as her eyes flashed between you and the tall red headed boy, quickly widening her eyes.

“Is this the guy you were talking about regretting sleeping with?” she pointed her finger between the both of you

“Pansy!” you scolded.

Fred scoffed, smacking his thighs with his hands. “Great. That’s just great.” He turned on his heel, walking away from you and Pansy.

“Fred, wait!” You pleaded again, calling out to him as his long legs carried him through the corridor. Embarrassment and anger coursed through your veins as you shot Pansy a malevolent glare. “Have you ever once thought before opening your daft mouth! Seriously! I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody in my life that’s more simpleminded than you!” You reprimanded her, tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you.” She scowled. “If anything you should be thanking me! Now that miserable sod of a boy will never bother you again.” She pointed in the direction that Fred stormed off in.

You scoffed, completely baffled. You were at a complete loss of words. You lost your best friend in the entire world with one single breath from Pansy Parkinson. You beat yourself up for even opening your mouth to vent to her this morning. You walked away from Pansy, heading somberly back to your dormitories in the dungeons. This had to be the worst day of your life. Truthfully, you really had no idea why you were freaking out so badly about the fact that you and Fred had sex. All your friends in Gryffindor always alluded to you two being together. Was it really so far-fetched?

Once back in your dormitory, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face into the pillow, groaning loudly into it. How could you be so stupid as to sleep with Fred? How could you be so stupid as to confide in Pansy? How could you be so stupid as to ruin the one good thing you had? Your eyes were threatened with the prickly sting of tears. You squeezed your eyes shut, not daring to let them fall. You wanted to jump into the black lake and let it completely consume you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you shouted into the empty air, slamming your fist onto the bed figuring it was better than the stone wall you actually wanted to punch that would leave your fist inevitably broken. Should you have gone after him? Everything was so confusing and jumbled in your brain you couldn’t make heads or tails of the whole situation.

……………………………………………………………………………………

The sky grew darker and darker as you rotted in your emerald sheets. Cheeks tear stained, eyes red and puffy, nose totally stuffed. You were livid with yourself. You couldn’t even blame Fred for saying he never wanted to speak to you again. You really didn’t want anything to do with yourself either. You turned to your side to stare out at the twilight sky from your stained glass window. You missed him. You hated that he was the person you went to with all your troubles and that your trouble was him leaving you with no one. You couldn’t even go to George. You were sure that he was just as mad at you about the whole event as Fred was.

……………………………………………………………………………………

6 months later

You haven’t spoken to Fred since the day he stormed away from you. Your once colorful life now dull and grey in comparison. You sat in class staring out of the window to the gloomy rain that fell from the dark clouds above Hogwarts.

“Alright class. This project involves partners that I have pre drawn, so after I’ve called names, please find your partners and get to work.” Droned Professor Flitwick from the pedestal he often stood on when addressing the entire class.

You listened to him drawl out names as groans and giggles enveloped the room as they were called on.

“Hmm…ah yes, Fred Weasley and Y/N Y/L/N.” Called Flitwick

What?

You widened your eyes at your professor about to protest but-

“Uh-” A familiar voice chimed in, clearing their throat. “Professor, are you sure George and I can’t be partners? I mean our project would be a lot better it-”

“No, Mr. Weasley. He is already partnered with Mr. Jordan.” Professor Flitwick spoke looking up from his spectacles. Completely unamused.

“Dude, switch with me. He can’t tell the difference anyway.” You heard Fred whisper to his other half.

“No way! I wanna be with Lee, he’s top of the class!” George scolded back to him.

“Please? I’ll write your transfiguration papers for a month!”

“No!...I don’t wanna be her partner! Grow some hair on your chest!”

“Are you seriously telling me-”

You cleared your throat standing directly in front of the twins shared table, too busy in their heated discussion of partners that they didn’t even notice you standing there. “I’m not too peachy keen on this either so let’s just get it over with so we can go back to going about our lives pretending that we don’t exist.”

Fred scoffed at your words. George gave him a look that you could only imagine meant “good luck” and he parted ways with his twin to sit with Lee.

Fred sat stiff as you took your seat beside him. Not some much as moving a muscle as you turned the pages to your book while you began listing off ideas for your project.

“I’m not the t-rex in Jurassic World, Fred. I can still see you even if you don’t move.” You sighed out, just wanting this day to be over.

He made a confused face, finally looking at you.

“What?” He grimaced.

“I- nevermind. Muggle movie that came out a couple years ago.”

“Whatever.” He mumbled and returned to his previous state.

“Are you gonna be this way the entire project? Because believe me, I can do the entire thing by myself and let you stand here and blabber like an idiot come presentation day.” You reprimanded.

He turned his head slowly towards you and gave you a very obvious fake smile. The kind that you would have punched him in the face for if you weren’t in the middle of a full classroom.

“Not like you haven’t been perfectly fine on your own, anyway.” He mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Just fucking get on with it, Y/N. I don’t wanna have to work on this with you longer than I have to. Just think of something easy so we can get it over with.”

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll tell Flitwick I wanna work on it by myself and you can work with George and Lee.” You started gathering your things, trying your best to calm down the choking feeling you felt in your throat as you screamed in your head not to cry. The only issue was, he knew exactly what the face you were making meant. He knew you like a book that he had read front to back over and over until his eyes simply couldn’t handle anymore.

Just as you were about to stand up, he reached out and grabbed your forearm. “No- fuck…wait.” he exasperated.

Your eyes flicked from his grip to his face with a rage in your eyes that would have killed him if it could. He didn’t waver. You didn’t either. Just started at him with an anger you’ve never felt before as your eyes continued to well up with tears.

He finally let go and put his hands in the air, surrendering. You finished gathering your stuff to immediately storm out of the classroom.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Later that evening, you sat in the library, nose buried deep into your charms book as you absentmindedly wrote down notes about disillusionment. You tried your hardest to concentrate on your project as the light from the candles danced above your head, but you knew this issue with Fred was far too heavy on your mind and your heart to get any real work done. You looked up from your book and stared at the door to the library, contemplating if you were really about to do what your heart was screaming so loudly at you to do. You thought for a moment longer. “Fuck it.” you huffed, swiftly closing your books and heading out of the library. Straight to the Gryffindor common room.

You marched past the onlookers in Gryffindor common room and made a b-line straight to the boy’s dormitory. You didn’t even bother knocking on the door, just going straight in. You looked at all the eyes in the room that weren’t Fred’s. You could feel yourself going inwards, but you were determined to make things right.

“Out!” You shouted at everyone. They all scoffed as they looked at eachother.

“Is this girl serious?” Lee Jordan mumbled to George, earning each of them a death glare.

“I’m afraid she is boys. Let’s clear out.” George nodded curtly as everyone filed out of the room except Fred who was laying in his bed with his back turned to you. You bowed your head down standing towards the side as everyone cleared out of the room. Once it was just you and Fred, you shut the door and locked it, enchanting it with the muffliato charm. You took a deep breath in, taking in the warm scent you had grown to miss so deeply. Letting it envelop you without totally crushing your steamrolling.

“We need to talk.” You spoke sternly.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you to regret being in the same room as me.”

“Oh, Fred, Come on. So I said something stupid and meaningless to someone stupid and meaningless. So what?” You crossed your arms.

“So what?” He mocked and sat up angrily from his spot on his bed, grimacing at you. You clenched your jaw so tightly you thought your teeth could have broken in your mouth. You nodded briskly, standing your ground. He scoffed. “Do you even hear yourself when you speak?”

You blinked. Your confidence beginning to waver.

“You wanted to speak, so speak.” He motioned to the floor as it was yours to take space to make your case. You bit your lip, stepping a bit closer to him. What exactly was it that you wanted to say to him?

“I-”

Silence for a moment.

