#george weasley x gryffindor!reader

[cloudybarnes]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Summary: everyone knew you had a thing for the boy who lived, everyone, that is, except for Harry himself.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Harry is so soft in this it's insane so take this as your warning

Masterlist

✰  ✰  ✰

It wasn't like you were hiding anything.

You prided yourself in being very direct, and very much a go-getter. After transferring from Beauxbatons, you made quick friends at Hogwarts, even with Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

With Harry, you very quickly became fond of the quirky things he would say, and how flustered he would get when you were around.

Some people called you a flirt, but you liked to think you were just really clear about what you wanted.

Him.

You just weren't sure if he felt the same way about you.

"So, (Y/N)." Hermione said as you, her, Harry and Ron walked out of potions class. "Did you want to study for the exam with us? I figure I could use as much help to make sure these two know what they're doing."

"Hey!" Ron complained, "I happen to be smart sometimes too, Hermione. You're not the only one with a brain."

"You're right, Ron." Hermione said. "(Y/N) has a brain as well, that's why I've asked her to come study with us."

Ron rolled his eyes with a grumble.

"I think that'd be nice," Harry softly said.

You grinned. "Well if Harry wants me there, of course I'm down."

His cheeks turned pink as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Ron snickered and playfully elbowed Harry a couple of times. Harry swatted him away; the pink on his cheeks growing a darker shade.

Harry sheepishly smiled at you. "O-of course I want you there!" He stuttered.

You smirked at him. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I promise I'll be there."

Harry's mouth fell open slightly, as Ron started laughing. "Harry, close your mouth for Merlin's sake!" Ron teased Harry by pointing at his parted lips.

Harry swatted Ron's hands away from his face with a scowl. "Shut up, Ron," he muttered.

You laughed. "I'm just gonna catch up to you guys later. Bye, Harry." You sent a wink in his direction as you walked away. Ron's cackling laugh boomed through the hallway as you left.

✰  ✰  ✰

"Hey, (Y/N)!"

You had started walking down the hallways to get to the Gryffindor study hall where you were supposed to meet up with the golden trio when Luna stopped you.

"Hey, Luna!" You smiled as she walked towards you. "Where were you today? I didn't see you in herbology today."

Luna had been one of your closest friends outside of Hermione, Ron, and Harry. She was fun to talk to, and pretty much knew everything about you already and vice versa.

"Yeah," she smiled, "I was off in the woods taking a walk. It's very nice out there this time of year, you know that?"

You nodded, "oh yeah, it really is."

"So where are you heading off to?"

"Hermione invited me to help them study for the potions exam we've got coming up."

"Oh!" She grinned, "will Harry be there?"

You giggled, "he will be there. Did I tell you he specifically said he wanted me to come with them! I just about died, Luna, like my heart was fluttering like crazy."

Luna chuckled, "You guys need to get together already! Unless you're keeping it a secret from me," Luna squinted her eyes at you playfully.

You laughed. "No, we're not dating. Not yet at least." You winked at her.

"Ahem," a throat cleared behind you.

Turning around, you saw Harry standing there, a bewildered look on his face, and a red burning in his cheeks.

"Um," he stuttered, "I didn't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to make sure you were still coming to the study hall."

Slowly, you turned back to Luna who gave you a sorry smile.

"Well," she said, "I'm going to leave you two alone. I'll see you later, (Y/N/N)." With that, she walked away, leaving you alone with the boy who basically just heard you telling Luna you wanted to date him.

You looked back to Harry with a soft smile. Even though you laid your flirting on so thick with Harry, that wasn't as scary as this. Flirting was innocent. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you could always act like you were just messing around.

Now, though, it was the real deal. Even if you looked composed on the outside, you were freaking out quite a bit on the inside.

"Yeah, I'll be there." You smiled, "I'd never ditch my favorite boy."

Harry choked on a gasp.

"You okay?" You asked, stepping a little closer to him.

Harry gazed up at you with confusion, but also intrigue.

"What are you doing?" He asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like-like with me? Why do you say things like that to me?"

Instinctively, you took a step back. "I'm sorry? I didn't know you felt some type of way about how I acted." You felt horrible. Maybe you had done a little too much. Maybe you had flirted too hard and too blatantly that it scared him off.

"No!" He practically shouted. "No, I mean, ahem, I mean I don't feel any type of way about it. I mean, yeah I feel some type of way, but not like- not like a bad way, if that makes sense. I mean more like in a good way, you know? But also, like in a confused way. I'm not sure, I mean, I like when you say things like that to me, but it's also confusing because why would you say things like that to me?" Harry rambled on.

You couldn't help but chuckle a little.

He looked up at you when you laughed, and gave you a sheepish smile. "Too much?" He asked.

You shook your head with a smile. "No, just enough. So you don't think I come off too strong when I flirt with you?"

Harry grinned. "So you are flirting with me!"

You chuckled, "I would hope you consider that flirting. I'm not sure if you know this, but I don't go around calling too many people 'pretty boy' or 'my favorite boy'."

He blushed. "Yeah, that's what Ron said, but I didn't believe him. I just can't believe out of all the guys that like you, you like me instead."

You smiled, "So Ron told you I liked you?"

"Well, he may have mentioned it a time or two or twenty," he chuckled, "I just didn't believe him."

"How could I not like you? You're Harry, you're incredibly sweet, and selfless, and so much more. Anyone with eyes would like you, Harry."

His face turned ten shades of red. "That's how I feel about you, too, (Y/N). But with you, it's just obvious everyone loves you. You walk in a room and every single head turns. You laugh, and the birds start singing. You smile, and the sun quivers from how bright you light the place up."

With every word coming from Harry's lips, you found yourself more and more drawn to him. Your heart beat erratically.

"I didn't realize you thought so highly of me." It was your turn to blush now. You could feel your face getting incredibly hot by the sweet words he spoke. You never thought Harry would like you back, especially not as intensely as he's describing. Frankly, you didn't know he had such a way with words.

"I think you're incredible, (Y/N), and if you would let me, I'd like to take on a-a date sometime?" He suggested.

You grinned at him and grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'd love to, Harry."

He grinned, and held on tight to your hand.

For a minute there, the two of you just stared at each other, smiling. You started to giggle. "As much as I would love to stay here like this, we promised Hermione we would study with her and Ron."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Harry admitted, sheepishly.

You chuckled, "come on, let's not keep them waiting, pretty boy."

Harry grinned. "I like that nickname."

"I like you."

[writing-wh0re]

“Read it to me, darling.”

♥ pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

♥ summary: Based on this ask “you're reading a book and its so good, you dont notice george back from pratice. So he wants to test how much you love the book. ”

♥ warnings: smut 18+, oral, male performing oral, smut book (?), fingering, pussy eating, smut with little to zero plot.

♥ wc: 1090

♥ masterlist & taglist

You were surprised how quickly you were getting through this book. Determined and excited to start the third instalment in the series. 

George had been out for hours, you had noticed the rain softly washing against the window, wondering when he would pop back in to see you again. Although it wouldn’t surprise you if he kept practising in the rain. 

You eyes skim over the words, a small smile on your face as Archer and Astrid, the two main characters finally shared their first kiss. You continue to read ahead, pulling the strawberry lollipop from your lips as you turn the page, excitement filling your body. You place the sweet back in your mouth, sinking down into the bed a little bit more, knowing your coming up to the juicy part of the novel. Small butterflies fill your stomach as Archer and Astrid pine over each other, both taking their relationship to the next level, solidifying their love. 

“Love?”

“Sweetheart?”

Your book falls into your lap, your face a slight tint of pink, eyes adjusting to the man in front of you. Slightly wet with rain and sweat, his shirt off and on the end of the bed. Your eyes rake over his body, your mind wandering back to your book as you rub your thighs together, which doesn’t go as unnoticed as you thought. 

“Sorry.” You shake your head, pulling the blanket up your body, feeling a slight shame for being caught with smut. 

George smirks, taking the lollipop from between your lips, slightly glossy with sticky strawberry residue and spit. He places the sweet in his mouth, his hand under your chin. Tilting your face to look up at him. 

“Love, don't tell me I’m losing you to your book boyfriend.” 

You pout slightly, before you can speak the lollipop is back against your lips. You frown, swirling your tongue around the sweet, watching George’s eyes lock onto your actions as the bed dips under his weight, him resting on his knees in front of you. 

“Please keep reading.” He insists, a swift wink sent your way. Moving the blanket off your legs. 

A gasp falls past your lips, your fingers gripping the stem of the lollipop to ensure its safety. 

“George, I don’t-”

He places his hand around your throat, his face inches from yours, the sweet smell of strawberry wafting between you. 

“Shh, darling, I simply can’t take you away from this book, I’ll occupy myself.” 

George grabs the book from your lap, his eyes quickly skimming the words, a small smirk on his lips. He tuts, shaking his head before, his fingers tracing down the top of your thighs, slipping between your legs, tracing the outside of your panties. 

“Ah, no wonder your panties are wet.” 

Blush creeps across your face, your eyes slightly wide as the embarrassment of him reading the smut washes over you. You bury your head in the book, wishing it would swallow you and help you escape this shame. 

George chuckles, laying down on his stomach, his lips kissing up your thighs, biting the soft skin with every second kiss. 

“I want to know who you prefer by the end.”

His fingers hook inside your panties, pulling them down your legs. 

“Me or your fictional man.” 

You roll your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Don’t be like that.” You mumble, his warm breath fanning against your folds. 

“If you stop, I stop.” His tongue softly licks up and down your slit, an eruption of butterflies soars through your stomach. 

“George.” You whisper moan, heat filling your body. 

“Don’t stop love, I'm enjoying this.” 

You sigh, picking the book up and resuming where you left off. George kisses your folds, his tongue slipping back between them, circling your clit while you re-read the same sentence. 

Fuck, this is harder than it seems. 

“Yes.” You moan, your grip on the book tightening, your hips rocking slightly. 

“Read it to me, darling.” 

“Uh.” The sound falls from your lips as his wraps around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud. Your eyes lock with his as he softly drags his tongue up your slit. 

“Enlighten me, I won’t ask again.” 

You nod, quickly picking the book back up and finding where you left off while George continues to play with your pussy. You clear your throat before reading aloud to him. 

“Archer gripped Astrid's hair, his hand pulling the strands around his palm. He liked the contrast between her red locks and his skin. He continued to thrust into her with heated passion- Fuck George uh.”

George chuckles against your clit, his fingers now slowly pulling in and out of you. 

“Astrid moaned something that caused Archer to slow his thrusts, wanting to hear- fuck just like that - wanting to hear more of what she could offer him. He knew if he kept it at this pace she would beg, a situation Archer only dreamt of. Astrid rocked her hips back, Archer's grip tightening on the strands of hair, pulling her back against his chest, his hands falling from her fiery red locks and groping - George Oh- her bo- Yes, Yes, uhh - her boobs.” 

Your head tilts back, George's pace picking up both his fingers and his tongue. The book falls on your chest, your finger tangling in his hair, chasing your hair. You rock your hips against his lips, his hands slipping under you and squeezing your ass, helping to support your slightly elevated angle. 

“I’m close.” 

George simply responds by humming against your clit, his fingers curling inside of you. Your back arches off the bed, your book falling off your chest and onto the floor with a small thud. 

“C-cumming” You moan, your vision blurry as you squeeze your eyes shut.Your teeth biting against the strawberry lollipop as it shatters in your mouth. George slows his actions, small aftershocks shooting through your body, your legs twitching. You release a deep sigh as George pulls his fingers out of your pussy, his lips glistening with a mix of your wetness and cum. 

He reaches for the lollipop stick between your teeth. You simply open your mouth showing him the shattered remnants as he smirks, leaning forward and capturing your tongue in his mouth. Intertwining his with yours and savouring the strawberry flavour before pulling away with a lick of his lips. 

“You should read to me more often.” 

You simply blush, hiding your face in your hands and pulling the blanket back up over your legs. 

Taglist: @horrorxweasley @maybesandohnos @skarlettmikaelson @mathletemadison @wahooyahoo17 @zagreusdaughter @alina02 @addymartinsstuff @rebeldotty88 @peterpan-neverfails @thehumanistsdiary @anonreaderas @i-love-scott-mccall @sunshinemunchkin @themoonis-beautiful-tonight @veryspookybatbabe @uwiuwi @anythingandeverything97 @fckve @darling2800

[lidiasloca]

Hii how are you? I like your blog<33 Can I make a request about George Weasley? The reader is a Slytherin. There is a romantic attraction between George and the reader; they may even become lovers. One day, while the two are talking, George asks her why the Sorting Hat thought about her for so long in the past. The other house the Sorting Hat had in mind for her was Gryffindor. She has always kept it a secret because of her family, but finally decides to tell George about it.~

george's slytherin girl

george weasley x you

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“Just tell me,” George urged for the fifth time that afternoon. It didn’t help that he was hugging you around the waist as you lay on the sofa, his sweet caresses further coercing you.