“I?” He questioned looking at you like you had seven heads. You sighed defeatedly.

“I was selfish, I- I mean for sleeping with you. I mean for fucks sake, you’re- were my best friend and I completely fucked it. I should have never done it.”

“Which part? Sleep with me or blab to Pansy?”

“Both, I guess.” You shrugged.

There was a long stale silence in the room for what felt like forever.

“You know what? You can’t say I tried. I’ll get you the notes to the project tomorrow because it’s clear that our friendship is never going to return. Have a good night.” You turned on your heels to leave.

“Are you daft?” He asked bluntly.

“E-excuse me?” you grimaced looking back at him, completely taken aback.

“No seriously. Are you daft? Do you really think these last 6 months have been easy for me? Do you think it was easy having to tell my family why you were no longer joining us for Christmas holiday or why we were no longer speaking to each other? All the sad sympathetic looks I got like I was some sorry lost puppy from my mother?”

You stayed completely silent as his soap box held the burden of his weight.

“And you know what the worst part is? You acted like I was absolutely nothing to you after it happened. Like I was just some one night stand you didn’t know that you’d never want to deal with again. Is that really all I was to you?”

“No!” Your tears were threatening to fall all over again.

“Given your behavior towards me, it sure does feel that way!”

“What did you want me to do, Fred? Stay here and cuddle with you? Bring you breakfast in bed? Pick flowers by the lake after a picnic together?” You didn’t even realize you were shouting.

“No! But I’d hoped you would’ve had the decency to treat me like a human being!” He stood up from his bed running his hands through his hair out of frustration. You weren’t sure if it was the heated passion of the moment, but something about his disheveled look was giving you flashbacks to that fateful night you shared in the very bed you stood just a few feet from.

“Do you know that night you passed out right away on my chest. Something you’ve done a million different times in a million different circumstances and each and every time I had been terrified to take a simple breath because I dreaded the idea of you moving your head.” He confessed.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in your now extremely dry throat.

“How dare you look at me and treat me like I was someone you’ve never even met, let alone claimed to be your best friend.”

“Freddie-” Your voice cracked. His familiar nickname slipping off of your tongue. Old habits do die hard.

“No! Don’t ‘Freddie’ me. You showed me how you feel. That’s fine. All of my cards are on the table, Y/N. I fold.”

“I just want it back to how it was.” You sniffled. You were now fully crying.

“I- you don’t get it.” He sighed rubbing his face. “I don’t want to be friends.” he stated matter of factly.

“What?” You strained. Your voice completely failing you.

Silence again. The only thing filling the air was the sound of your sniffling.

“Is there any way this can be repaired? You broke the silence.

He looked at you through his tired hooded eyes.

“I don’t know.” He sat down on his bed, looking exhausted and defeated. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I knackered and don’t think I have the capacity to continue this conversation.”

You bit your lip, breathing heavily out of your nose.

“I wanna fix this. Now.” You crossed your arms defying his wishes

“You can’t fix half a year's worth of estrangement in one night. It’s just not feasible, Y/N.”

“And why not?”

“Because I’m tired.”

“Of me? Of the situation? Of trying?” you egged on.

“No. Can you for once in your life please stop thinking everything is about you? I had quidditch practice at 5 o’clock in the morning and it’s almost 11. I just want to go to bed.” He pleaded.

“No. You’re being avoidant.” You stood your ground.

“Oh for fucks sake- leave!” He shouted.

“No!” You shot back in the same volume.

He got up and stood right in your face, looking down at you as the height difference was staggering. Your breathing hitched as this was the closest you’ve been to him in months. He was pissed. Flashbacks again.

……………………………………………………………………………………

“Oh fuck, Freddie!” You moaned arching your back as he drove his hips deeper and deeper into yours.

“Shhh, love. You have to be quiet.” He whispered as he brought his hand up to cover your mouth. A sad attempt to muffle to sounds that he was enjoying so much.

You dug your nails into the small of his back as he relented into you. Truthfully, you didn’t know how you ended up tangled in your best friend’s bed sheets but it was hardly something you could be upset about in this heavenly moment. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes from rolling back, wanting to keep the intense eye contact between you and Fred as you egged each other on closer and closer to your release.

You paid close attention to everything about him. The freckles that danced around his face, the way the moonlight hit his face so beautifully like the moon rose just for him, the way he was looking at you like you were the only person he ever wanted this with. God, he was perfect. And you were terrified. Terrified that every bit of teasing from his brothers and your friends about you two being in love was actually coming to fruition. Terrified that you were enjoying every thrust of his hips. Terrified you felt like you could never live without the feeling of him buried deep inside your walls again.

Suddenly, you were flipped around, whipping you out of your thoughts and back to the reality you were set in. With you on top, you smiled down at him as you rubbed his chest. “My Freddie.” You whispered and he flashed that damn smile that got you into this in the first place. You felt a wave of affection you had never felt before, scaring you further. “Yours.” He whispered back. Marking himself as your territory.

You started swaying your hips on him, allowing yourself to adjust to his size in this newer, deeper, position. You bit your lip trying your best to hold back a moan. “Fuck!: you whispered, earning a hum of appreciation from him.

“Just like that, princess.” He gripped your hips, guiding you perfectly against his cock.

You gripped the headboard in front of you for stability knowing you were about to unravel any second. You started bouncing on him as you fixed your eyes on the beautiful man underneath you. His fiery hair a tangled mess as strands stuck to his forehead.

“I’m gonna cum, Freddie.” you whispered as you continued your pace.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. You’ve earned it.” He started rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb as he started to trust his hips up into you.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Don’t stop!” you begged.

You were both a moaning mess. Any attempts to stay quiet had completely flown out the window. Each of his thrusts were intentional and messy as he worked his way to your release. Like his life depended on it.

……………………………………………………………………………………

“Why’d you leave?” his question snapping you out of your thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“The morning after we slept together. Why did you leave?” His eyes that usually gleamed with cheer and mischief now sad in comparison.

“I don’t know.” You lied.

“Bullshit.” He quipped.

“Excuse me?” You grimaced.

“Tell me the truth. Give me at least a shred of fucking dignity.” He inched closer as he continued to tower over you.

“Fuck off.” You went to move away but he grabbed your wrist and held you in your position.

“Don’t make me ask again, Y/N.” you gritted through his teeth.

You pulled your wrist from his grip glaring daggers at him. “I was fucking scared, okay?! You happy?!” You yelled.

“Scared of WHAT?!” He laughed in disbelief as he took a step back.

“That if I didn’t get out of that bed, I would have never left! That I would have asked for every single stupid fucking string to be attached! That I would have felt like a fucking idiot when you had said no!” The confession you had been agonizing and denying even yourself of hitting you and Fred like an anvil on the head.

“You didn’t even give me a fucking chance!” He yelled back.

“There was no chance, Fred! That’s the whole problem!” You cried out feeling completely and utterly completely defeated.

“You really are daft, aren’t you?”

“Stop calling me that!” you reprimanded. You wiped the tears from your red face that felt like it had been rubbed completely raw from your sleeve.

“You know, that’s your whole issue, Y/N. You come to these conclusions in your head without hearing anybody out. How are you so sure I would have said that I wouldn’t want strings attached?” He reprimanded back.

You stared down at your feet not saying a word.

“Well?” He encouraged.

“I don’t know, Fred. I guess I just do.” you stated matter of factly.

“Well guess what, Y/N. You’re wrong.” His statement short and blunt but hitting you like an impact from a car going 100 miles per hour.

You looked up at him slowly with furrowed brows, your eyes flickering between his soft hazel ones.

“What?” your voice cracked.

“You’re wrong.” His voice just as blunt as before as he took a step closer to you.

“Fred-” you scoffed. “Don’t patronize me. I know you’re just saying that-”

“Merlin, just be quiet.” He closed the gap between you and pressed his lips hotly against yours.

You furrowed your brows not sure if this was really happening, but you didn’t take long to give in and kiss him back. Every pushed down bit of affection rushing back like a ton of bricks. You wrapped your arms around his neck which led him to pulling you in closer. His strong arms wrapped tightly around your hips. You entangled your fingers into his soft red hair as you begged your knees not to give out on you as you totally melted into him. Your lips dancing together like they were handcrafted for each other.

“I missed you so much.” You cried against his lips.

“I know.” He deepened the kiss and walked you backwards until the back of your knees hit his bed making you fall back into it. You scooted up the bed so that your head could rest comfortable on his plush pillow embossed with the Gryffindor lion on his pillow case. He laid down next to you, gripping your hip again to turn you on to your side. He reconnected your lips as his fingers trailed from your hip to your thigh, pulling it onto his own hip to hold you closer.

You pulled away from the kiss and rested your forehead against his as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Freddie?” You asked softly.

“Hmm?” he hummed, rubbing circles on your thigh with his finger.

“I don’t wanna just be friends who kiss.” you stated shyly.

“Me neither.” He whispered back, moving his hand from your leg to the small of your back.

“If we’re gonna do this then we have to be all in.” you looked in his eyes that have now returned to the warmth you were so familiar with. No longer coded with their previous coldness when he would recently look at you.

“All the stupid fucking strungs attached.” He chuckled, joking at the remark you had made earlier.

You smiled as butterflies started whipping around in your stomach, too strong to be considered a flutter. Overwhelmed with both joy and love towards the man you were dreading just hours prior, The man who was your best friend. Your Freddie.

[tsukimirecs]

GRYFFINDOR BOYS

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

FRED WEASLEY

mad woman

cupid crystals

a special friend

recovering a life

deep breath

strawberry letters

date after date

SIRIUS BLACK

complimentary quills

just a natural fact

brighten your days

black dog neighbour

padfoot

HARRY POTTER

harry potter and the long-lost beach episode

harry potter and the late-night company

potter love

gifts

green-eyed idiot

romancing professor potter

CHARLIE WEASLEY

creative writing class

favourites

taming the dragon tamer

lucky charm

let's pretend

GEORGE WEASLEY

heart-to-heart chase

beating a weasley

well-meaning deceit

see you again

it's definitely you

coming home

[maria021015]

Penpals - Part 5

Fred Weasley x FemHufflepuffReader

What happens when Fred’s new owl accidentally sends a letter meant for George to the wrong person? The mysterious recipient might just write him back. And it might end up being the best mistake Fred has ever made.

The Triwizard tournament has come to an end, and as the rest of Hogwarts celebrates in their common rooms for the joint win of Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, Fred Weasley has different victory on his mind.

Warnings: explicit content, smut, set in a world where Voldemort didn’t return, and Cedric Diggory didn’t die.

———————————————————————

Each of the Hogwarts house common rooms were bustling with music and merriment in celebration of the Hogwarts Champions’ victory. It left the rest of the castle quieter than it had been in weeks. But up above it all, where the spires met the clouds, where the stars stretched overhead like scattered promises, a different challenge was being tackled by one Frederick Weasley.

The Astronomy Tower waited in silence, touched by the gentle brush of moonlight. Twilight curled around the stone like a silken shawl, blue and purple hues weaving themselves into the crumbling edges. A breeze swept through the open archway, warm despite the hour, as though summer had decided to make one final appearance before night fully took hold.

Y/n was waiting for him. She stood with her back to the staircase, looking out over the Forbidden Forest. Her hands rested on the cold ledge, fingers tapping nervously. The green dress from the Yule Ball had been replaced with something simpler - a soft green cardigan, her school skirt, and button-up shirt tucked slightly into it. She’d come early, unable to stay away. Each letter, each stolen glance, had led her here, and now she stood on the precipice of something both exhilarating and terrifying. It was the most exciting thing she’d ever done.

Footsteps echoed on the winding staircase behind her. She didn’t turn immediately. She knew. She felt it in her chest - the shift in the air. Like gravity itself was leaning toward him. She was scared to turn around, as though finally meeting him in person might ruin everything they’d built throughout the year.

“Finally, it’s about time I find you up here,” Fred Weasley’s voice rang out, softer than she’d ever heard it, threaded with awe and something reverent.

She turned.

There he was.

The boy who had haunted her sleep. The boy whose words she’d read until her vision blurred. His hair was a mess, as always, but tonight it looked more deliberate, windswept by the rush to meet her. His dress robes were half-buttoned, abandoned for a casual jumper rolled at the sleeves and trousers dusted faintly with dirt from earlier in the day. He had ink smudged on his hand. His tie hung loosely from his pocket, forgotten. But it was the expression on his face that stopped her breath.

Fred looked like he had been searching for her across lifetimes. His eyes - those warm, burning embers - locked onto hers and didn’t move. For a long moment, they just looked. After all the prose, the confessions, the teasing and aching and longing, the silence said more than any letter could.

“You’re…” he began, then stopped, smiling like it hurt. “You’re actually here.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “I hope I live up to what you imagined.”

He stepped closer, slow. Measured. “You’re so much more than what I imagined.”

They met in the center of the tower, where moonlight caught in her hair and turned it to silver. Fred’s hand hovered at her cheek, unsure, waiting.

She leaned into it. The touch was feather-light. A graze. Like he couldn’t believe she was solid. He cupped her jaw fully then, his thumb brushing just below her eye as though memorizing every line of her face.

“I’ve thought about this moment every night for the past month,” she whispered.

He laughed, low and warm, his forehead falling to hers. “So did I. And now that you’re here, I don’t know what to say that can do this justice.”

“Strange, isn’t it? How it’s so easy to talk on a paper, but in person it’s much more difficult.” She mused with a hum, cheeks flushing crimson.

“I wouldn’t say it’s difficult, just…new,” Fred corrected. “Your voice is better than I could have imagined it. And it was you. The girl that I saw at the first task. I hoped it would be. You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re even more handsome up close,” She giggled, the sound melodious and light with joy.

“You should have come up to take a closer look a long time ago,” he challenged with a mischievous spark behind his eyes.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Weasley,” she said.

And he did.

Softly at first, hesitant, like a question he’d waited too long to ask. His lips were warm, tender, brushing hers in a way that made her knees nearly give out. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt to stay grounded, to feel the beat of his heart under her fingertips.

When the kiss deepened, it was slow and exploratory, a dance of restraint and reverence. Fred pulled her closer, hands splaying over her back, anchoring her to him. His mouth moved against hers with aching care, like he was drinking her in sip by sip, not wanting to rush the taste he’d waited so long to revel in.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, her forehead stayed against his, their noses brushing.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

“You said that already,” she teased, her voice shaking with a laugh.

“Well, I can’t believe it more now.” His smile turned roguish. “And I should warn you, if you keep looking at me like that, I might forget how to speak entirely.”

She tilted her head, brows lifting playfully. “I wouldn’t mind that. I’ve heard you’re a bit mouthy.”

Fred chuckled, his laughter vibrating between them. “Only when I’ve got something to say. Which is always.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then one to her cheek, and another just below her jaw. Each one was careful. Deliberate. A trail of devotion. Walking her backwards slowly, they broke apart when her legs hit stone.

They perched in the window’s arch together, his arm around her shoulders as she curled into his side. Below, the lake glimmered, reflecting the ink of the night’s sky. A few stars had emerged, brave enough to shine through the spattering of clouds.

“So,” she said after a while, her voice quieter now. “What now?”

Fred looked down at her, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “Now we start the rest of whatever this is.”

She smiled, her fingers threading with his. “And what is it?”