“No,” you laughed, feeling helpless against his curiosity. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Ugh,” he groaned in feigned frustration. “That just makes me want to know even more.” He squeezed your waist, making you giggle. “Tell me why the Sorting Hat took so long with you.”

You pressed your lips together, pondering whether to finally give in and confess. It had all happened such a long time ago—yet George still remembered that ridiculous Sorting Hat perched on your head. Maybe you could tell him after all.

“Alright,” you mumbled, feeling defeated.

He let out a childish giggle of pure joy, clapping his hands together like an overexcited child—although he was far from it.

“Well, do you remember we had already seen each other before the Sorting?” You waited for him to nod. “And do you recall how I went red immediately? How I tried to hide from you?”

“I didn’t think you were trying to hide from me. Was I that hideous?” he asked, grinning like a fool.

You pointedly ignored him. “Well, I was very timid back then. Very.” You took a breath. “And I kind of liked you—very much.”

His grin morphed into a cocky smirk. “Did you, now?”

“Oh, shut up.” He pretended to zip his lips. “And then it was the ceremony. You got sorted into Gryffindor, and when the Sorting Hat was on my head, I prayed it wouldn’t put me in the same house as you. I knew I’d live with the constant fear and hope of finding you around every corner. So, I begged. The Sorting Hat’s first guess was to put me in Gryffindor, but after hearing my prayer, it kindly placed me in Slytherin.”

You feared you had rushed through the story when you saw the surprised look on George’s face.

“Say something,” you said, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice.

“Sweetheart…” he breathed.

“What?” you asked, nerves bubbling up inside you.

Then he burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed at your serious face. At last, catching his breath, he said, “You are so adorable, Y/N. You got into Slytherin because you had a crush on me—shouldn’t that be in Hogwarts history books?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, really. It’s actually a pity we aren’t in the same house.”

“No, it’s not. I couldn’t have borne more than a few minutes in your presence.”

“Liar,” he replied lovingly, still sporting that smirk.

“Besides,” you continued, “I love Slytherin.”

“Alright, that’s true. But still, if you were in Gryffindor, we wouldn’t have to fight anyone who finds us in the common room,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“And that’s exactly why I know I’m perfectly suited for Slytherin. I love a good quarrel.” He chuckled at the sight of your mischievous smirk. 

“My Slytherin girl.”

-Characters by J K Rowling

a/n: maybe not the sort of mistery fic you asked for, anon. hope you enjoyed it nonethelss. i really liked the idea 💞

[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

[mssorceressupreme]

Our Deal | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x hufflepuff!reader (works for any house really, except gryffindor for story purpose)

Summary: stuck in detention with Fred for a prank you never did, grants you the deal of a lifetime. Fred would help you get with your crush, Oliver Wood, and you get him with his, Gabriella Moon, in time for the Yule Ball. Though, as you spend more time teaching each other how to "flirt", complicated feelings start to arise.

Warnings/content: hufflepuff!reader, subtle enemies to lovers, mutual pining, jealous!fred, protective!fred, jealous!reader, mentions of alcohol, parties, quidditch injury, injured!reader, tension, flirting, kissing, teasing, Yule Ball

Wordcount: 6.8k (got carried away and kinda wrote a mini fic 😭🙏🏼)

———

“This is entirely your fault,” you snapped, bending down to scrub at the sticky residue on the stone floor. “I had nothing to do with that prank.” The potions storage room air reeked with the scent of something foul, probably from whatever concoction had spilled from the shelves earlier today. All thanks to that stupid explosion caused by none other than the twin's prank just outside the room.

You gestured around at the remnants of the prank—green goo still dripping from the shelves, a set of abandoned dungbombs rolling near the base of Snape’s desk. Crossing your arms, you huffed as you glared at Fred, who was leaning against the wall with that insufferable smirk, clearly enjoying your misery.

Fred chuckled, tossing a sponge into the air and catching it lazily. “Yeah, yeah, tell that to Snape. You just happened to be there, hands covered in fluorescent goo, looking guilty as hell, which might I add, doesn't help with your case.”

“I was cleaning up the mess, Fred, not causing it” you gritted out, shoving the bucket closer to him. “Unlike you, who just stood there laughing while George ran for his life.”

Fred grinned, bending down to soak his sponge in water. “Ah, Georgie. Quick on his feet, that one. Maybe you should take notes for next time.”

Lucky for George, he managed to escape Snape's fury, leaving the stupendous detention task of reorganising and cleaning the entire potions storage room to the two of you.

“There won’t be a next time because I don’t do pranks,” you retorted. “Unlike some people.”

Fred gasped, pausing from squeezing the water out of his sponge, “No pranks? No mischief? Merlin, what a dull existence.”

You scowled, but your lips twitched. “Not all of us live for chaos.”

“You sure? Because you seem to enjoy my company a lot for someone who claims to be innocent,” he teased, turning his attention to scrubbing the fluorescent goop from the floor.

“Oh, shush If I weren’t such a good person, I’d leave this room right now and tell Snape about the other pranks you and George are planning.”

Fred turned to face you, holding back a doubtful laugh as he momentarily stopped scrubbing, “You wouldn't dare, Y/L/N.” his tone sprinkled with a hint of mockery.

You rolled your eyes, dipping your sponge back into the murky water. “Unfortunately you're right.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Because you secretly like me?”

“Because I’m not a snitch,” you corrected smugly. ____ An hour later, you were balancing on a stool, reaching for a jar of pickled salamander eyes while Fred stacked vials below. You glanced down at him, waiting for him to pass you more vials for the higher shelves.

A small played on his lips, Fred exhaled softly before handing you another vial, “Alright, since I do feel a tiny bit bad about dragging you into this, I’ll make it up to you.”

You raised your brow suspiciously. “How?”

Fred’s smirk returned. “The Yule Ball's coming up, right? I’ll help you get with whoever you want."

"In return, you promise not to rat me out about, oh, I don’t know, the prank in the Great Hall last week. Or the one from two days ago in McGonagall’s class. Or the—" He continued but you interjected swiftly.

Your eyes widened slightly, finally registering what he just offered. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, placing another vial on one of the lower shelves. “You name the bloke, and I’ll be your personal matchmaking genius.”

"You're kidding." You pressed your lips together, skeptical.

"Am not." He affirmed, "Go on, the look on your face says you have someone in mind Y/N."

A slow grin spread across your face, but you hesitated. "No one in mind." You shrugged.

Fred folded his arms, eyeing you up and down before tilting his head to the side, "I'm sensing...someone....taller than you?" Yeah, no kidding.

Without thinking you retorted, "Yeah obviously he's taller than me." Your hands flew at the speed of light to cover your mouth while turning to face away from Fred.

You hoped to hide your flushness, but you ended up losing your balance on the stool in the process. "Merlin, don't tell me you're quite literally falling for him." Fred quickly held your waist, steadying you before you could meet the ground. You grabbed his shoulder for support before adjusting yourself and returning to your respective task of arranging the vials on the upper shelf. You hadn't planned on telling anyone about your secret crush on Oliver Wood, but here you were, letting these words slip aimlessly out of your mouth.

Fred took your silence as an answer, curiosity lingering in the air.

"Ah, so there is someone on your mind." He pressed, "And who’s the unfortunate sod you fancy?"

You paused, feeling the heat of his gaze from below, "Oliver Wood..." You mumbled all too softly; even the house elves, with their sharp hearing abilities, wouldn't be able to decipher what you said.

Exhaling, you got down from the stool, standing in front of Fred and avoiding eye contact at all costs. He took slow tentative steps toward you, bending down to your level so he could hear, "Come again?" You could feel his breath on your skin.

Your eyes found his, not registering how close he was, "Oliver Wood." Your face tainted a light shade of red.

Fred choked on air, a loud chortle escaped him, "Wood? The Gryffindor Captain, Mr. ‘Quidditch is My One True Love’?"

"Shut up," you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks. You placed a hand on his chest and shoved him away playfully, "Don't tell anyone! I'll vanish off the face of this earth if you do."

Fred laughed, shaking his head. “Blimey, you’ve got high standards.”

“I barely know him, but he’s just—” You sighed wistfully. “He’s so kind and driven and—”

“Obsessed with Quidditch?” Fred interjected.

“Yes, but in a dedicated way,” you said dreamily.

Fred snorted. "Merlin, alright, fine. I’ll help you. But just know that if I have to listen to you swoon over Wood for the next month, you owe me more than just detention duty."

You beamed. “Deal.”

“Good. Because I might need your help, too.”

You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “With what?”

Fred leaned forward conspiratorially. “Gabriella Moon.”

"Gabriella? As in, my Gabriella?"

"I didn’t realise you had ownership over her," Fred mused. "But yes, your Hufflepuff friend."

You nodded, grinning. "Oh for sure, I can definitely help with that. Piece of cake."

Gabriella was in your house, a sweet and kind Hufflepuff, and you got along with her well. Setting her up with Fred should be a simple, easy, task.

"Alright, Weasley. You’ve got yourself a deal."

Fred held out his hand, and you shook it—sealing a pact neither of you realised would completely change everything.

"Our deal." He affirmed.

____ The deal meant spending more time together. At first, it was simple things—giving each other tips, practicing flirting, and being seen together enough to spark curiosity.

One evening in the Great Hall, Fred joined you at the Hufflepuff table. Your friends sat with you, but you were so engrossed with Fred, that everyone seemed to disappear into the background, feeling as though it was only the two of you in the hall.

Fred leaned in with a smirk after placing a dinner roll on your plate, which he knew you enjoyed pairing with butter. "Alright, say I’m Oliver—how would you charm me?"

You exhaled dramatically. "Fine." You turned to him, putting on your best smile. "Hey, Oliver, fancy seeing you here. Do you always look this good after practice?"

Fred chortled, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice. "Merlin’s beard, that was atrocious."

You gasped, smacking his arm. "It was not!"

"It was!" Fred wheezed, clutching his chest. "Try again, but maybe without sounding like a lovesick poet."

You scowled but tried again. "Alright, then. How about this—‘I hear you’re the best Keeper Hogwarts has ever had. Think you could keep me?’"

Fred blinked, then groaned throwing his head back. "Oh, that was painful."

You shoved his shoulder, laughing. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," he teased, winking. "Now, do I get a turn?"

"Go on, then," you challenged, crossing your arms.

Fred turned, propped his elbow on the table, and smirked. "Hey, Gabriella," he began, "are you a Snitch? Because you’ve got me chasing after you."

You stared at him, face scrunching up in disgust. It was as though you had just witnessed a crime.

He wiggled his eyebrows before taking a mouthful of peas, chewing as he awaited your response.

You burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s horrible. No wonder you need my help."

Fred's mouth dropped, "Excuse you, that was a good chat up. Thank you very much."

You both laughed, completely unaware of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watching the way you two bantered—how Fred’s eyes softened when you laughed, how you bit your lip when he grinned. You weren't super close to Fred, just casual friends, but you had to admit, these few recent days had you seeing him in a different light, he was more carefree around you, cheery, and you felt yourself coming out of your shell, all thanks to him.

You were confident in approaching Oliver now, and all the more excited for it.

____

"No, no! Merlin, Fred, you're going to scare the girl away if you look at her like that." The next few days were all about perfecting your tactics, anything to impress your targets, of course.

"Like what?" He sat beside you on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. It was a Saturday, and naturally, most students were either at Hogsmeade, outside, or sleeping in, leaving most of the space to the two of you.

"Again! Again..." You waved your hands, ushering him off the couch. "Pretend I'm Gabriella, and I'm sitting on a bench somewhere nice. You've just walked into the place, and you see her."

Fred straightened his shirt, retreating from the couch, before strolling over to you again, a devious smirk painted on his face, his hair slightly tousled and messy. He held his chin up high, and his arms swayed beside his lanky figure as he approached you.

"Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!" He beamed, pretending to act out the scenario.

"Wrong." You corrected, "Not Y/N, Gabriella." You flashed your brows, and he exhaled, walking away to take his place once again.

He strolled to you, once more, "Gabriella! Haven't seen you in a bit! What brings you here?"

You nodded, indicating he was doing a decent job so far, encouraging him to continue.

Fred plopped himself beside you, your knees were touching and he extended an arm around you.

"I"m good! This is my favourite place to unwind actually." You fake-mocked Gabriella, pretending to be her in this situation.

"Well, then I guess you'll be seeing me here more often, darling." Fred leaned in, you could feel his body heat against you, and you blinked before shaking your head.

"Darling? You barely know the girl!" You chuckled, and Fred's eyes glinted with awe as you threw your head back, he had not realised it, but your laughter ignited a warm honey like feeling in his chest.

"Fine, what about love? Baby? Babe?"

"No no, save those for when you're actually with her, but I suppose 'love' is a good place to start."

"Alright, love." He teased, and you playfully smacked him but an idea popped into your head, and immediately, you got into character.