He tilted his head, grinning. “It’s the story I’ll tell our kids one day. About how I fell for a girl in ink and parchment, who haunted my every thought until I found her at the top of the world.”

Her heart thundered in her chest, a maze of butterflies coming alive in her stomach.

“And then?” she whispered.

“And then I never let her go.” Fred’s words hung between them like a vow, low and reverent, and she couldn’t speak for a long moment. Her throat had gone tight, not with nerves but with emotion - a fullness that no amount of breath could satisfy.

She shifted closer, pressing her forehead to his collarbone, breathing in the scent of him - parchment ink, earth from Herbology, a faint trace of gunpowder and something uniquely Fred—mischief, warmth, and comfort. He held her tighter in response, and his hand moved slowly, almost absentmindedly, up and down her arm. The kind of touch that says, ‘You’re safe here. I’ve got you.’

“I was scared this would feel different in person,” she admitted softly. “That maybe the magic was only in the words. In the not-knowing.”

“And now?” he asked, voice husky, as if scared of her answer.

“Now I know it was always just you.”

Fred drew back just enough to see her face, his thumb brushing her jaw. “Say it again.”

“It was always you.”

He kissed her like a thank-you. Like a benediction.

The air had changed now - less tentative, more alive with heat. His kisses lost their hesitation, deepening with each pass. Her fingers found their way into his red locks, tugging gently, and she felt the low sound he made in the back of his throat vibrate against her chest.

He laid her back slowly, carefully, on the cool stone of the bench carved into the archway, never breaking the kiss. His body hovered over hers but never pressed, he wasn’t in a hurry. Fred Weasley, king of chaos and speed, was taking his time. Letting each heartbeat stretch into a moment, each breath become a wordless poem.

Her hands explored his shoulders beneath the loose shirt, memorizing the shape of him, the strength, the quiet steadiness in his muscles. Quidditch had certainly served him well all these years. He gasped softly when her palm slid to his ribs, and the sound was like fuel, sending a tremble through her.

When his mouth trailed down her throat, her head fell back. She didn’t stop the sigh that escaped, nor the soft, shuddering whisper of his name. “Freddie…”

His lips paused just above her collarbone. “Say it again.”

“Freddie,” she breathed, and this time, her hands guided him lower.

She felt his fingers tremble at the hem of her cardigan, and she nodded before he could ask. There was a whisper as the fabric hit the floor. His deft hands found the buttons of her shirt next, slowly slipping each one from its binding until the think white cotton top was falling from her body. He pushed it off her shoulders, gently, reverently, revealing the lace beneath - the green she’d hinted at, finally shown. His breath hitched audibly.

“You wore it,” he said, dazed. “Merlin, you actually wore it.”

“I told you I would,” she teased, but her voice was a whisper now, breathless and wanting.

He ran the backs of his fingers along the curve of the lace, over her shoulder, down her arm, reverent. “I don’t know how to be careful with how I feel about you.”

“Then don’t be careful,” she said, arching into his touch.

Fred leaned in again, kissing her deeply, and she felt it - the full weight of everything they had and hadn’t said. His longing. His tenderness. His restraint fraying slowly at the edges as her fingers traced patterns on his lower back, as her hips shifted instinctively beneath him.

His hand settled over hers, where it rested above his heart. “This,” he said hoarsely. “Has only ever beat for you. I just didn’t know it yet.”

Her throat tightened with emotion. She guided his hand down from her heart to the edge of her skirt, her eyes meeting his, full of intent.

“I want you to touch me,” she whispered. “If you want to.”

Fred’s breath left him in one long exhale. “I want to. But only if we take our time. I want to learn every part of you like a language. No rushing.”

She smiled. “I’ve got all night.”

What followed wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t reckless or frantic. It was soft, slow, and saturated in wonder.

They didn’t undress each other all at once. His robes loosened under her careful hands, the lace adorning her body never fully removed, only shifted enough to give access to skin he worshipped with mouth and palm alike. She unbuttoned his jumper in return, one at a time, pressing kisses to each new patch of freckled skin. His body responded to her touch like flame to oxygen - coiling, igniting, but never burning too hot or to hold.

Fred kissed her like she was both a mystery and an answer. Like every letter she’d written had settled into his bones and taken root. His hands mapped her gently, reverently, learning the curve of her waist, the softness of her thighs, the arch of her spine beneath his palm. He whispered her name between kisses, reverent and aching.

And when her body moved with his, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat, she felt something open inside her - a door that only he had the key to. A sense of belonging so fierce it nearly broke her.

Their bodies moved in sync, slow and deep and full of meaning, and when she moaned into his mouth, Fred groaned against her neck, clinging to the sound like salvation.

After, they lay tangled together, skin against skin, wrapped in robes and warmth and moonlight.

Fred stroked her hair as she curled against his chest, and he murmured, “Was this real? Or ami dreaming of you again?”

She laughed softly, fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. “It was real. More real than anything.”

He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I think I’ve loved you since the third letter.”

“You’re just saying that because I stole Earl.”

“Merlin, you’re right. It was the owl theft that sealed the deal.”

She giggled, and he kissed her nose, then her cheek, then finally her lips again - slow and lingering.

“I want this,” he whispered. “Not just tonight. I want mornings with you. I want to annoy you in class. I want to hex anyone who tries to flirt with you. I want to build that little cottage we talked about. I want to take you to (your home country) and hear you tell stories about your family while I burn in the sun like a tragic ginger.”

She smiled against his mouth. “Then you’ll have all of it. All of me.”

The moon hung full above them now, silver and watchful. Stars blinked into being like an audience, like witnesses.

———————————————————————

Tags: @randomfan218-blog @ellouisa17 @votresoleil02 @solchienne @lou-diaries @pillowjj @starryeddie @mirkwoodshewolf @zannete @pinkcloudcat @loveenoughtofillmeup @babbling-creature @crashoutqueenie @eliengoddes

[toorumlk]

the weasleys, circa 1995

[quinniferhughesenthusiast]

fuck me omg, fred weasley and a spit kink? OBSESSED, PLEASE SIGN ME UP

SEVENTEEN. spit kink — fred weasley

warnings — smut 18+. vaginal sex. spit kink. praise.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“look at you… so bloody hot.” fred groans as he pushes your legs open, revealing your soaked cunt. even though your wetness is dripping down your thighs, onto his sheets, it’s still not wet enough for fred. surprising you, he spits right on your glistening pussy before spreading his saliva around with the pink, swollen tip of his cock.

unable to control himself much longer, he immediately pushes into you, his tall body right on top of you with his long arms braced on either side of your head. the sudden stretch makes you gasp loudly, gripping his forearms with your nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

“you feel so good around me.” fred growls into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over the skin of your neck sending shivers down your spine. he sets a steady pace, the slick, sexual sounds of his cock moving in and out of your cunt echoing through his dorm room. “and so wet for me.”

loud, pornographic moans spill from your lips, and you’re certain the people next door can hear you, but you’re too dazed to care as fred only increases his pace, heightening your pleasure. his hand wanders towards your head, his fingers dominantly yet still gently gripping your fucked-out face, forcing you to open your eyes and meet his gaze.

“open up, sweetheart.” he orders, a mischievous smile plastered across his flushed face, and you obey instantly, parting your lips and gazing up at him through your eyelashes. he spits into your mouth, landing right on your tongue, before he presses under your jaw to close your mouth again, a self-satisfied expression on his face.

“swallow.” he instructs, his tone deep and concise, and you obediently do, swallowing all of his spit. he nods at you in approval, his eyes fixed on your lips before quickly resuming his brutal pace while planting quick, soft kisses all over your neck.

“always so good for me, aren’t you? i’m such a lucky guy, bloody hell.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[ninjapiratelady]

Okay, so we know the Trace can detect magic in the vicinity of an underage wizard, but not who cast it, correct?

So you CANNOT tell me that there weren't students using underage magic.

James Potter? Pureblood with a magical family. He absolutely used magic at home before he was 17 (although his parents may not have approved of this and he likely would have kept it secret from them).

Sirius Black? Pureblood who spent his holidays at either Grimmauld Place or James'. He absolutely used underage magic.

Remus Lupin? Maybe not often. But he had a wizard dad. He probably used it now and again.

Fred and George Weasley? Purebloods in a magical household. They 100% used magic when they were hidden away in their room.

Draco Malfoy? Pureblood with parents who give him a pass for everything. Yes, he used magic.

This is what I always thought when I originally read HBP and Dumbledore told Harry that the Trace can't detect who does the magic. The second I read that, I was like yep, there is definitely underage magic going on in the magical households.

[htchnr]

ミ★ aching knees ꜜ FRED WEASLEY.

𖦹 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𖦹 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢!

「 ꜜsummary,, in which you fall asleep against Fred's thigh in the common room and it absolutely fries his tired brain. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, first Fred fic ⋆ not proofread whoops i wrote this at 4am ⋆ Fred being an infatuated idiot ⋆ George (lovingly) bullying him ⋆ the golden trio is there for 2 seconds as well. ꜜwc,, 0,5k. 」

「 authors note,, first Fred fic y'all 🫣 let me know what you thought + letting you know that he's now also on my request list so if y'all want me to write more you can send me ideas!. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

the low sounds of students chattering and moving about the common room acts as a lulling sound as you sit on the floor against the couch with Fred, George and the trio while they all talk about your plans for the holidays.

Fred and George talk lively about their plans of mischief while Ron groans in dramatic misery. Harry and Hermione laugh along with the twins' wild ideas.

you yawn, leaning to the side as you rest your head against Fred's thigh who was sitting behind you on the couch. your eyes droop, the melodic sound of everyone's laughter and chatter mixing with the low sounds of the common room noise slowly lulling you to sleep.

Fred barely thinks about it as he moves a hand down to stroke through your hair as your head rests against his thigh. he's still engaged in the conversation, absentmindedly combing his fingers through your messy strands.

George smiles to himself as he catches glimpse of the sight, a know-it-all grin on his lips.

the conversation dwindles after a while, everyone growing tired after the long day. Fred in the meantime has moved from the couch to the floor beside you, your head in his lap and his fingers never leaving your hair. Hermione bids everyone a goodnight, leaving for the girl's dorm as she could barely keep her eyes open.

the twins keep up quiet conversation with Ron and Harry, reminiscing about old pranks or soddy teachers.

George makes a teasing jab about how 'Fred's knees will surely kill him in the morning after sitting too long like this', but Fred shakes his head tiredly. he doesn't mind the dull ache he'll indeed feel, as long as you're at peace and catch some sleep.

besides, he would take any pain if it meant to have you this close to him.

George laughs quietly, standing up with low cracks of his own knees. he makes one last remark along the lines of 'i swear you two are so blind', before he heads up the boy's dorms to sleep.

Harry laughs along at Fred's slightly red cheeks, getting up as well. he bids Fred a goodnight, heading off to his dorm.

Fred sighs tiredly as he looks down at your sleeping form. damn his already aching knees, you look too cute to care about the dull pain. he strokes a stray strand of hair from your face, mentally kicking himself for still not having made a move.

though, he muses, if only you'd stop making him stutter and trip over his words with those damn eyes every time he'd try.

tomorrow, he nods to himself. knowing that your full attention will make him a stumbling mess once he tries once more. but this time, he huffs as he closes his eyes, this time he'll push through and finally get the words out.

[mywhisperingwords]

baby, no attachments | fred g. weasley

summary: sneaking into fred weasley’s room was never meant to mean anything—until it suddenly did word count: 3.9k masterlist

The sun was barely peeking through the curtains when you stirred, tangled in a mess of warm sheets and Fred’s arm slung across your waist.

His dorm was quiet, save for his soft breathing and the occasional creak of wood as one of his dormmates shifted in their sleep.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Fred was warm behind you, his bare chest rising and falling against your back, his hand resting just under your ribs like he had every right to be there. It was easy to pretend, in moments like this, that the space you occupied in his bed was the same as the one you occupied in his life.

You turned your head, catching sight of his tousled hair and the faintest hint of a smile on his face, even as he dozed. There was a tenderness to him in sleep, a kind of softness you rarely got to see when he was fully awake and full of mischief. You let your gaze trail over the freckles scattered across his shoulder, letting yourself trace invisible constellations—quietly, foolishly hoping they might lead to something more certain.

It felt safe here—like nothing else existed but the two of you.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You flinched, caught, and his grin widened without even opening his eyes. “Was not,” you whispered back, careful not to wake anyone else.

“Was too,” he countered, finally cracking one eye open. His hand slid to your hip, fingers curling slightly as if to keep you there.

“I have to go,” you said, but you didn’t move, and he knew it.

Fred’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”

His voice carried a teasing lilt, but something in it made your breath hitch. You didn’t want to give it a name—but it wasn’t nothing.

“Fred,” you warned gently, trying not to laugh as his leg draped over yours, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he whispered, leaning closer until his nose brushed against your temple. “What’s the worst that could happen? We get caught? Big deal. I’ll tell them you were helping me study.”

“This early? And for what, exactly?” you teased, finally turning to meet his gaze.

Fred smirked, mischief lighting up his features. “Advanced Wandwork. You’re an excellent teacher, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.” His hand skimmed down your arm, catching your wrist and tugging you closer. “Don’t go.”

Your resolve wavered. It always did when he looked at you like that—unguarded, open in a way that made it hard to breathe. Like maybe this meant more to him than you were allowed to believe. Like maybe the rules you told yourself not to break—don’t hope, don’t ask, don’t want too much—were already fraying at the edges.

“If I don’t leave now, Lee will wake up and start asking questions,” you whispered.

Fred groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “Fine, but only because I care about your reputation or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you echoed, sliding out from beneath the covers. The chill of the dormitory hit you immediately, and you shivered as you gathered your clothes from the floor.

He watched you, propped up on one elbow, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked absurd. He looked perfect. And you hated how much you wanted this to mean something more.

He didn’t say anything until you were pulling on your shoes, your back to him.

“Hey,” he called softly.

You turned, and he was watching you again—closely this time, like he might miss something important if he blinked.

He grinned, boyish and bright. “I’ll miss you.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to hide your smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your heart betrayed you, thudding a little harder in your chest. “Go back to sleep, Fred.”

“Come back tonight?” he asked, quieter now. Less playful. Like a question with layers.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.

“Good,” he said, sinking back into the pillows. “See you later.”

You slipped out the door, your steps careful and quiet, but your thoughts were loud. You told yourself not to read into it. Not to get carried away. But Fred’s voice lingered, soft and stubborn in your head.

⸻

The common room was eerily quiet, the hour so late it bordered on early. A chill hung in the air, and the last embers in the fireplace had died to ash. The silence felt heavier than usual, like the castle itself was holding its breath.

You glanced over your shoulder before ascending the boys’ staircase, your steps instinctively light, avoiding the creaky spots you’d learned to memorize through too many nights like this.

Fred’s door was slightly ajar. The moonlight spilled through the high windows, casting silver shadows across the floor and tracing the outlines of the beds. He was already awake—waiting—his head lifting from the pillow as you slipped inside and eased the door shut behind you.

“Took your time,” he whispered, voice rough and low, soft enough to blend into the quiet.

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the room, your movements fluid, familiar. “You try sneaking past Angelina without a plan. She’s like a human Secrecy Sensor.”