"If you say so, Oliver." You pretended to act as if you would in this scenario with Wood.

Fred, still seated next to you, glanced down from your eyes to your lips.

You leaned in, tilting your head and gazing from his left eye, to his lips, then to his right eye. You smiled sweetly, blinking slowly as you gave Fred your full attention, staring at him with doe-like eyes, "So, Oliver, how was quidditch practice today?"

Fred gulped, eyes blinking rapidly as he coughed, "G-Good."

You smirked, lowering your voice, "I'm sure it would've been better if I was there with you." You bit your lip as you glanced at his lips.

"You should come to the next one." Fred responded softly, smiling as he leaned in, ever so slightly, one arm still wrapped around you, and you were fully within his proximity.

You could feel your breaths against each other; his scent crept its way to your nose, and you scrunched it. He smelt like fresh grass on a hot summer's day and clean laundry in the fresh breeze, something you'd never noticed before.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, but the portrait door clicked open, and some students returned from their trip to Hogsmeade.

"That was, uh, something I'd say if I was with Oliver." You quickly dismissed this, leaning back to a comfortable distance. Fred cleared his throat, and removed his arm, "Yeah, that was good. See, told you I was a good teacher."

You scoffed, "You? Please that one was all me."

"S'pose you are getting pretty good at this, annoyingly so, in fact." He hummed and you mouth dropped slightly,

"Is that a compliment?" You beamed, wiggling a happy dance in your seat.

"Don't get too cocky Y/L/N, I have yet to see you interact with him." Fred laughed, attempting to hide his awe for your little dance.

____

Days passed, and you found yourself spending an increasing amount of time at the Gryffindor table, supposedly to get closer to Oliver. But somehow, you always ended up next to Fred, bickering, laughing, sharing food.

People noticed—Hermione tried, and failed miserably to hide her excitement for you two, George outright smirked, Ginny started whispering to Harry, smiling at the thought of the two of you, Ron was amused at how Fred could pull someone as gorgeous as you.

Only you and Fred knew about your deal, to them, they saw this as a newfound friendship, alliance, even...romance? Hermione seems to think the latter describes your relationship perfectly.

You brushed it off, for you knew that you were only helping each other, and once the deal was over, you would go back to normal.

The topic of quidditch was no foreign topic at this table, Harry making remarks about how he'll confront Malfoy, Angelina and George talking about the Nimbus 2000, Oliver and Fred discussing a new game plan.

"Hey Y/N, why don't you come watch us at practice today after lunch, it'll be fun." Oliver invited you, and you blinked in surprise.

"I'd love to!" You chimed, "How could I pass on a chance to support the best quidditch team at Hogwarts?"

Oliver beamed, laughing softly at your enthusiasm, "Ooh careful now, don't want Hufflepuff's quidditch team to hear that now do ya?"

"Consider me an ally of both teams." You chuckled, and he grinned, smiling warmly at you.

"Surely you become an honourary Gryffindor for the day?" Oliver raised his brow, before taking a bite of his toast.

"Won't miss me too much when I switch back to Hufflepuff would you?" You teased.

"Then I'll just ask you to join Gryffindor again."

You were about to pour yourself some orange juice, but Oliver moved at the speed of light, "Here, let me." He poured a glass for you, then one for himself. "Fred? Some for you too?"

"Nah mate, I'm pretty full."

Fred silently watched the two of you interact; a part of him was happy and proud, seeing the way you effortlessly interacted with Oliver, but there was this foreign feeling inside him. Like a splinter poking him from the inside, if that were even possible.

His eyes darted from you, to Oliver, then back to you.

Each time you paid attention to Oliver, laughed at his quips, his charm, a small part of Fred wanted that attention from you, again.

He wanted you for himself.

Fred shook his head, dismissing all these thoughts, where were they even coming from? He knew one thing thought, he was being silly thinking about you like this.

However, Gabriella was starting to become a long-forgotten thought.

The only person consuming his mind lately, seemed to be…you.

Fred exhaled, taking a sip of his water, hoping to refresh his mind from whatever nonsense he thought about.

It didn’t matter anyway because after this deal was done, and you were happy with Oliver, that was it. You’d go your separate ways, well, mostly. That was, after all, the whole point of you becoming close with Fred.

"By the way, is it alright if I bring a friend?" You asked Oliver.

"The more the merrier!"

"I'll bring Gabriella." You whispered trying to contain your excitement, nudging Fred who was seated beside you.

He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts, "Oh, yeah, that'll be great."

____

Later that afternoon, you sat in the stands with Hermione, Gabriella, and Ginny, watching Gryffindor’s practice. Oliver was in his element—focused, determined, calling out plays.

Your eyes were glued to him, who looked impossibly handsome as he soared through the air, his hair ruffled by the wind. He turned, caught your gaze, and waved with that signature kind smile of his.

Your heart stuttered and a faint blush crept on your cheeks, moments like this only pulled you in deeper. Part of the reason you fell for him, was that one day you were lost and he helped you find your way to class. Being younger than him, he felt the duty to lookout for his juniors, he was patient, kind and made you feel right at home when you felt lost. His kindness was just so endearing.

"Go Oli!!" You cheered, and Oliver waved at you again.

"Nicknames already?" Hermione, seated next to you, smiled knowingly and you chuckled as a response.

"Fred looks really determined today, isn't that a good look on him?" You nudged Gabriella, hoping to steer her focus onto Fred.

"Yeah, he does look kinda cute." She agreed, grinning up at him. "Also, thanks for inviting me Y/N, this is really nice." Gabriella turned to you, smiling sweetly. She was a kind soul, much like you, always helping others and making sure everyone felt comfortable. Of course guys would fancy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Fred. His red hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem almost golden, his strong frame relaxed but still commanding attention as he sat on his broomstick, laughing with George.

There was something about him today—maybe the way his sleeves were rolled up, or the effortless confidence he carried. And for some reason, your found your heartpace steadily increasing as you continued observing him.

No. No, this was about Oliver. You shook the thought away and focused on the Gryffindor Captain instead.

Moments later, Angelina, Oliver, and Katie flew over, beaming. “Oi, you lot! Come play a friendly match with us!” Angelina called, gesturing eagerly.

You hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know... I’m not really—”

“Come on, it’s just for fun,” Oliver encouraged, flying closer. His eyes met yours, playful and inviting. You wanted to impress him. So, against better judgment, you stood and dusted off your robes. The four of you made your way down to the grassy field, and used some spare brooms.

Ginny, Hermione, and Gabriella exchanged amused glances but joined in as well.

You borrowed a broomstick—the nearest one, which happened to be Fred’s. "Can I?" You smirked, turning to Fred who took a quick break, reaching into his bag for his bottle.

"Yeah yeah, if you break it I'll crack your head." Fred teased, before chugging his water. With that, you kicked off the ground, feeling the rush of wind as you soared into the air.

The game was lighthearted, filled with teasing and playful competition. You and Oliver found yourselves in the same airspace often, exchanging witty remarks and laughter.

It felt effortless, easy. Below, Fred stood watching, arms crossed, watching in amusement as you 'bonded' with Oliver. Though you weren't sure if amusement, was the right word to use here, seeing how he kept tapping his foot.

“You’re getting the hang of this!” Oliver grinned, flying beside you.

“I’m just trying to keep up,” you joked, glancing at him.

So caught up in the moment, you didn’t notice the Bludger hurtling toward you until it slammed into your shoulder with brutal force.

Pain exploded through your arm, and your broom wobbled violently beneath you. You gasped as your grip faltered, and before you knew it, you were falling.

The ground rushed toward you, and you thudded harshly on the grassy patch. Ouch.

Oliver flew down hastily, but before he could reach you, Fred was already there, kneeling beside you, face pale.

“Are you daft?” he scolded, voice tight. “Didn’t you see that Bludger?”

You winced, trying to sit up. “It wasn’t that bad—”

“Not that bad? You fell from twenty feet up,” he snapped, his hands hovering over you like he didn’t know where to touch in case he hurt you further. “You’re going to the hospital wing.”

Oliver finally reached you, eyes filled with concern. “You alright?” He looked from you to Fred, who was still kneeling beside you, jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but Fred wasn’t having it. Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, ignoring your weak protests.

“You’re being overdramatic,” you huffed, but your heart betrayed you, beating erratically against your ribs as Fred carried you toward the castle.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he shot back, striding forward without a second glance at Oliver, who remained standing on the pitch, watching with an expression that hinted he had figured something out.

He observed as Fred held you close, furrowing his eyebrows slightly, "Hm." He was so sure that you and Fred were just friends, but the way Fred acted today made Oliver doubtful.

The others stayed back to practice, you assured them that you were fine, and that there was no need to come. ___

Madam Pomfrey fussed over you, muttering about reckless students and dangerous sports as she poured a bitter healing potion down your throat. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a full-speed hit,” she chided, waving her wand to mend the bruising on your shoulder.

Fred stayed beside you the whole time, leaning against the infirmary bed with that signature mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “So, you were trying to impress Wood, huh?” he mused, arching a brow.

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks warming.

“Not my fault you nearly died doing it,” he teased, nudging you playfully. “Maybe I should give you some lessons on how to survive Quidditch.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I should give you lessons on how to stop being so intolerable.”

Fred smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You laughed, the earlier pain fading into the background as the two of you fell into easy conversation.

He stayed with you the rest of the day until you felt better enough to head back to your dorm.

____

The next day, the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match had the entire school buzzing with chatter. The game was brutal, with Slytherin coming in close, though Gryffindor still came out victorious.

The moment the Snitch was caught, the stands erupted into cheers, the players celebrating mid-air before descending to the field. You watched Fred among them, his face lit up with triumph. When his eyes met yours, something unspoken passed between you.

And you weren’t so sure anymore if Oliver Wood was the one making your heart race.

You, Hermione and Gabriella made your way down to the team, "You guys smashed it out there." You chimed, clapping for the them.

"Couldn't have done it without your support." Oliver walked over to you, hi-fiving your hand which you extended for him.

"You played amazingly, especially in the second half! Fred—the way you hit the bludger right before it touched the ground, just, wow!" Gabriella beamed, waving her hands around expressively.

"Hey, all in a day's work." Fred expressed, cockily brushing his hands together which earned a giggle from Gabriella.

"You know, you should come to the party tonight, hosted by yours truly." Fred shuffled closer to Gabriella, extended his arms as he gave himself credit for hosting the party.

"More of a team effort actually, he just talks too much." Lee quipped, "But yeah, you guys should come. Gryffindor common room, at 7."

"We'll be there." Gabriella replied for the two of you, twirling her hair as she smiled sweetly at Fred.

You were happy for her truly, especially Fred, who was grinning back at her, engaging in a new conversation about what'll transpire at the party tonight.

You were happy. Yes, you were.

But, does someone who is supposedly happy for their friend, feel a pit in their stomach every time they watch them with their respective crush?

____

"How do I look?" Gabriella asked, gesturing to her outfit, fitted flared blue jeans and a yellow peplum top, with a yellow bow to accessorise.

"You look stunning, Fred's going to love it!" You chimed, "Oh wait, here-" You helped straightened her bow from the behind, "Perfect."

"Look who's talking, Oliver's going to swoon over you when he sees you in that black dress!" Gabriella stood beside you, looking in the full body mirror, shaking with excitement for the party.

The two of you made your way over to the Gryffindor common room, met with a few ravenclaws and fellow hufflepuffs by the portrait entrance.

It was no surprise that the common room was alive with celebration and merriment. You and Gabriella stepped inside, immediately greeted by George and Lee, who enthusiastically showed you around.

"Welcome welcome! You guys look great!" Lee hyped you two up, always the enhusiast.

Laughter, chatter, and the warmth of victory filled the space. As your eyes scanned the room, they landed on Fred and Oliver by the fireplace, who spotted you and beckoned you both over with bright grins.

After a while of lively conversation in the group, you and Gabriella naturally parted ways—her heading away to the couch with Fred while Oliver guided you to where his friends stood.

You chatted and laughed, but something felt off. Your attention was divided, and no matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver and his friends, your eyes kept finding Fred’s.

Across the room, you noticed his eyes constantly meeting yours, just as much as yours longed to find his.

You were snapped out of your gaze when one of Oliver’s friends playfully nudged you, shoving a drink into your hands. “Come on, have some firewhiskey on me! You’ve got to celebrate properly!”

"Oh wow, where'd you manage to get that?" You asked, curious as to how he managed to sneak in alcohol. Granted, he was older than you so it was fair to assume he was more daring when it came to liquor.

"I have my sources." The guy wiggled his brows, "Come on, drink up Y/N, join us!"

You hesitated. “I’m good, really.”

“Oh, don’t be a buzzkill. Just one!” He pushed again, grinning as if it were a challenge.

“I said I don’t want to.” Your voice was firmer now, but he rolled his eyes.

Oliver sensed your discomfort and interjected swiftly, “Knock it off Felix. She doesn’t have to drink if she doesn’t want to.”

"Alright alright, you're just a wee girl after all innit." Felix chuckled, "More for me then."

Wee girl? Merlin, who does he think he is? You scoffed to yourself, shifting closer to Oliver.

Still, the group laughed it off, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but here. You excused yourself quickly, heading upstairs to a quieter gryffindor study room.

The party noise faded, and you sank into one of the couches, taking a deep breath.

A knock came at the door, before it slowly opened.

Truthfully, a wave of relief washed over you when you saw Fred entering, his usual smugness replaced with something softer. “Saw Felix being a git, it's safe to say he won't ever bother you again.”

Fred's implication that he had a word with Felix made you all the more relieved, you exhaled softly, nodding.

You smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

He stood at the doorframe for a second, inspecting your state before slowly walking over. The couch dipped upon the weight of him as he sat beside you.

“You okay?” He nudged you with his body gently.

You nodded, looking forward though you felt his gaze on you. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

He listened intently, offering you the silence you much needed after the earlier commotion.

There was a pause before you turned to face him, “How’s it going with Gabriella?”

Fred shrugged. “Good,” he lied, then exhaled. “Alright, fine. She’s nice, but I think I bored her to death. She’s talking to Neville about some plants now.”

You chuckled. “Plants are fascinating.”

“To you, maybe. Not exactly my best topic,” Fred admitted. "Might buy a bouquet or two, but other than that I'm clueless."

"If you do, red roses are the way to go. She loves them, practically every girl does."

"Including you?"

"I adore them. Sounds a bit basic but they're a classic for a reason, they're just so...romantic." Your eyes glistened as you spoke about roses, dreaming of the day someone would buy you flowers.

"Noted, I'll pass a good word to Oliver." Fred chuckled, smiling at the way your eyes lit up, but his smiled disappeared when you frowned, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I think I’m losing it with Oliver. I feel like a total idiot for not drinking in front of him and his friends."

Fred shook his head. “Nah, you’re not an idiot....maybe a little, but not a full blown one." You slapped his arm playfully, but he continued, raising his hands in defence, "If anything, that makes you better than them. You don’t need to do anything to impress him, so what if you don't feel like drinking?”

"I don't think I'll face him again, if his friends hate me, he'll probably grow to dislike me." You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

"Nothing a little flirting can't solve," Fred was optimistic, attempting to cheer you up in this moment of despair, "Next time you see him, get more touchy. When you laugh, place a hand on his arm, lean on him, lean in to him...y'know, the usual."

"Ugh, in front of his friends?" You grumbled.

"All the better, shows you've got game." He continued to give you tips on how to approach Oliver again later, helping you plan your next move.

It was only fair of you to return the favour, leaning in slightly. “Right, so, lean in when you talk to her, like this,” you said, demonstrating the closeness.

Fred swallowed, blinking at you. “Like this?” He mimicked you, your shoulders were touching all the more, your face near his neck, his mouth a few inches away from your forehead.

You nodded, voice softer now. “And maybe say something like… ‘Your eyes are a remarkable shade of hazel, I never noticed how stunning they were until up close now. They sparkle beautifully in the moonlight, yet they manage to shine even brighter when you're caring.’”

It was meant for Gabriella. But as you spoke, something in your chest tightened. You were speaking to Fred. Really speaking to him. His hazel eyes met yours, and he leaned in once more.

His mouth parted slightly, as his eyes darted to your lips then back to your eyes. You found yourself leaning in too, your breathing became heavy.

Your heart felt like it was going to pounce out of your chest with the rate it was beating.

The air between you stilled as you both realised the weight of your words.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open. You and Fred jumped apart just as Oliver and Gabriella entered, looking at you both in confusion.

“There you are, we were wondering where you two had vanished off too.” Gabriella remarked, her eyes darting from Fred to you.

Your heart raced and Fred's face flushed a shade of red. Though completely innocent, if felt as though you were caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing.

Flustered, you quickly went to Oliver, while Gabriella made her way to Fred.

The rest of the party carried on, fun and lively, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that lingered. No matter how much you tried to focus on Oliver, your gaze kept drifting back to Fred.

____

The anticipation leading up to the Yule Ball had everyone on edge. With the Yule Ball near approaching, the talk of the castle revolved around the ball; students asking each other to the dance, flowers being exchanged, and whispers filling the corridors.

You woke up that morning with only one name in your mind—Fred Weasley. It was irritating, really. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. You liked Oliver. You were going with Oliver. And yet, Fred’s stupid, mischievous grin had invaded your thoughts like an unrelenting charm.

At breakfast, you sat with Gabriella at your usual hufflepuff table, chatting about the Yule Ball. She was gushing about how beautiful everything was going to look, the magical snowflakes, the ice sculptures, the romantic lighting. You smiled along, but your mind was elsewhere. Across the hall, Fred was laughing with George, but every so often, you swore you caught him glancing at you.

After your 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' class, you walked out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when Oliver approached. He was holding a bouquet of red roses, his confident smile making you a blushing mess.

"Y/N," he said warmly, holding out the flowers. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"

You paused, then beamed. "Of course, Oliver. I'd love to!" He pulled you in for a warm hug while students around you cheered, and whistled loudly.

You were happy—you really were. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? But as you took the roses, a strange heaviness settled in your chest.

Later that day, you found yourself with Fred, helping him prepare to ask Gabriella. You were ranting about Oliver, swooning over how charming he was. Fred, though smiling, was already fuming inside. He wanted to be happy for you. He wanted to believe this was all fine. But every word you spoke about Oliver grated on his nerves.

"Do you think Gabriella will like this?" Fred asked, holding up a box of assorted chocolates, changing the topic quickly after countless nods and 'that's great' as a response to you gushing over Oliver.

You turned to him, considering. "Yeah, she will, can't go wrong with chocolate. You got this, Freddie!"

"Right," he said, running a hand through his hair, looking more uncertain than usual. He was prolonging it, he knew it. He didn't want to ask her. He had someone else on his mind now. But what choice did he have? You were already going with Oliver.

When he finally did ask Gabriella in the courtyard, you cheered for him, clapping as she said yes. It was the right outcome—technically, you both won. And yet, watching Fred grin as he hugged Gabriella filled you with an unexpected wave of envy.

_____

The Yule Ball arrived in a flurry of excitement. You walked down the stairs with Oliver, arm in arm, dressed in your most elegant red gown. Across the entrance, you saw Fred with Gabriella. You both gave each other thumbs-up and smiled, though your smile never quite reached your eyes, nor did Fred's.

As you approached the entrance, Oliver and Gabriella walked in first, conversing with each other, leaving you and Fred standing alone for a moment.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets before breaking the silence, "So…we both got what we wanted."

You exhaled, forcing a smile. "Yeah…we both got with our dates. All too smoothly, I might add."

You both chuckled, but there was an undeniable weight in the air.

"You look nice, cleaned up well for Oliver eh? Lucky bloke." Fred joked, though his voice was laced with subtle serious undertone.

"Hm, you don't look like a grindylow for once, I see you clean up pretty nicely too."

He chuckled softly, removing his hands from his pockets. Neither of you moved, it was as though a silent message of 'please stay here with me' was shared.

You hesitated before extending your hand. "Thank you, Fred. For everything."

He took your hand, shaking it lightly, but neither of you let go. There was a static, a spark, if you would, something both of you didn’t want to ignore. You both looked down at your touching hands, then back to each other.

Oblivious as to what the other party was thinking, the two of you decided to ignore it, let go, and move on, for the better, right?

"So, that's our deal done then?" you said slowly, though regretting it.

Fred swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah. I'll, uh…see you around school then."

Your heart clenched, but for the sake of the ball, you put on your best grin. "I'll see you around, Fred."

You then turned to Oliver who was a few steps ahead, extending his arm to you. As you walked with him into the ballroom, you turned back one last time.

Fred was still standing there. You waved. He waved back, smiling—but his eyes told you that there was something masked beneath that smile. Gabriella came up to him, and they walked inside together, you turned forward to let them have their moment.

The ball was everything you imagined—beautiful, magical, enchanting. Oliver was the perfect gentleman, twirling you around the dance floor, kissing your hand, your cheek, your forehead, even. He got you punch, held the door open, pulled out your chair, he was the ideal guy, truly ticking off all your boxes.

You smiled at him, but your heart was never quite satisfied, there was a space yet to be filled.

And you hated that you knew why.

Your eyes kept drifting to him. He was dancing with Gabriella, but his mind was far away. Uncomfortable. Lost.

You chuckled to yourself, shaking off this silly feeling, turning your attention back to Oliver, who was explaining about his latest tactics for the upcoming Quidditch match with ravenclaw.

____

Later that night, Oliver walked you back to your common room. He leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of your hand. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You lips curled up into a grateful smile, thanking him for the wonderful evening, but as he turned to leave, something inside you snapped.

If something was wrong, you needed to fix it. Merlin, what's the point in waiting? If something didn't feel right, your gut knew that you had to fix it right away. And this, was one of those moments.

You turned on your heel and ran in your red gown. Through the castle, past students, up and down staircases—you had no plan, no direction, just a need to find him.

Until you did.

At the main staircase, you froze. Fred was at the bottom, looking up at you. He was holding a bouquet of red roses.

Your throat tightened, immediately regretting your decision. "For Gabriella?"

Fred shook his head. "No." He stepped forward, "They're for you."

Your paused, holding your breath as he started walking up the stairs, to you.

"Y/N, I—" Fred hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I don’t want Gabriella. I don't think I ever did, truthfully. I just…I wanted to be with you. And I was too much of a git to see it until it was too late."

Tears burned at your eyes. "Fred—"

"I don't care about the deal. I don't care about anything except you. I don't want to ever lose you Y/N. And if I have to watch you with Oliver one more time, I think I might actually go mental."

He was close now, the roses in one hand, the other reaching for you.

You let out a shaky laugh. "You're such a git, you know that?"

Fred grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek and tucking it behind your ear. "Yeah. But I’m your silly git, if you'll have me."

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. You surged forward, crashing your lips to his, your hands gripping his suit. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

It was passionate, desperate, hungry, everything you had ever wanted but had been too blind to admit. The kiss of two people who were starving and desperately in need of each other. Fred savoured every bit of your mouth, as though tomorrow would never come, ending with a sweet peck.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, a grin sprawled across that deviously handsome face of his, his hair messy but Merlin, it was such a look on him. "So, I take it that’s a yes, love?"

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his. "Yes, you fool."

Fred cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek once again. "Best deal I’ve ever made."

[incorrectharrypotterblog]

Hermione: why are threesomes only for sex

Hermione: why can’t I join in on a couples argument if I want to

[nottsangel]

EIGHT. mirror sex — george weasley

warnings — smut 18+. vaginal sex. mirror sex. praise.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“look at yourself, darling.” george whispers into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your bare skin as he pounds into you from behind, his thrusts deep and calculated. you obey, your eyes locking onto your reflection in the spotty full length mirror in front of you, your make up still sitting prettily on your flushed face despite the steamy, messy sex you’ve been having for hours.

george, your sweet boyfriend, simply couldn’t control himself seeing you like this— all dolled up, your make up and hair perfectly done, and wearing the shortest, skimpiest dress you own, leaving very little to the imagination.

however, the night wasn’t supposed to go this way. you were supposed to head to a party—key word, supposed—because you didn’t even make it out the door before george’s hands had started roaming all over your body, begging you to let him feel you, just a little bit. and well… that ‘little bit’ turned into so much more.

“bloody hell, so beautiful. i can’t believe you’re mine.” george groans in slight disbelief, his soft hands trailing over your body towards your exposed tits, gently massaging them as his cock moves in and out of you so perfectly.

“mhm, all yours, george.” you softly murmur back, the angle of him behind you—his sweaty chest pressed against your back—allows him to go incredibly deep, causing your toes to curl at the intense sensation. you gaze into the mirror through hazy, half-lidded eyes, your knees hurting on the hard wooden floor, but your mind too blurred to even care… until you’re abruptly reminded of something.

“w—wait, george, the party!” you then manage to utter in between his thrusts as flashes of the presumably lively party fill your mind— images of your friends having the time of their lives distracting you. your gaze remain fixed on the mirror in front of you, your back resting on his chest, when a small chuckle escapes him, amused by how oblivious you are to the fact that hours have already passed, the long-forgotten party likely nearing its end.

“shhh, forget that bloody party. tonight is all about you, sweetheart. that’s all i care about right now… or are you trying to get rid of me already?”

“god, no george! does it look like it?”