Fred smirked, his hair sticking up in every direction as he sat up. “Well, we wouldn’t want her catching you, would we?”

His tone had lightened, teasing as always, but his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your breath catch. There was something else behind his gaze tonight—something quieter, more watchful. A pause you didn’t quite know how to name.

“Come here,” he murmured.

You didn’t hesitate. The bed creaked softly beneath you as you slid in beside him, his arms winding around your waist like second nature. His lips found yours in a kiss that was brief but grounding, like an unspoken reassurance. You felt him smile against your mouth before he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whispered back, matching his smile without even thinking.

His fingers traced lightly along the back of your neck, his touch feather-soft and easy. “You didn’t wake the others, did you?”

“Of course not,” you said, mock-offended. “I’m stealthy, remember?”

His eyes sparked with amusement. “Like a thestral in a china shop.”

“Would you rather I didn’t come?”

“Not a chance.”

The stillness returned, settling around the two of you like a blanket. He lay down beside you, and you curled into him, his arm pulling you close, your head tucked beneath his chin. It was a rhythm you’d grown used to—the way your bodies fit together, how his warmth filled the spaces the cold left behind.

But even as you relaxed into him, even as his fingers brushed gently along your arm, you still sometimes felt it—the hesitation, so slight it was nearly imperceptible. Like he wasn’t sure if he should hold you so tightly. Like he was always half-waiting for the moment you might pull away.

“Cold?” he asked, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your sleeve.

You shook your head. “No. You’re warm.”

“Good.” His hand stilled, thumb brushing back and forth in slow, lazy arcs. You listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, willing yourself to sink into it, to let it lull you into sleep.

And for a while, it did.

But sometime later, you startled awake, breath caught in your throat, chest tight in a way that had no name. The room was dark, the world too quiet, and you felt unmoored.

“Hey.” Fred’s voice slipped into the quiet, groggy but alert. He stirred beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You paused, unsure. “I don’t know. A nightmare, I think.”

He was silent for a long beat. Then his hand moved to rub soothing circles over your back. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

Fred shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. Moonlight outlined his profile—his furrowed brow, the crease between his eyebrows, the softness in his eyes. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling suddenly small, the edges of the dream already fading but leaving something raw behind. “No. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he said lightly, though his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re terrible at lying, you know.”

You gave a weak smile. “I’m not that bad.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “You always do this thing with your nose when you’re lying. It scrunches up, just a little.”

Your brow furrowed. “It does not.”

“It does.” He grinned and reached out to tap your nose. “See? There it is.”

You batted his hand away, the gesture soft and half-hearted. “You’re making that up.”

“Am I?”

His tone was warm, teasing—but gentler than usual. His hand ghosted over your shoulder, grounding you.

“Fred, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His voice quieted. “Look, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But if I see your nose scrunch up again, I’m going to assume you’re secretly plotting against me.”

You laughed—a small, real sound that surprised even you. You buried your face in his shirt, muffling it.

“There it is,” he said again, softer now, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

For the rest of the night, Fred didn’t fill the silence with jokes or mischief. Instead, he whispered half-thoughts and soft nonsense, his voice like a hand held out in the dark.

You didn’t sleep again, not really—but it didn’t matter. He stayed with you, the space between you full of warmth, and care, and the quiet ache of something too tender to name.

⸻

The corridor was unusually quiet for midday, the usual crowd thinned by lunch and looming N.E.W.T. panic. The air had that soft, golden glow of early spring—sunlight catching on dust motes and making even the dull stone floors feel a little warmer.

Fred was walking beside you, arms crossed behind his head like he hadn’t a care in the world. He nudged you lightly with his elbow every few steps, clearly enjoying himself. You’d been laughing for the last five minutes straight.

“And then he goes, ‘Fred, that’s not a Flobberworm, that’s my shoe!’”

You gasped, half-disbelieving, half-dying of laughter. “You didn’t.”

Fred looked smug. “In my defense, it was dark, and the shoe was moving.”

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Well, it could have been,” he said, grinning. “It might’ve been cursed.”

You shook your head, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “You’re an idiot.”

“Only for you,” he shot back, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Just that quick silence that hangs between two people who aren’t quite sure if something has shifted.

You looked away first, cheeks warm, smile lingering as you both rounded a corner.

“I was thinking,” he said after a beat, nudging your shoulder again. “About tonight.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

Fred looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes before he smirked again. “Come to the Astronomy Tower with me.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “So romantic. Gonna push me off?”

He laughed. “Nah. I was thinking something more subtle. Like poison.”

“Good to know you’ve been planning this.”

“Always.” His voice was warm, teasing, but then he added, more softly, “Just come. We won’t get caught. And it’s supposed to be clear out tonight. You like stars, right?”

You blinked, thrown by the sudden sincerity underneath the mischief. “I do.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.”

He said it easily, like he didn’t think about it too hard—but your stomach still fluttered.

“A date, huh?” you echoed.

But before he could answer, you heard a loud echo of footsteps behind you.

“Oi, Fred!”

The sound of running footsteps broke the moment as Lee and George rounded the corner, both slightly out of breath.

“There you are,” George said. “You’re gonna make us late.”

Fred gave you an apologetic smile. “Duty calls.”

“See you later,” you said, still smiling, a little dazed.

Fred started to walk backward again, that grin of his never fading. “You better.”

You turned, starting down the corridor in the opposite direction, his laughter still echoing faintly behind you. The smile stayed on your lips, light and warm.

Until—

“Wait, wait, hold on,” you heard Lee say, his voice drifting down the corridor. “Are you two—are you dating?”

Fred’s answer came a beat later, casual and light. “No. It’s nothing serious.”

The words landed like a slap—so casual. So thoughtless.

Your breath caught, your smile freezing in place before it slowly slid away. You kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself to keep walking, like the comment hadn’t lodged itself somewhere under your ribs.

Behind you, George or Lee said something else—maybe a joke, maybe nothing—but the words blurred in your ears, drowned out by the sudden quiet inside your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You just walked, his voice echoing in your mind.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Funny how everything could feel so serious only seconds before.

⸻

You didn’t go to the Astronomy Tower that night.

You meant to. You really did.

You sat on the edge of your bed with your shoes on and your jacket in hand, eyes trained on the clock as it ticked past each minute, slow and cruel. You imagined him waiting—hands shoved into his pockets, hair windblown, looking up at the stars and maybe even thinking of you.

But then you heard his voice again in your mind.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Casual. Effortless. Like it was obvious.

And suddenly, everything inside you curled up tight.

So you stayed in bed. Lights off. Eyes open.

⸻

The next morning, you skipped breakfast.

The morning after that, you took a different corridor to class. By the third day, you were running out of detours—Fred had a knack for showing up where you least expected, like the universe was conspiring against you.

But you were good at pretending. Better than you expected. You could laugh at jokes, nod at friends, sit through lessons without flinching. You could go an entire day without looking over your shoulder.

Still, you felt him everywhere.

In the way your chest tensed when you passed the Astronomy Tower.

In the way your fingers twitched every time someone said his name.

In the ache behind your ribs when you lay in bed alone, remembering how he used to say “stay” like it was the easiest thing in the world.

⸻

Fred cornered you four days later.

You’d nearly made it out of the library, arms full of books, head ducked, doing your best to blend into the late-evening crowd. But he was fast, stepping in front of you with no warning, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment you’d try to vanish again.

“Okay,” he said, voice tight, eyes sharp. “What the hell is going on?”

You blinked up at him, heart crashing against your ribs.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said quickly, the lie scraping against your tongue.

Fred narrowed his eyes. “Really? Because I haven’t seen you in days. You didn’t show up the other night. You’re avoiding me.”

You tried to step around him. He stepped with you.

“Talk to me,” he said, softer now. Pleading.

The dam cracked. Just a little.