“hmm.” his eyes trace your reflection, lingering on your fucked-out face in the mirror, before drifting down to your body that’s trembling from pleasure. “doesn’t look like it to me, no.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

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

[rainydayathogwarts]

Dear diary - George Weasley x gf!reader, perv!Ron weasley

summary: Ron can't help his crush on his older brother's girlfriend, and catches himself in some inconvenient situations cw: SMUT, exhibitionism a little bit wc: 2.3k+

Ron was officially jealous of his older brother. Not that he hadn’t been before. George was the taller, funnier, more athletic version of himself, who was loved by everyone around him but the exceptional slytherins. But most importantly, George was loved by you. Despite you being two years older than Ron, in the same year group as the twins were, his delusions led him to believing that in some universe, he had a chance with you. It was never an option in his mind that you’d end up with one of his brothers. In fact, he’d never seen you speak to either of the twins until you’d strolled into the common room one day, hand in hand with the one and only George Weasley. 

Ron was a jealous man by nature, but seeing you with George made him resent his older brother. Whenever Ron smiled at you in the hallway before you’d started dating George, you’d always had the decency to at least acknowledge his presence, however now you were so preoccupied by cozying yourself into George’s side that you didn’t even avert your gaze from him. Ron watched as you led George onto the couch in front the fireplace, letting him sit down before sitting yourself right next to him and threw your legs over his lap. George snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you tighter against him, and you leaned your head on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. George’s second hand came to rest on your exposed calf, caressing your leg up and down. Ron averted his gaze from his brother to you, and your cotton shorts that allowed Ron such a view of your legs.

Ron felt the couch dip down next to him, and he only removed his stare from your figure when he heard Hermione’s warning of “Don’t let any of your brothers catch you staring at her. If Fred finds out, then so does George, and if George finds out… Well.” Ron furrowed his eyebrows, mumbling “What do you mean?” but Hermione only gave him a knowing look.

As the months went on, Ron only hoped that you and George would finally break up, and that some months later you’d magically realise that he was the wrong brother for you, and that Ron had been waiting for you the entire time. George would have to get over it, Ron thought. However, to Ron’s horror, you and George had made it all the way to the summer, and after meeting his parents, Molly and Arthur had insisted you stay at the Burrow for a while over the holidays. Ron was dreading the two weeks you’d agreed on staying with them for, and had even complained to Ginny that the Burrow was too full, but she’d only snapped that it never seemed too full when his friends were staying over.

Ron was the first of his siblings to make it onto the platform when the Hogwarts Express arrived to the station. He made the most of the hugs and kisses his parents showered him with, sure that from the moment you’d walk off the train, all the attention would be on you. And Ron stood correct. Laughing along with Fred and George about something they’d said, Ron immediately noticed the arm George casually had around your waist, keeping you close to him as you carried your bags across the station to meet his parents.

Unsurprisingly, Molly had immediately started gushing over you, and had gone on about how lovely it was to see you again. You bathed in the flattering comments, returning the compliments to the woman, who encouraged you to head to the Burrow with George by apparition. Ron had scowled at her words, imagining what you’d do once you got home alone. Would you let George kiss you deeply, push you on the couch while he praised your body, or would you only let him peck your lips softly, asking him where to put your belongings. Ron had discovered that he was wrong on both accounts. You hadn’t done either of these things, instead leaving your luggage by the stairs, allowing George to lead you outside and show you nature’s glory all around the burrow.

Ron made it a point to avoid you throughout all your stay, Hermione’s words stuck in his head. What would George do if he found out about Ron’s crush on his girlfriend? No matter, he’d rather George think he disliked you than liked you. Besides, you had Ginny there to give you all the attention in the world, so happy to have another girl in the house that George often found himself trying to steal you back from her.

Ron sat in the living room while you helped Molly bake some goods in the open kitchen, letting the twins play a game of Quidditch in the yard. Ginny sat at the kitchen table, in charge of making entertaining conversation while you and Molly spoke about the recipe. Though at Ginny’s question “Are you and George going to get married?” Ron felt the energy in the entire room shift. His eyes glanced up from the sports magazine he read to see the look of shock on your face, eyes wide and jaw slack. Molly gasped, immediately scolding the young girl for her invasive question. “It’s fine Mrs. Weasley,” You reassured, adding “I don’t know Ginny, that’s kind of a loaded question.”

Your response was timed just right, because two seconds later, Fred and George came walking through the door, all sweaty from their match. You straightened your posture at the sight of your boyfriend, traveling the small distance of the kitchen so that George could easily whisk you away into a tight hug as soon as he walked into the kitchen. He used the grip on your body from his hug to spin you around, blocking you from his mother with his big back profile to dip his head down and give you a lengthy kiss. Ron, seated at just the right angle to have a perfect view of the kiss — and the cheeky squeeze George gave your ass — huffed in his chair, envy stirring inside him.

When the cookies you made were safely in the oven, you excused yourself upstairs, where George and his twin had retreated to shower. Knocking on the twins’s door, you were welcomed with a view of your shirtless boyfriend, aggressively drying his hair with a towel. George grinned at you, shutting the door behind you when you entered, and leading you to his bed. George hugged you close to his chest, pressing fluttering kisses on your forehead while Fred finished his shower. “I don’t think your younger brother likes me.” You mumbled, drawing shapes on George’s bare chest with your finger. “That ridiculous, sweetheart.” George answered, a laugh bubbling in his chest. You pulled away from him, an offended look on your face. “Baby, wait!” George laughed, tugging you back into him. “It’s ridiculous because Ron has the fattest crush on you. Read it in his diary.” 

The bathroom door opened, and Fred stepped out in a heap of steam from his hot shower. “Hey, don’t take credit for that!” Fred called out, imitating his brother's movement of ruffling his hair with a dry towel. “Right, excuse me. Fred read it in Ron’s diary, then brought me the diary, and then I read it in the diary.” You chuckled, pushing yourself up on the bed, looking back and forth between the two twins. “You promise?” You asked, watching as Fred nodded his head in reassurance. “What do you mean ‘you promise’? You want my brother to have a crush on you?” George asked with a frown. “Well I’d rather he have a crush on me than dislike me.” George scoffed, shaking his head. He unraveled his arms from around you, standing up and leaving the room momentarily. You blinked slowly and sat up straight on the bed, wondering if you’d upset him. “Don’t worry, he’s going to get the diary.” Fred said, turning his back from you to get dressed.

It was only seconds later that George came back, a scrappy red notebook in his hands. He spent a while flicking through the pages until he finally held a finger up, as if to silence you. “My most recent problem is that I have the fattest crush on my brother’s fucking girlfriend.” George started, and you covered your face with your hands, predicting the horror of what would come next. “She’s got a great smile, great legs. Honestly, everything about her is great. I just wish that she was sleeping with me instead of Mr. George fucking Weasley.” Your jaw went slack, and Fred giggled from where he stood, listening to George beginning to flick through the pages again. “So George’s girlfriend is staying with us over the summer break for a little while, which is going to be an absolute - uh what does that say?” Fred joined George to inspect the handwriting before they called out “Nightmare!” In synch.

“An absolute nightmare, because I’m going to be hard the entire time she’s there, but my only source of relief will be seeing her with my brother. I swear to godric, if I hear them have sex and she moans George’s name, I’m going to cry. Oh hey, I don’t remember reading that bit!” George added, putting a hand on his hip and humming apprehensively while he thought for a moment. You and Fred shot each other a look, and he grinned boyishly at you, commenting. “Well, I’ll make sure to leave you guys the room for a little bit.” You felt your cheeks heat up, eyes trained on George as he tossed the diary to the side, climbing back over you on the bed. George pushed your hair to the side, putting some of his weight on you as he started pressing kissed on your neck. “Yeah, and have him call us down for dinner, will you?” Your eyes widened in shock, letting George push you down on the bed as he continued his attack on your neck, barely acknowledging Fred, who finally walked out of the room, letting you have temporary privacy.

George pulled the blanket from under you, separating from you to pull his trousers off. Luckily for you, he hadn’t put on a shirt yet, and was making quick work of taking yours off. “Baby, isn’t this a little cruel?” You asked him, accepting the kisses he left on your lips, and arching your back so he could slide his hands underneath you, unclasping your bra. George nodded in agreement, tossing your bra so it landed by the door. “It’ll help him get over you.” He responded, tugging your trousers and underwear down your legs. “What, to see me naked?” George laughed, balancing himself over you as you helped him remove his boxers. “No one is going to be seeing you naked but me. What’s going to help him move on is to see me on top of you. And to hear you screaming my name.” He whispered against your lips before pecking them softly, feeling your hands trail up to grip his muscular biceps. “Yeah? You plan on making me scream?” George didn’t answer you this time, only bringing his fingers down to your clit, where he began making small circles. 

At your small gasp, he smiled, gripping his cock and bringing it towards your entrance. George spread your legs wider, making more space for himself between your thighs. In a few curt thrusts, he sheathed his cock inside you, biting his lip harshly and letting his head fall into the crook of your neck as he tried to adjust himself inside you, calming his breath down while listening to your little moans. “Shit, that was harsh, I’m sorry baby.” He apologised, cupping your cheeks and bringing you into a soft kiss. “Wasn’t harsh, feels good. Can you move?” The slow drag of George’s hips had your jaw going slack, head digging into the pillow behind you as your eyebrows furrowed. George grunted, abs constricting with pleasure with each snap of his hips against yours. Absentmindedly, George reached back to pull the blanket over his torso, covering your naked body from view. The sounds coming from your mouth however, were free for anyone to hear.

As George increased the power and speed of his thrusts, so did the volume and frequency of the sounds you made. You desperately gripped onto George’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin while a string of moans flowed out of you. The most recurring sound you made? His name. And that was the first thing Ron heard when he cracked the door open to come fetch you both for dinner.  Everyone was already outside, the dining table laid out under the night’s sky, but Ron was shooed away to call you down for dinner. Ron froze, hearing the high pitched cry of his brother’s name escape your mouth, back arching so your chest pushed against your boyfriend’s. Even worse, Ron could hear the sound of his brother’s hips driving into yours with every thrust, and the soft encouragements he told you. “That’s right, say my name baby.” He groaned into the crook of your neck. Ron loudly slammed the door shut, turning his back to it as he processed what he saw.

The slam of the door barely reached George’s ears with the way you screamed his name as you orgasmed, cunt clamping down on his cock so hard that he could only see white, whimpering your name in a manner he will deny ever happening. Your pussy milked George’s orgasm out of him, making him pant heavily against you, and you ran your fingers through his hair when you finally recovered from your own orgasm. When George also recovered, he slowly pulled out of you, pressing a loving kiss on your lips before slumping against you once more. You giggled teasingly, saying “All that for him not to even show up.” But your comment only backlashed humiliatingly when a George scoffed, saying “Oh no, he showed up alright.”

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn���t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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[minlcna]

mcgonagall's ball lessons | george. f. weasley

george weasley x muggle!fem!reader

note: i know it's been a while since i posted..tbh i lost my momentum in writing and posting and lost my inspo as well. i can't say that i love this but it's been in the drafts long enough. im thinking of starting to take requests but im not sure if yall want that lmk in the comments! otherwise enjoy this

synopsis: you dance with george once and all the of the sudden rumors zoom around faster than a snitch

warnings: one swear word, punching pansy and draco, mentions of having kids/contraceptives (?)

word count: 2.7k

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The Yule Ball was its utmost effort for arriving, and today was the day Professor McGonagall, in all her glory, was to teach all eligible Gryfidors how to dance. 

"The Yule ball has been a tradition of..." she started, raiding her voice, warning Flich of his tampering with the gramophone. 

"...the Triwizard tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, our guests and we gather in the great hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity."

"As representation of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally because the Yule is, first and foremost, a dance. 

Chatter and grumbling broke out instantly. You exchanged knowing glances with Alicia next to you. This could go either two ways: really bad or just bad enough. 

"Silence," she called with strictness. 

"The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the Wizard World for nearly 10 centuries. I will not have you in the course of a 

behaving like a babbling bumbling band of baboons," she continued. 

You saw George lean over to Fred, and you saw the lips mimicking the shapes of McGonagall, treating her words like tongue twisters. You pursued your lips to hold in your smile. 

"Now, to dance is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl is a secret sworn Slumbers longing to burst off and take flight, and inside every boy is a lordly lion prepared to prance," she trailed off as she noticed George and Fred mumbling. 

"Mr. Weasley, it was so kind of you to volunteer. Now, from the ladies, who will it be?" she questioned as her eyes trailed face to face down the row. 

You pretended to reach into your nonexistent pocket, trying to appear busy and unsuitable choice. 

"Miss L/N, please make your way to the center." she smiled. 

You inwardly grimaced, which also showed outwardly, as evidenced by your friends' giggles and teasing eyes. You slowly stood up and made your way to the center before George. 

You weren't sure whether it had been the pressure of everyone watching and quite possibly waiting to make fun of any little thing or the fact that George Weasley looked exceptionally pretty up close. Like really pretty, really close. 

"Now, Mr. Weasley, grab L/N's waist with your right hand. No—that's your left hand—your right hand, yes." She directed patiently as the two of you awkwardly followed the directions. 