“I’m busy,” you said. “That’s all.”

He scoffed, taking a step closer. “Busy avoiding me, maybe. Did I do something? Because if I did, just tell me. Don’t shut me out.”

Your jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted. “You’re acting like I—like I hurt you.”

That did it.

You laughed, bitter and breathless, the sound cracking down the middle. “Well, that’s funny.”

Fred’s expression faltered. “What?”

Your hands curled around the edges of your books, knuckles white. “You don’t get to act confused, Fred.”

He took a step back, like your words had physically shoved him. “I—I don’t understand.”

“No. You don’t,” you said, the anger bubbling up now, hot and sharp. “You don’t get to ask me what’s wrong after saying it wasn’t serious. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

Fred blinked. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“Your friends asked if we were dating,” you said. “And you just—just brushed it off. ‘It’s nothing serious.’ That’s what you said.”

Silence.

He stared at you, mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Like it hadn’t even occurred to him.

And that hurt worst of all.

“You looked me in the eyes and made plans with me right before,” you went on, voice rising, cracking. “You kissed me. You asked me to stay. And then the second someone asked—you couldn’t deny it fast enough.”

Fred opened his mouth.

No words came out.

You shook your head, the ache in your chest swelling so big you could hardly breathe around it. “Why do you care if I disappeared? You made it pretty clear I’m just some secret you’re not willing to admit to.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, but it was too quiet. Too late.

You stepped back, throat tight, vision blurry around the edges. “Well, congratulations. Message received.”

And before he could find the words—or maybe just admit that he didn’t have them—you turned and walked away.

This time, he didn’t stop you.

And it was worse than if he had.

⸻

The days that followed passed like a slow bruise.

Nothing dramatic. No storm. No outbursts.

Just silence.

Fred didn’t try to talk to you again—not really. Not in the corridors, not in the common room. He looked, though. You felt it. In every hallway. Across every meal. Like he was watching from across some invisible line he didn’t know how to cross.

And you—well, you tried not to let it show.

You sat with your friends. You laughed at the right moments. You handed in assignments. You did everything you were supposed to do. And still, it felt like something inside you was holding its breath.

You didn’t cry. Not really. Just stared at the ceiling some nights with your chest hollowed out and your throat tight and told yourself this was better.

It was better, wasn’t it?

Because you’d known. Deep down, you’d always known. Fred Weasley didn’t do serious. Not with you. Not with anyone.

He never said forever. Never promised anything. Never used any of those words people use when they mean more. He was fun and warm and reckless, and it had been easy to believe—for a while—that maybe you were the exception. That maybe, just maybe, this was something real.

But now, you knew better.

And still, every time the door opened, some small, stupid part of you looked up. Hoping.

⸻

He found you again in the corridor outside the Charms classroom, just after the bell had rung and most students were still filtering out in clusters of noise and motion.

You hadn’t seen him coming.

He didn’t speak at first, just stepped into your path, not blocking you—just… there.

You froze.

Fred looked awful. Hair a little messier than usual. Circles under his eyes. And a strange kind of stillness that made you nervous, because Fred never stood still. Not like this.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he said, softer now. “I—I don’t know how else to fix this.”

You looked away. “I don’t think you can.”

Fred’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

He tried again. “What I said. That day. About us not being serious. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You forced a laugh, bitter and quiet. “How else could you have meant it, Fred?”

“I panicked,” he admitted, eyes searching your face. “They asked, and I said the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t want them to start teasing or asking questions—I just didn’t think. I didn’t mean for it to sound like you don’t matter.”

“But that’s how it sounded,” you said, voice low. “And you didn’t come after me. You didn’t say anything until now.”

“I didn’t know how,” Fred said. “I didn’t know if I had the right to.”

You met his gaze then, and for once, he didn’t smile. Didn’t try to joke. Just looked at you like he’d run out of masks to wear.

“I like you,” he said, the words breaking open something in his chest. “I’ve liked you for a while. And I never said it because I didn’t want to mess it up. I thought if I just—if we kept things easy, it’d be enough. But it wasn’t. Not for me. And obviously not for you, either.”

You felt your throat tighten.

Fred stepped closer, careful, slow, like you might vanish again. “You matter to me. You’re not nothing. You’ve never been nothing. I didn’t know how to say that before, but I’m saying it now.”

You stared at him.

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But something inside you still bristled, still remembered how easily he’d brushed it off when someone else was listening.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you said, voice trembling. “I don’t want to feel like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind.”

Fred shook his head. “I have made up my mind. I just made a mess of showing it. I get it if you need space. I get it if you don’t believe me. But I’d rather wait for you, even if it takes ages, than pretend I don’t care. Because I do. So much more than I’ve ever said out loud.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because even now, you weren’t sure if letting him in again would break you all over. But you weren’t sure if walking away would hurt any less.

And yet… when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it.

Not the cocky grin. Not the easy charm. Just Fred, stripped down to something raw and honest. He wasn’t trying to win you back with clever words. He was just standing there, hoping you’d still let him try.

You swallowed hard, blinking past the tightness in your throat.

“I believe you,” you said softly.

Fred’s shoulders dropped, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. He took a small step forward—and this time, he didn’t stop himself.

“I do,” you repeated, steadier now. “But if this is going to mean something—if we’re going to try—I need you to take it seriously. No more hiding. No more brushing it off when it gets inconvenient.”

Fred nodded immediately, eyes locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single word.

He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Alright. No more hiding.”

A pause.

“Unless it’s you sneaking into my room again. I think we should keep that part.”

You tried not to smile. Failed completely. “Oh, do you?”

“Absolutely. It’s the only way I get any decent sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he stepped closer, you didn’t stop him. And when his arms slid around you, careful and warm, you let yourself lean into him.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. No dramatic declarations. Just the quiet press of his forehead against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the strange, wonderful feeling of finally being in the same place at the same time.

You closed your eyes for a moment, and for the first time, it didn’t feel uncertain.

It felt like a beginning. One you actually wanted.

[mssorceressupreme]

Wanna Be Yours | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

———

The courtyard was alive with the soft hum of spring—branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones. Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them—Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Too Much Like Me

Potter!Reader tells her dad she's been asked on a date.

Summary: James finds out Lily's type in men is apparently genetic.

Wc: ~1.7k

CW: Just chaotic fluffy hijinks - a jab about Americans

“Dad.” You trailed James into the kitchen, fighting to keep your voice calm despite the storm brewing ahead.

But James Potter, in all his dramatic glory, had gone entirely deaf. Arms flailing like a prophet warning of doom, he roared, “Family meeting!”

“No! No family meeting!” you yelped, lunging for his arm. You barely stifled a laugh as he flailed harder, like a fish trying to escape the net.

James spun around, courtroom-drama style, and gasped at you with the intensity of someone catching their child red-handed with a cursed artifact. “Fred Weasley? Our Fred Weasley? That Fred Weasley?”

“Yes, that Fred Weasley,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Merlin’s saggy balls, I regret telling you already.”

James slammed his hand on the counter for emphasis, pivoting toward the sitting room like a man possessed. “Lily!” he thundered, shaking the walls. “Lily, get in here! Your daughter’s lost her mind!”

“Dad, for Merlin’s sake!” You tried to grab him again, but James had started pacing now, looking like a wizard unjustly accused of crimes against decorum.

“Not in my house! Not under my roof!” He spun around, hazel eyes bulging with a level of betrayal that deserved an award. “Fred Weasley doesn’t know the meaning of curfew! Or- Merlin help us- a respectable bedtime! Do you think I’m letting that chaos into my family? After all I’ve sacrificed? For you?”

“James,” came Lily’s voice, calm but laced with amusement. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, her lips twitching. “What are you yelling about this time?”