Your right hand had met with his left, and you had to slightly get on your tip toes for your left arm to grasp his shoulder comfortably. Giggles and whispers erupted as soon as your heels lifted on the ground. Your face flushed red in embarrassment. You knew your friends and the entire house of Godric wouldn't let you forget this. You were not short by any means; the Weasley twin was just too tall. 

As if the giggles and uncomfortable position of standing on your toes weren't enough to infuriate you, George smirked at your attempts to match his height and pace. You had been caught off guard when the music suddenly started playing, and rather than swaying, you had been being pulled and jerked from your position. 

Unfortunately, Godric's heavy pride coursed through you, and your determination flooded to prove yourself to the already full-on snickers and cackles, the loudest recognizably being Alicia's.

"Relax a bit, will ya, love? My hands fall off," he whispered discreetly in your ears, and your face flushed darker than George's hair. 

Thankfully, Professor Mcgonallal ceased your embarrassment by stopping you halfway and pairing everyone to learn. Each second felt excruciating, as it was the very first time you held hands with a guy—a handsome guy. 

You swore you heard Professor Mcgognall join in the giggles when you walked beside your friends, noting her eyes follow George with Fred right behind. You wondered if she knew. 

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

By the time the period had ended, the entire castle had heard how the Gryffindor dance lessons proceeded. Probably record time, probably faster than anyone could ever say Merlin's saggy left bollock. 

You were already tired of Alicia and Angelina trying to match you with George despite your neverending denials of being passionately in love with him until death from just dancing with him. Now, the entire school had joined in on it. You could only grumble and protest under your breath as you became the castle's favorite gossip pastime.

Of course, the Slytherins took a rumor and ran with it. They had found a new way to taunt the Weasleys and a new toy to torment them. Any other nemesis of the twins also took part. 

One instance was when you had been rushing off to grab breakfast leftovers when you heard, "Running to meet Weasley, eh? Should've gotten up earlier to snog him in time for breakfast!"

Your first strategy was to ignore and flip people off. That hadn't been enough because the sneers got worse. You avoided any signs of ginger hear throughout the castle. The scarce accounts of you locking eyes with Geroge, and he had just given a curt nod with his permanent smirk. 

You couldn't help but scoff. Fred had helped defend you once or twice, but that was it. It's all his fault, and all he does is laugh.

You couldn't help but direct your anger towards George. You knew it was heavily misplaced, but you couldn't do anything. No amount of insults, swearing, or mummy/daddy abuses ceased the talks. If only they made it worse. 

You wanted to confront the redhead, but the words refused to form in your mind. Just the thought of speaking to him made your tongue feel heavy, and your cheeks flush with heat. Your fingers itched to intertwine with his warm ones, and your whole body yearned to be close to him. But as soon as those urges surfaced, you shook your head vigorously, side to side, until the world spun around you. Being dizzy was easier to endure than the whirlwind of those forbidden thoughts.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

You were standing in the courtyard during one of the breaks, waiting for lunch, when a sharp pain exploded at the side of your forehead. A heavy glass vial had struck you, clattering to the ground after impact.

"Hey, L/N," a taunting voice drawled. "Might wanna grab some contraceptive potions before you sleep with Weasley, or you'll end up breeding more than gnomes."

You bent to pick up the vial, your fingers curling around the cool glass as your brows furrowed in confusion. Then the realization hit, and your expression hardened into a sharp glare. The vial contained an actual contraception potion from an apothecary. Spinning on your heel, you locked eyes with the culprit: a blonde smirking devilishly, flanked by his entourage, their snickers biting at your ears.

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you," you said through gritted teeth, voice low and deadly. "Unless you want that ugly goblin shit you call a nose smashed into your skull." Your grip on the vial tightened, your knuckles blanching.

Goyle erupted in a guttural laugh but quickly silenced himself when Malfoy shot him a glare. Around you, the crowd stirred—murmurs of excitement spreading like wildfire. More students trickled into the courtyard, drawn by the rising tension, their curiosity adding weight to the charged atmosphere.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered, his lips curling in mockery. "What are you going to do? Call your filthy blood traitor lapdog to defend you?"

Pansy Parkinson's shrill giggle cut through the air. "Draco's just trying to help, you stupid Mudblood. But it looks like you'll happily pop out another Quidditch team full of losers."

The words hit like a slap to the face, and before you realized it, the vial slipped from your fingers, and your fists were flying.

The first punch landed solidly against Malfoy's jaw, snapping his head to the side. The collective gasp of the crowd barely registered in your ears as rage overtook you, a red-hot wave that blurred the edges of your vision. He stumbled back, but you weren't finished. You swung again, this time catching, hitting Pansy's nose, and then again, letting every ounce of frustration and fury you'd bottled up over the past few weeks pour into each strike.

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Malfoy's lackeys tried to pull you off, but you shoved them away. His smug smirk was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed expression of fear and pain as he weakly raised an arm to shield himself.

The crowd surged, students yelling and cheering, their voices blending into a cacophony. You didn't care. All you could see was green—your vision clouded with pure, unrelenting anger. You kept swinging, your fists aching, but it didn'tmatter. The satisfaction of each hit was the only thing grounding you.

Finally, strong hands grabbed your arms, hauling you backward. You kicked and struggled, breath coming in ragged gasps as the adrenaline coursing through you demanded you keep fighting.

"As much as I'd love for you to beat him to a pulp, love, I don't want to see you expelled." the captor of your arms whispered. Your body froze instantly, and you tried to catch a glimpse of the speaker. You noticed red hair peeking through the corners of your eyes. 

"What in Godric's name is going on here?" the demanding voice asked, her sharp gaze cutting through the chaos. The crowd instantly silenced, students shrinking back under her scrutiny. Even Malfoy's friends, who had been so vocal moments ago, averted their eyes.

You froze, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, but McGonagall's presence was like a cold bucket of water poured over you. Slowly, your fists unclenched, and you realized your knuckles were bruised and raw, faint smears of blood marking your fingers.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line. "Enough. Everyone—back to your business! This is not a spectator sport!" She turned her gaze back to you and Malfoy, her expression unrelenting. "The rest of you, to the Headmaster's office. Now."

Malfoy groaned as he struggled to his feet, favoring his side. "She attacked me!" he protested, his voice nasally and strained, no doubt from the blow you'd landed on his nose.

"And I have no doubt there's more to the story," McGonagall snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "But we'll deal with that where it's appropriate. Move along, Mr. Malfoy."

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The altercation between Malfoy and his gang and you had been carefully investigated and justly judged. Professor McGonagall, despite her strict nature, was surprisingly in your favor. George had also vouched for you, following you into the rotating staircase despite your attempts to elbow him off. He called the harassment ruthless bullying. 

Parents were summoned, but despite them coming so, your highly modest and conservative mother refused to let the Parkinsons and Malfoys get a word out. To her, a lady's womanly issues were not to be discussed in the open nor ridiculed. 

With two strong defenders, your mother and your professor, you got away with just detention and could still participate in the ball.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

It was the first snow of the year, and you were trapped in the Hogwarts kitchen. You had detention every Saturday morning, wehre your task was to scrub cauldrons. You needed to buy the last bits of accessories for the ball but had asked Alicia to pick them up since you were busy scrubbing. 

Your fingers were numb from the rigor. As you brought the sponge towards you before pushing it forward, it shifted away from your hand. A frown accompanied by a tilted brow; you expected it to fall into the pot. Yet it continued to scrub and shell the cauldron—just like magic. 

The second the thought crossed your mind, your head swung in all directions. Your eyes met the fellow leaning on the door frame with crossed arms and wand out—the ever so familiar missions glint in eyes and smug smirk. 

"Hello, m'lady," he said as he went right before you. You tilted your head slightly to the side with a questioning look. 

"What?" he asked incredulously. 

"Why are you helping me? This is detention, you know," you replied, trying to gauge his purpose in visiting. 

"Yes, this is. As a man, I must, however, take responsibility for my lady's actions. You are, in fact, here because of me; is that not correct?" he replied more boisterously. 

Your cheeks burned, a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

“First of all, I’m not ‘your lady,’ and second, no one asked you to play knight in shining armor. I can scrub cauldrons perfectly fine on my own.”

George's grin widened, unfazed by your tone. “Oh, I can see that, love. You’re scrubbing so well, you’ve almost got that cauldron to sparkle like new.” He gestured to the pot that was now gleaming under the enchanted sponge’s tireless efforts. 

“But wouldn’t you rather spend your Saturday doing something less…” He paused, twirling his wand lazily, “…soul-crushing?”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “And why would you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Call it a guilty conscience. Or maybe I just missed your company. You’ve been avoiding me ever since our little dance lesson, haven’t you?”

Your jaw tightened, the memory of that mortifying class flashing in your mind. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” you said stiffly.

“Oh no?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“So it’s purely coincidence that every time I walk into a room, you suddenly remember an urgent errand in the opposite direction?”

You scowled, willing your heart to stop fluttering like a caged snidget. “Maybe I just don’t enjoy being the subject of every stupid joke in the castle, thanks to you.”

George’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “That wasn’t my intention, you know,” he said quietly. 

“I mean, I like a good laugh as much as the next bloke, but not at your expense.”

Your resolve faltered slightly, but you kept your arms crossed. “You didn’t exactly stop it, though, did you? All those rumors, all those stupid comments…”

“I didn’t stop it because I thought you could handle yourself,” George admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re clever, tough, and brilliant. But maybe I underestimated how far people would take it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and the warmth spreading through your chest was both comforting and infuriating. 

“Well,” you said finally, your tone softer than you intended, “maybe next time, don’t underestimate how annoying people can be.”

George chuckled, his usual mischief returning. “Duly noted. So, what do you say? Truce?” He extended his hand, his lopsided grin making your stomach flip.

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, his grin widening. “Just a chance to make it up to you. Starting with getting you out of this dungeon and into the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. My treat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m still in detention, Weasley.”

“Details,” he said with a dismissive wave of his wand. “I’m a master of mischief, remember? If anyone asks, I’ll say I kidnapped you.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he quipped, holding his hand out again.

This time, you took it—his hand warm and steady in yours. It was the second time you’d ever held a boy’s hand, and somehow, it felt like the first time it truly mattered.

Professor McGonagall watched from a shadowed corner of the kitchen, arms crossed, her lips twitching upward in an uncharacteristic smile.

"Ridiculously charming, indeed," she muttered softly to herself, adjusting her spectacles. "I always knew those two would find their way to each other."

With a final glance at the pair sneaking out of the dungeon, hand in hand, she turned briskly on her heel. Her work was done—for now. After all, guiding her Gryffindors, even in matters of the heart, was just another part of the job.

[mastermindmiko]

Healing

Pairing: George Weasley + Reader Word count: 1k Summary: You comfort George after a big fight (The fight in the fifth book with Draco Malfoy) Warnings: Injuries? I think that is all, but lmk if you notice anything Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

I take in a deep breath and then knock slowly at the boys’ door. No response. I knock again, and instead I hear a grumble. I take it as a sign to slowly open the door, I take a peek from behind it, and George is sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, and head in his hands. Fred, on the other hand, is lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. 

“Hey.” I murmur, and George tilts his head to see me from in between his fingers. He doesn’t smile at me like he usually does, and it makes me believe that this time is worse than the rest. Fred, sits himself up on his elbows, and he looks as though he’s in much better shape than George is. 

I purse my lips and look back at George again. I take a few shy steps towards his bed, and then sit down beside him. He shifts a bit to the side allowing more room for me. I look back at Fred again, but it turns out he’d already read my mind and left the room after giving me two thumbs up. 

I place a tentative hand on George’s thigh, and it makes him lift his head up from his hands. I could see the way his face was contorted, frowning, scrunched up brows, and his jaw clenched. I note the obvious, “You’re pissed.” 

I almost feel stupid saying it because of course he would be. Malfoy was out of line, more than usual, but instead of a few insults this time it resulted in a fight, and George got expelled from playing Quidditch for the rest of the year, and to make matters worse this is his last year. He replies, “I’m not pissed, I’m hurt.” 

It’s my turn to frown because the words that that git Malfoy said couldn’t actually be getting to him, could they? I voice, “George, you couldn’t actually care about what he said. He was just saying it to get a reaction out of you. His best insult was calling you a weasel, he’s an idiot for Merlin’s sake!” 

“Doesn’t make any of them less true.” He protests. I’m baffled by his response, I say, “No, they aren’t-” 

“Yes, they are.” He snaps, and he scrunches his face up, eyes shut in regret at raising his voice. He cups my hand as an apology, brushing his lips over the back of my hand before explaining, “He’s right. We are poor, and the clothes we wear are hand-me-downs-” 

I interrupt him, “I will not go a second longer listening to you talk about yourself, or your family that way. Money doesn’t matter as much as you’re making it seem. And surely, you’re not going to let comments from an idiot who cares more about blood status and money than what a person is actually like get to your head.” 

“But, wouldn’t you like to have more than what the money that I have can get you?” He implores, and I give him a weak smile. Raising my hands to cup his face, my thumb grazing the scratch that he has across his eyebrow. I say, “And we’ll have that, George.” 

I teased him a little more, “You still are planning to open the shop, aren’t you?” A small smile breaks on his face, and he even lets out a small chuckle. The air feels lighter around us, and George leans closer to me to press a kiss to my lips. I sigh, the feeling of it never gets old. 

I look down at his hands, and frown at the sight of the blood. George was the one who gave out most of the blows and punches. He was too angry after the fight, and left stomping to his room. I wanted to insist that he go to Madame Pomfrey for his injuries, but I could tell he needed some time to blow off some steam, that’s the reason why I waited before talking to him. 

“Do you want to go to the Hospital wing to heal those?” I ask, and he shakes his head, looking down at his knuckles, presumably, remembering that they were bleeding. He rests his head on my shoulder, and my shoulder is weighed down. He hums, “I’d rather not face anyone for a while.” 

“Don’t worry, I can heal them for you. Not as good as Madame Pomfrey, but it’ll do for now.” I decide, bringing out my want from my robes. I start to wave my wand at the cracks in the skin, and mutter small enchantments. The small ones fade away, but the larger ones leave small scars on the skin. I rub my thumb over his hand to signal that I’m done, and George twists his head to leave a small kiss to the base of my neck. 

I raise my hand to lift his head from off of my shoulder, and hold his chin, raising my wand to cast a spell over the scar that slashed across his eyebrow. I bite my lip at the sight of it. George questions, “What is it?” 

“You look so good with that scar.” I admit, feelings my cheeks heat up at the confession. He smirks at me, and I can already hear the teasing coming from a mile away. He grins and says, “Such a shame for you that it’ll go away in a few days…of course, I can get into more fights, so you’ll never have to do without it.” 

I hid my face in his chest in embarrassment and he wrapped his arms around me, laughing at my reaction. I mumble, patting his back gently, “Stay out of fights till we see what we can do about this Quidditch suspension, alright?” 

He pushes me away from his chest to look into my eyes. He leans down and kisses me once, and twice and another one after that. He says, “Thank you.” 

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Y/n, texting Hermione: Hermione! Help I'm being kidnapped.

Hermione: Where are you?

Y/n: I'm with some strange person. In a car. Help.

Hermione: I'll call George.

George, answering his phone: Hello?

Hermione: Where's Y/n? They texted me that they were being kidnapped.

George: Y/n? What you mean, they're right next to me-

George:

George: I'll call you back. *hangs up*

George: MY NEW HAIRCUT ISN'T THAT BAD!

Y/n: WHO ARE YOU?!

[lidiasloca]

you get caught up in george's mischief

george weasley x you

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You loved George. You really did. Truly and madly. But sometimes, it was hard to love him. Just sometimes! And that is because he would often put you in the most embarrassing moments of your life with his mischief.

You could bear jokes among his family. You even had grown accustomed to his mother scolding him and Fred, which used to be uncomfortable in the beginning. And you even laughed when the mischief involved the whole family as the target. Hell, you very much appreciated that they didn’t prank you. 

George had been very adamant on that with his brother. He drew the line on you. That didn't mean he didn‘t make any jokes on you. But all of them were soft and lovely. “Apt for my Y/N,” he’d told you once. 

However, he was not so thoughtful to warn you before one of their jokes exploded in school. Sometimes even literally exploded. And that left you in the middle of a chaos.

“Miss. Y/N. Do you know anything of this,” professor Snape asked you accusingly. The twins had just flown around the great hall, throwing candy to everyone. Creating a bit of a mess of chaotic kids trying to take candy falling from the sky. 

You could only mumble shyly, “Nothing at all.”

But George and Fred were nowhere to be seen. And you knew what that meant for you. Snape raised an eyebrow, suspicion and accusation clear in his next words. “You’ll come with me nonetheless. You’ll tell me what you know.”

And you had to spend the following 40 minutes with angry Snape trying to get something out of you. Of course, George hadn’t had the courtesy to, not only warn you, but to make you know something about where they were.

“I don’t believe a word you are saying.” Snape was both exhausted and irritated. And the funny thing was, this was far from the first time he had to integrate you because of the twins. You knew the plan by memory, and though you wanted to scold George, you were exited by what came next.

“I’m telling you the truth. I know nothing.”

Snape run a hand though his face. It was odd being the only one to see him so… like this. It was also fun. “You-”

And an explosion. Contained and light. But a damn explosion. 

“What?” the professor barked, and turn to you before running to where the sound of the explosion came. “You stay here,” he commanded. But then he was gone, and you were most definitely not staying there. 

Sneaking out of the room was easy. Snape had left the door unlocked, so you only had to quietly walk an

You screamed instantly as unknown arms grabbed you from behind, one hand muffling your noise. 

“Stay quiet,” a voice whispered in your ear. George’s voice.

“G- gor- mhh,” you tried, but his grip on your mouth was tight. So you decided it was justified to kick his leg from behind as he kept you moving. 

“Ow! What was that for, sweetheart?” he asked, but once he realized he still had his hand enabling you to talk, he let go. “Oh - right, sorry,” he laughed.

“That,” you said weekly, trying to breathe properly again. “Was for trying to kidnap me-”

“I wasn’t-”

You hushed him. “And not only that. You are also responsible for Snape kidnapping me into interrogation. So two kidnappings in a day.”

“What a great day for you,” he smiled a dazzling smile. But you were not so happy.

“Why couldn’t you warn me, you stupid stupid-”

“Don’t say stupid again, please,” he pleaded playfully.

“Stupid.” You watch his face turn into a pout. “George, we had talked about this.” And when he hears your tone is serious, he stops playing. 

“I know. I know. And I’m sorry. After we got out flying, I looked for you. That was the plan, getting you out with me. But you were nowhere to be seen. Then Fred told me Snape had taken you. And well - this was the new plan.”

“An explosion?!”

“Well,” he replies grinning, as if proud of the idea. “It worked.”

You shake your head, as a grin bloomed on your face.

“Eeeh, so… you are not upset?” he asked, moving his eyebrows up and down in question.

You cocked your head to the side, watching joy show in his eyes. How could you be mad at him?

“You set an explosion to come and rescue me. How could I be anything but honored?”

He let out a laugh, carefree and contagious. 

“Exactly. What a gentleman that I am, huh?”

“Don't push it,” you remarked, trying to wipe that smug smirk. “You idiot…”

He takes a step towards you. “You are so mean, sweetheart.”

You chuckled, about to express your disagreement. But Snape has other plans.

“Mr. Wesley!” You both quickly turn to the professor's voice. “Miss. Y/N! Come here. Now. Both of you.”

George and you both turned to look at each other. And the new new plan was clear.

“Run!”

-Character by J K Rowling

yess im finally writing for george weasley im so happy, hope u like it. and i will be soon posting the harry potter masterlist :))

[adhdduckie]

candy grams. g.w. x reader pt 2

my masterlist

music choice; dandelions by ruth b

word count: 2.4 k

pt 1

synopsis;

you've been in love with george for almost as long as you've known him.

that makes 6 years. and for the last 5, you've been in love with him.

valentines' day is around the corner. and you think it's a great idea to send him a candy gram anonymously.

a/n gang im so sorry this took so long i have so many IAs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ you’re whispering as you run up the stairs, back to the common room. you barge into hermione’s room, glad to see that she’s already lying on her bed.

she rises to see who it is, and immediately drops her book as you stumble towards her.

“what- what’s wrong?” she asks you, worry etched into her face.

it’s only then you’re vaguely aware of the tears on your face, and you can taste the salt on your lips.

you flop down face first on her bed, and scream into it.

you aren’t too sure what you’re going to do now, especially after this moment.

once you’re able to control yourself, and after hermione manages to roll you over so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, do you sigh and begin to tell her everything.

hermione sits there and listens, giving you the support that you weren’t aware that you needed so badly. she listens attentively, nodding every so often as to let you know that she’s still listening, despite her silence.

once you’ve finished recounting, you hang your head, hodling your hands to your face.

“why didn’t you just tell him?” you hear her ask you, and when you look at her, she’s staring back at you intensely, and you can’t tell why you feel slightly embarrassed.

“i can’t. I can’t face that rejection. I’ve been friends with him so long, i don’t know how i would deal with that.” you respond, voice hoarse.

she hums.

“you don’t know his answer.” she finally says, after a moment of silence, before she scoots closer to you, your shoulders touching, before you lay your head on her shoulder.

“i do. if it was going to work out in my favour he wouldn’t have waited so long to bring it up to me. or do everything that he did.” you try to explain lamely.

“you don’t know that. George isn’t a very confrontational person by nature. the only times he ever gets back at someone for something they did is when they’ve done it to other people, not him. he’s a prankster by nature, but he’s not all that outgoing.” she points out.

you don’t really notice that you’ve shaken your head until you hear her sigh.

“look, y/n.” she begins, and you know you’re not going to enjoy this, “i think you should have told him. i’ve said this from the beginning. your feelings are probably reciprocated. you haven’t seen the way he looks at you like everyone else has.”

you don’t realise you even huffed when she cuts you off before you even speak; adding on that, “no seriously, remember when harry was needing your help during their end of year exams? and how he kept sticking to your side? George was in a huff for the entire exam period, constantly glaring daggers at harry.”

you sigh, shaking your head again. “he was probably just annoyed of seeing harry all the time, and plus, wasn’t that when harry and ron were arguing again?” you try to explain.

you let out a little laugh, before saying; “i mean, i’d love to think that he cared for me the same way i care for him, but realistically, i don’t think that’s possible. plus, isn’t he super into angelina bell?”

“what’s the worst that would happen if he found out that you liked him?” she tries.

“uhhh, he hates me and never talks to mee again because he feels disgusted??” you respond, trying to seem lighthearted, but the mere thought of it is painful.

hermione stares at you, a frown on her face before she shakes her head. (there’s a lot of head shaking going on.) she realises that she won’t win against your self delusion and negativity, so she just tries to make you feel better instead.

the next few days are hard to get through.

you try your darned best to avoid the crap out of george, and it’s effective enough that even oblivious little harry is able to tell.

it starts off with you darting into a different hall, or empty classroom you see george in the halls.

you switched seats, so you were sitting with katie instead, as soon as classes that you had with george ended, you ducked out, running to your next one, often forgetting your friends behind as well.

avoiding him in the dining hall was a bit harder. you had to wake up a bit earlier in the mornings so you could get food, and everytime you saw him coming in, you’d have to shove what was left on your plate into your mouth, and then get running.

finally, on a sunday morning, fred corners you in the common room, when you’ve just come up from breakfast. luckily, (or unluckily, as you still feel a pang of sadness when you realise you haven’t seen george in forever) george isn’t with him, so you have a peace of mind. (YOU ARE LYING TO YOURSELF YOU LOOK LIKE A SAD LITTLE PUPPY)

“what’s wrong with you.” fred merely states, rather than asking you a question.

“i don’t know what you mean.” you respond, monotonous, and avoiding eye contact, as he looks so much like george you still hurt inside, but he and fred are still so different.

“you’ve been moping like a kicked puppy, and you’ve been avoiding george, so you’re both just moping, and he looks like he wants to end himself.” fred responds, eyes narrowing.

you sigh, before simply stating, “i can’t deal with my feelings, and he confronted me and i can’t deal with it.”

freds eyes somehow manage to narrow further, looking at you suspiciously. “everyone knows you’re in love with each other.”

“we aren’t. at least i am and he isn’t.” you respond simply, sighing as you close your eyes and rub them with your hand.

fred pulls your hand away from your face, and peers into your eyes, not letting go of your hand, he takes it and uses it to lightly slap yourself.

“are. you . dumb.?” he enunciates with each slap. it’s not painful, but its enough for you to fight back against him.

“what, fred.” you manage to snap out.

“he wants you so bad.” fred tells you.

“no he doesn’t”

“yes he does.”

“no he doesn’t”

“yes he does”

“no-”

“oh my gosh i am not doing this with you. he wants you, he’s in love with you, and he’s totally going to kill me for telling you this but i cannot stand this anymore.”

“what?” you ask, a little worried, which is kind of an understatement, as your heart is literally pounding in your chest.

“he is sooooo down bad for you.” fred says, shaking you by your shoulders.

“no.” you respond simply. you want to believe it, you do, but it doesn’t really make any sense.

“what-? …yes he is. i would not be telling you this if i was not the one who had listened to him complain for the entire two months every summer about how much he missed your ass.” fred asserts, continuing to shake you. you’re getting dizzy, so you have to step out of his grip.

“he what?” is your oh so genius response, as you struggle to maintain your composure, dizzy from being shaken and this revelation.