James turned to her, a man on the brink. “Fred Weasley! He asked her out! Our daughter! On a date! Alone! With no chaperone!”

Lily blinked, then turned to you with a grin brighter than a Patronus. “Oh!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up. “He finally asked?”

James froze mid-tirade, pointing an accusatory finger at his wife. “Finally? What do you mean, finally? Have you been... supporting this? Encouraging it?”

Lily shrugged, her grin widening as she pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the kitchen. “He’s a lovely boy, James. Polite, clever, charming. He reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Don’t you dare—” James began, his tone low and dangerous.

“You,” Lily finished brightly, jabbing him in the chest. “Fred’s just like you were. All mischief and charm. No wonder she likes him.”

James gawked at her like she’d suggested selling their house to a pack of trolls. “That’s exactly why she can’t date him! I was Fred Weasley, Lily! Do you know what I would’ve done if someone let me date their daughter?”

“You married her,” Lily said sweetly, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, winking at you as it effectively stunned the red mess that was your father.

James froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, completely derailed by Lily’s well-placed jab and affectionate kiss. He finally managed to sputter, “That’s- That’s completely different!”

“How, exactly?” Lily teased, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms again. “Because if I recall correctly, you were a menace, Potter. A charming menace, but a menace nonetheless. Fred’s cut from the same cloth, and you turned out all right.”

James spluttered, gesturing wildly at you. “Because this is my daughter! She’s not supposed to fall for charmers like Fred Weasley! I can’t just let this happen! Where’s the fatherly dignity in that?”

“Oh, James,” Lily sighed, patting his shoulder with exaggerated pity. “I hate to break it to you, but you lost your ‘fatherly dignity’ the day you wore those matching Christmas jumpers with Sirius.”

“That was solidarity!” James barked, his ears reddening as he straightened his posture in a futile attempt at reclaiming authority. “And anyway, this is different. I’m supposed to protect her! Shield her from the heartbreakers and mischief-makers of the world.”

“Fred’s not a heartbreaker, Dad,” you said, exasperated but amused. “He’s actually- dare I say- nice? And maybe even mature? A little bit?”

James looked like he might faint. “Mature?! You’re telling me Fred Weasley- the bloke who turned all the Quidditch goalposts into giant marshmallows- is mature?! What next? He’s taken up knitting?”

“Knitting would be a good look for him,” Lily quipped, clearly enjoying herself. “Very soothing hobby. He could knit you a jumper, James, to match that dignity you’ve misplaced.”

You couldn’t help but snort at the visual, and James threw his hands up, pacing the kitchen again. “I can’t believe this. I’m being outnumbered in my own home.”

“It’s called democracy- like the Americans,” Lily said, smirking as she leaned against the counter. “And right now, you’re the losing party.”

James stopped pacing to glare at her. “Fred acts like a damned American..” He mumbled before he raised his voice. “This is treason. Pure, unadulterated treason.”

“James,” Lily replied patiently, though her lips twitched with amusement. “You’ll survive.”

At that moment, Harry wandered into the kitchen, his face set in curious confusion as he surveyed the scene. He held a plate of leftover treacle tart, chewing leisurely. “What’s with all the shouting, then?” He asked, his tone disinterested but his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

James immediately pounced, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Your sister has decided to go on a date with Fred Weasley, Harry! Fred Weasley! What do you have to say about that?”

Harry blinked at him, clearly trying to piece together the situation. Then his gaze slid to you, and his smirk grew as he swallowed a bite of tart. “Fred, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Nice. Bold choice. Never a dull moment with a Weasley.”

“Bold-? Harry!” James looked genuinely wounded. “This is a betrayal! Your own sister-"

“Is an adult,” Harry interrupted, shrugging. “And you’re acting like she’s run off to marry Voldemort’s ghost.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” you muttered under your breath, earning a snort from Harry.

“Not helping, Harry!” James barked, looking thoroughly frazzled now. He pointed at you again. “Fine! Go on your date! But I’m watching him. One toe out of line, and-”

“And what?” you challenged, grinning now as Lily watched on, clearly entertained. “You’ll duel him? Turn him into a marshmallow like his Quidditch goalposts?”

James opened his mouth, floundering for a retort, but Lily stepped in, tugging him gently away from the center of the chaos. “Come on, love,” she cooed soothingly. “Why don’t we sit down, have a cuppa, and let the kids handle their own lives for once?”

James sighed, finally deflating. “Fine,” he grumbled, shooting you one last suspicious look. “But mark my words- an eye for an eye! Harry, date his younger sister!”

Harry froze, the bite of treacle tart halfway to his mouth as the words sunk in. His eyes darted between you, Lily, and James, clearly trying to figure out if this was his moment to fess up or quietly Disapparate.

“What?” James demanded, noticing Harry’s hesitation. “What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’ve already thought about it!”

Lily covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You, on the other hand, burst out laughing immediately, doubling over as the image of James putting two and two together hit you.

“Why are you laughing?” James barked, looking between the two of you like he was missing the punchline to a joke everyone else got. “What’s so funny? Harry, explain yourself!”

Harry, clearly seeing no way out, sighed and placed his plate of treacle tart on the counter. “Dad,” he started, bracing himself, “I’m already dating Ginny.”

James froze. Completely, utterly froze. His jaw hung slack, his hands hovering mid-air like a malfunctioning automaton.

“You’re what?” He whispered, his voice teetering on the edge of shock and betrayal.

You howled with laughter, tears forming in your eyes. “Oh, Merlin, this is priceless!” You gasped. “Dad, your face- your face!"

“James, breathe,” Lily advised through her own laughter, leaning against the counter for support. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

James finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes narrowing into sharp points of indignation. “Ginny?! Ginny Weasley?! First her with Fred, and now you- how long has this been going on?”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to make himself look smaller. “A while.”

“A while?" James repeated, his voice cracking. “Define ‘a while.’ A few days? Weeks?”

Harry hesitated. “Since... fifth year?”

“Fifth year?!" James bellowed, looking like he might explode. “That’s years! Years, Harry! And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“What was I supposed to say?” Harry shot back, clearly frustrated now. “‘Hey, Dad, by the way, I’m snogging Ron’s little sister’? That would’ve gone over well.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than me finding out like this!” James cried, gesturing wildly at nothing in particular. “My own son! Betraying me! I raised you better than this, Harry!”

Lily wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, James. They’re clearly happy, and Ginny’s a wonderful girl. You love her.”

“That’s not the point, Lily!” James snapped, his hands flying to his hair. “It’s- this is-!Fred! Ginny! My children and their Weasleys! What’s next? Ron’s going to marry into the family, too?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well... technically, Hermione-"

“No! They got her too!?" James cut him off, throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t even tell me! I won’t survive it! This is it- this is how I go. Betrayed by my own family and buried in a sea of Weasleys.”

You leaned against the counter, wheezing with laughter. “Dad, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” James turned to you, his face a picture of righteous indignation. “You don’t understand. I fought a war for this family- for this! And now my legacy is going to be a house full of Weasleys!”

“Sounds cozy,” Lily teased, patting his arm. “You’ll come around, James. You always do.”

James groaned, sinking into a chair as if all the fight had been drained out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Fine. Date your Weasleys. Marry them. Name your kids Fred and Ginny Jr. for all I care.”

You patted his shoulder, grinning. “Love you, Dad.”

He shot you a glare but muttered, “Love you, too. But don’t think for one second I’m not watching Fred like a hawk.”

“And Ginny?” Harry asked, daring to push his luck.

James pointed a warning finger at him. “You, young man, are on thin bloody ice."

Lily hushed James as she patted his back, leading him out of the kitchen. He continued to blabber on, muttering something along the lines of;

“Is this my fault?”

“Merlin, does Molly know?”

“Bloody redheads- OW!”