“he wants to kiss you and date you and profess his stupid undying love for his best friend who likes him back but you are dumb and keep trying to run away from him?” fred’s peering at you intensely, before he sighs. “i think it’s better if you hear this from him, so would you please do all of us a favour and just stop running? he’ll probably be on the quidditch pitch now so please please please go talk to him. he’s been working to the bone on the pitch because of you.”

you can’t even give fred a response, your brain is running a mile a minute.

you don’t process that your feet are even moving until you’re out of the castle until the cold hits you. you keep going anyway, until you see a little red blob in the distance, above the quidditch pitch.

as you make your way to the quidditch pitch you’re able to see that the little blob that was just a speck of red in the distance is slowly descending, until you realise its just george.

you break into a run, and as you’re getting close you can see the confusion on his face just before you collide into him, hugging him tight.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, the worried is etched onto his face. he processes that you’re not wearing a jumper, and you’re just in a thin top and jeans. “aren’t you cold? why aren’t you wearing a jumper?” he demands of you as he tries to warm you up, his warm hands rubbing up and down your arms.

“i’m sorry,” comes tumbling out your mouth, as you pull back from the hug. there’s a loss of warmth, and only then you shiver.

the lines of worry on his face smooth out, and he lets out a little sigh. “it’s alright, but please please don’t do that again, it was really horrible.”

you shake your head, your apology seems insignificant. it doesn’t seem like enough.

“i’m really sorry.” you repeat.

“it’s okay.” he asserts, and he picks his broom off the floor as he pulls you close.

“let’s go back in. you must be freezing.” he just says, and the walk back to the castle is mainly quiet. but it’s a good quiet, because you’re happy enough just to spend time with him. you realise you should probably bring up the candy gram incident, but you just don’t know what to do.

it’s as he leaves your side for a moment to set his broom back in the broom cupboard, when you finally muster up the courage. you’re watching him as he sets his broom down gently before you blurt it out.

“about the candy gram-” you start, before he interrupts.

“it’s okay. it was a joke i get it.” he says, as you watch him from the door frame of the cupboard. he’s deliberately avoiding making eye contact, but you need to get over this now or else you never will and fred will also probably commit murder if he was being honest.

“it wasn’t.” you manage to squeak out.

he spins around, and he’s completely silent, as if he wants you to keep on talking, or to explain yourself, or to burst out laughing that you’re just joking again.

“it wasn’t a joke.” there. you said it.

“it was never a joke. I couldn’t say it outright, so i was looking for a way that was less obvious, and when professor Mcgonagall came up with the idea, it seemed like a good idea to get my feelings out and finally get a break. i just didn’t think you’d realise who it was.” you finish, before you finally look up from where you were staring at the ground.

you didn’t hear him come closer to you as you were too stressed out, but now he’s standing close, too close. close enough that if you just leaned forward by a bit, you could touch him.

you look up at him, and the way he’s looking at you has you breathless.

“of course i realised it was you. I know what your handwriting looks like. i’ve sat next to you for years, and we’ve traded so many notes that i’ve saved over the years that i could copy your handwriting without even looking at it. i notice everything you do, even the things you don’t notice you do. you mean the world to me, far beyond what a best friend would be. i want to be more, and it’s something i’ve craved for so long.”

if you thought you were breathless before, you are definitely breathless now. you look at him, searching, searching his face for something that could just show how much he actually means it, or something that’d give it away that he’s not being serious. but you can’t find anything because he’s so earnest.

you know you need to say something, but you’re just searching for something perfect to say in response to the absolute poetry that he’s just sprouted, but the only thing that falls from your parted lips is a squeaked “really?”. it’s embarrassing, so you flush.

he laughs at that, and pulls you in by the loops of your jeans, so that you’re pressed up against him. he leans in close to you, his lips a fraction from yours. you can feel his hot breath fan over your cheek and you shiver, because its a stark contrast to the cold dreich weather outside.

he’s emanating warmth, and everything you’ve ever wanted. he finally leans in and… kisses your forehead, before he’s stepping away.

you’re left standing there confused and annoyed, before he sees the disappointment on your face before he laughs, pulling you in again, and giving you what he knows you both want.

it’s a kiss that’s hard and soft, and he lulls you into some sort of rhythm that’s just addicting, and you sigh happily into his mouth, and you can feel the way he smiles against you.

“you’re not funny.” you mutter, when he finally pulls away.

“i’m hilarious.” he laughs and you can’t stop fight against the smile that’s breaking out across your face, before he kisses it again.

“you wish.” you manage to get out, when he’s done.

“you love me.” he teases, and you don’t respond to it, which makes him smile even harder. you’re walking off without him, trying so hard to not start laughing out of giddiness. he stands there with a smile so big that he knows you can’t see, before he runs up to catch up with you.

he pulls you in close as he walks you back to the castle together, his hands clasped with yours naturally, and you think to yourself that you have a lot of lost time to catch up on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

later on, you’re tucked into george’s side in the common room as you warm up near the fire. his arm’s around your shoulder, and when fred comes in through the portrait, and his eyes land on the two of you together, you’re able to hear a sigh of relief coming from him.

“it’s about time. i was going to go insane from all the negative tension. why did it take so long?” fred complains, falling into the couch across from you. you both look at each other, and without a response, you both look at him with a smile.

he shudders, “oh god you’re already gross.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------tags

@aceofspades190 @mirkwoodshewolf @blackqueengold @serenablamelessheart. @hooneeyydroops (sorry wasn't sure if u wanted to be tagged so if not im sorry)

[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.

[enzosbabyangel]

hi so I’ve had this idea for a while and I feel like you’d write it very very well- so like- Fred and George x shy reader. Like shy as in like kind but shy. Like Snow White kinda personality. also like THICK. like as in ass/tits. I FEEL LIKE THEYD FALL HARD. but anyway- reader is best friends with Harry Ron and hermione and basically has always been their bestie since first year. when Ron first introduced her to the twins she fell hard but was too shy to say anything. They asked her out in her second year , she said yes, but they kept the relationship with her secret Cus well…two guys and a girl. people will talk. Anyway- fast forward to order of the phoenix era. They’re ducking her down and RON WALKS IN- uh- everyone knows now.

I dunno I thought it’d be fun :P

☆｡° Ron walking in on you, Fred ‘n George

cw: 18+!, mdni, light smut, poly relationship, getting walked in on by Ron, Molly might be a bit ooc, i don’t really remember her personality since i started overthinking it 😅

a/n: i really liked this idea lmao, i love getting reqs for the weasleys, specially George ‘n Fred 🤭 i’d be their secret gf any day 🤍 hope you enjoy anon !! it was indeed fun to write :)

You met your best friends, Ron, Hermione and Harry in your first year. Having met them after you all got off the express when you bumped into Hermione. Stuttering out quick apologies, the two of you becoming best friends after that, which eventually included Ron and Harry after a couple weeks.

When Ron introduced you to his two, twin older brothers, Fred and George Weasley, you fell for them instantly. Especially with how they couldn’t help but tease you for your shy nature.

You’d be lying if you said the subtle differences in their personalities wasn’t what drew you in the most- asides from both of them being attractive. George was a hint more polite and empathetic. Fred more chaotic and more of the instigator, it was a nice blend.

They eventually asked you out in your second year, themselves having a ‘bit’ of an interest in you. You were unlike all of Ron’s friends, you were sometimes baffling kind, even to those such as Draco Malfoy, and you were shy- barely talking when you’d go over to the burrow. They also weren’t stupid, it was clear as day that you liked them. The way your cheeks would flush when they spoke to you and you’d constantly divert eye contact, the few times they’d catch you looking at them, told them all they needed to know. And most of all, you were pretty, and your beauty just got more and more evident as you guys grew up.

It was no surprise when you agreed. Though the twins both decided it would be best to keep the relationship secret. Not because they were embarrassed of you. Not just because you were one of their younger brother’s best friends, but also because they knew how unusual a relationship with two males and a singular girl is. It’s better to just avoid having unnecessary rumours and opinions circling around.

You guys managed to keep your relationship secret for years. Which perhaps got to the brother’s heads, as they got more and more reckless and comfortable every year.

“S’too much-“ You mewl, eyes scrunched shut and toes curling as George fucked your pretty cunt and Fred fucked your tight ass. Having previously cum twice. The brothers claiming that they wanted to see how long you could stay quiet, the three of you in Fred and George’s unlocked bedroom.

“Oh c’mon sweetheart, you can take it.” George reassured, lips trailing kisses along your neck. The more sympathetic sibling trying hard not to practically moan at the feeling of your plump tits rocking back and forth against his chest due to the other twins thrusts.

“You have a million times before.” Fred added with a chuckle. Slightly out of breath as he rocked into you at a faster pace than Fred. His larger hand coming up to grab both of your wrists and pull them back. His eyes hazy as he watched the way your ass bounced with his thrusts. “Yet your pretty lil ass always feels so tight.” He chuckled out again, placing a light slap to your ass just to watch the flesh jiggle.

A pathetic sounding whined escaped your throat, thighs clenching together more as you attempted to close your eyes even more. Feeling embarrassed at his inappropriate words. However just before you could respond, another, out of place voice replied for you.

“What the bloody hell?!” The all to familiar voice shrieked, causing the two men’s movements to halt and all of your guys’s eyes to widen.

“Ron?! have you heard of bloody knocking?!” Fred Finally let out after a couple seconds of shock. His typical smug confidence replaced with embarrassment as he grabbed his blanket and pulled it up to hide his and Freds bare bottoms and your own naked body sandwiched in between.

Rons mouth fell agape at his older brothers audacity, but quickly looked away, simply walking out while uttering one final, sarcastic and bewildered response. “Sorry i didn’t expect to walk in on my older brothers shagging one of my best friends!”

Once the sound of the door slamming close reverberated in the room you almost felt tears swelling in your eyes. Both in worry of your friendship with Ron and embarrassment. Which, of course, Fred immediately noticed.

“Hey hey, cut it out with the tears darling.” He quickly reassured despite his own embarrassment, reaching down to wipe the tears away before they could fall far.

George spoke next, pulling his now soft cock out of you as you he wrapped his arms around you in a form of a hug. They both knew you incredibly well, so they knew what you were worried about without you even voicing it.

And they also knew Ron, so they didn’t feel as worried as you, so now it was a matter of trying to get you to realize that. “Yeah pretty. You worried ‘bout Ron’s reaction? don’t be.” George said simply, running one hand in small up and down motions on your back.

“How do you know he won’t hate me?” You asked, swallowing shakily in as you spoke. Your mind immediately thinking up all of the worst case scenarios.

“Hmm let’s see.. he’s our brother and we know him?” Fred teased with a grin, though there was still a softness in his voice as he rubbed your cheek softly.

“He’ll be upset for a bit.. maybe ignore you a bit. It’ll be awkward at dinner tonight no doubt… maybe cause a bit of a scene. But trust me, he’ll get over it.” Fred reassured, confident in his words. Not bothering to lie and say that Ron will immediately be over it.

You let out a sound of thought, thinking about Fred’s words. You knew that sounded like Ron and was most likely what was going to happen, but you were an overthinker.

“Promise?” You let out after a couple seconds of living in your thoughts.

“Promise.” Fred and George both said in unison, the confidence and the solidity in their words helping you feel more at peace.

“Ok..” You let out with a soft smile, letting out a deep breath as you glanced at Fred then George.

You all were now sat at the dinner table. Molly talking away while you awkward looked downwards at your lap. You fork twirling in the pasta that Molly made for dinner tonight. Fred managed to act as if all was normal, though he still had an underlying hint of awkwardness. Evident in the way he’d avoid Ron’s eyes. George was much like you, cracking jokes like Fred but not really looking up from his food.

Ron on the other hand was taking times giving you all disgusted glares occasionally before looking back down at his own food. The tension in the air was palpable despite how everyone tried to ignore it. Harry awkwardly rubbing his hands on his pants as he observed the awkwardness in the room.

The only sounds in the room was Molly’s chatter as she attempted to ease the awkwardness in the room. Finally sitting down to enjoy her own food.

“So how is everyone?” Hermione eventually asks, her eyes roaming over the faces that she’s come to recognize and -usually- feel greatly comfortable with among the years.

Molly smiled as Hermione spoke, opening her mouth to speak before being cut off by Ron. “Bloody amazing… i bet Y/N, Fred ‘n George feel real amazing too.”

He spoke, his words dripping with sarcasm which added to the tension in the room. Everyone’s eyes going to the three of you as Ron gave you all his typical, bitter nasty look. Fred choking on his noodles while your cheeks heated up. George simply scrunching his eyes shut as if something abruptly dropped.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Molly scolded among seeing the look Ron dared to give to you guys. Smacking his arm lightly with her napkin.

Ron’s attitude didn’t budge though, instead shifting his arm away from the napkin slightly as he spoke. Giving away enough but not too much. “Please, you’d be disgusted too if you saw them doing what i saw.” He emphasized the last words.

Everyone’s eye’s diverted back to the three of you’s shameful faces. Your fork stilling in between your fingers as you felt their gazes bore into your down-warded head.

“So.. what happened?” Harry muttered, voice laced with confusion and slight hesitance, unsure if he really wanted to know.

“Uh..” 

“Yeah guys ‘what happened?’”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.