#george weasley x reader imagine
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George Weasley is litteraly the biggest boobs man, he just love to peek into your shirt to see them, touch them, suck on them litteraly a baby
(Please can u do a mini-fic with it?)
ugh yeah george is so fucking obsessed with your boobs that heâll try to get peek whenever he can, subtly tugging at the top of your shirt and sneakily stealing a glance as you eye him disapprovingly with a raised eyebrow. and when youâre talking to him while wearing a low-cut top, his eyes are mesmerisingly glued to your chest, your perfect tits slightly spilling from your tiny shirt, making your words go in one ear and out the other.
and even in public, in the crowded common room, he has no shame whatsoever. âgeorge, stop it!â you command with a firm, stern tone, swiftly swatting his hand away that wanders under your shirt towards your bra-covered tits. you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassments as you quickly glance around to see if anyone saw his inappropriate behaviour. âwell, thatâs just meanâŠâ he whines, fake-pouting at you before his gaze is already drawn to your tits once again as you roll your eyes at him. ââŠkeeping them all to yourself like that.â he playfully huffs, his eyes still fixed on your chest, staring intently with his head slightly tilted, drool almost spilling from his slightly parted lips.
and during sex, all his attention is on your tits and hardened nipplesâ either his strong, firm hands are massaging them and his fingers toying with your nipples or his mouth is wrapped around them, sucking on them them eagerly. he also loves to cover them completely in hickeys, fully claiming them as his, before fucking you at a fast pace, hungrily watching your tits bounce in synchronisation with his relentless thrusts. âbloody hell.â george groans, completely entranced by the mesmerising sight beneath him, as he licks his lips with a hungry and lustful twinkle in his eyes. âso⊠perfectâŠâ
à©âĄËł
#âĄâË for arina đă»â#anon#george weasley#george weasley smut#george weasley x reader#george weasley x fem!reader#george weasley x you#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x female reader#george weasley imagine#george weasley blurb#george weasley drabble#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley fic#george weasley fanfic
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Hermione: why are threesomes only for sex
Hermione: why canât I join in on a couples argument if I want to
#draco malfoy#fred weasley#george weasley#gryffindor#harry potter#hogwarts#hufflepuff#incorrect quotes#ravenclaw#ron weasly x reader#harry potter x reader#draco imagine#draco x reader#draco x hermione#dramione#fred weasly x reader#slytherin#incorrect harry potter quotes
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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
#gryffindor#hogwarts#fred weasley#fred weasley fic#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley imagine#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#marauders era#marauders x reader#marauders fanfiction#harry potter x reader#harry potter x you#harry potter#sirius black#charlie weasley#charlie weasley x reader#charlie weasley imagine#george weasley x reader#george weasley x y/n
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all's fair in love and war (2)
oliver wood x female!reader
wc:Â 7.87k
warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest
an:Â literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so iâm sorry itâs late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers
summary:Â Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.
part one
You canât sleep.
You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.
âI knew it, I knew itââ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. âI knew it!â
The image of Oliverâs fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.
It was a riddle of a calibre that you canât seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?
You lingered on it all weekend.
Cherry didnât help at all â heâs been in love with you forever, thatâs literally so obvious â and Enzo even less so once heâd been filled in: Oliver doesnât seem a bloke who letâs alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.
The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.
Thereâs barely enough time to make sense of your situation before youâre racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.
Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning youâd been doing for the last two nights.
When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.
âSorry Iâm late professor,â you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.
Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.
It hadnât escaped you that youâd be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but youâd precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.
Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.
âNot a problem peach, weâre just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.â She brings a stubby hand to her chin, âuhm ⊠well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesnât have a partner. Go join him by his pots.â
Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.
âHey.â He nudges gently.
You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. âHey Archie.â
The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. Thereâs a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.
âSo âŠâ Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. âHow was your weekend?â
Itâs a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.
You shrug, adamant on missing the point. âIt was alright, I guess. How about yours?â
He shrugs right back. âWasnât the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.â
You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. âIâm sorryââ
âNo, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?â His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. âDead sure that bloke's own mother can't say heâs handsome. Iâm better looking than him, surely?â
Thereâs the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: âyouâre definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.â
His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. âYou really think so?â
âWithout a doubt.â
Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. âYouâre very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.â
You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.
Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. âOliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.â
Archieâs reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at armâs length. âNot true. The boyâs half in love with you.â
This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.
âHe said that?â
Heâs quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. âOliver doesnât have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessaryââ
âThatâs just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesnât love me, he barely tolerates me.â
The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. âWhy is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.â
Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesnât seem to notice.
âWe were drunk.â You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.
Thereâs a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.
That itâs an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming âyouâve been fooled!â if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesnât hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.
Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.
Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."
He perks: "really?"
Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.
"Ow!"
A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.
âOliver â can you just focus for five seconds!â Poppy isnât impressed.
Oliver isnât either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppyâs careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.
It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?
You laugh again and itâs loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. Thereâs another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesnât react.
âJust pass me the bloody spade.â He grumbles.
-
The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.
It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.
Oliver doesnât think heâs ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesnât care - before heâs knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archieâs head of curly black hair.
âHey!â He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. âWhat did she say?â
Youâre far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherryâs up the hill towards the castle.
Archie grins. âShe said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.â
Oliver groans, âNot about that, you prat. Aboutâ wait, really?â
"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."
Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."
He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.
"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"
Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."
"Tense?"
"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"
At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.
"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.
Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"
Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"
Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"
The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.
"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."
"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."
Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"
"She said that, too."
Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"
"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."
A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"
Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."
He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."
-
"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"
You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."
"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"
"Yes." You don't look at her.
The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"
You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.
She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."
"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.
The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.
Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.
The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"
You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.
Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.
Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.
"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"
You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"
Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."
"She's just answering your question, professor."
Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.
You fight the twitching urge to look at him.
"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."
A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.
Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.
You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.
Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.
Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.
It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.
'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'
Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.
'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'
You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.
There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.
'Maybe.
We good?'
There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.
You hunch over the note again.
Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.
He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.
When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.
'Never :)'
His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.
"What you looking so damn happy about?"
Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Donât know what yer talking about."
-
"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"
"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"
Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."
He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.
Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.
In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.
The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.
You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.
But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.
Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.
Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.
He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.
You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.
"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.
He huffs.
Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.
It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"
You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.
Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.
Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.
The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.
It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.
Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."
You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.
Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.
Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.
"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"
The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."
-
On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.
There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.
Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.
He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.
It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.
Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.
But lately he's foggier than usual.
You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.
Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.
Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.
Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.
You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.
The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.
Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"
You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.
The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.
There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.
-
The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.
Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.
Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.
Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.
Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.
"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"
It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.
Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.
You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.
Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.
Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.
He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.
"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"
A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.
Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.
His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.
Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.
"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"
Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.
"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"
It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.
"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"
After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.
The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.
He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.
Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?
The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.
There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.
Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.
Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.
So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.
-
You're not at dinner.
He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."
Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."
Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."
He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.
Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.
"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.
Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.
He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.
"What does it look like, Arch."
Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."
He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"
Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.
-
Youâd watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.Â
The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.
By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.
The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.
The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.
It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.
"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.
He shrugs. "Not today."
You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.
There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.
"You missed dinner."
"Does it matter?"
Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.
There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."
He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.
You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.
"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"
His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."
By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."
You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.
The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.
You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."
He nods. "I know."
"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"
Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.
"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."
You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.
"You wouldn't."
"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.
Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."
Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.
"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.
He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."
The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.
By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.
Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.
You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.
His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.
You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.
-
Oliver hasn't been sleeping.
His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.
Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.
Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.
"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"
He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.
He won.
Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.
He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.
It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.
He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.
Will you forget him?
It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.
He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.
You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--
The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.
A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.
His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"
Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.
This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.
"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."
There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.
"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.
The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.
He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.
It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.
"Wood! What are you do--"
His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."
Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.
With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"
He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.
"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.
You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."
Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."
He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.
"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"
A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.
"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."
"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.
"So, is that a yes?"
You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.
"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.
He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"
You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.
It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.
It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.
Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.
"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."
He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."
-
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fill the void || fred weasley
SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+
It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.
Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.
But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldnât help but wonder what you wouldâve become if you hadnât been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow wouldâve suited you better.
It wasnât that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasnât them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question whoâd you marry and reproduce with.
Yuck.
âAm I interrupting?â
You didnât need to turn around. Youâd recognize a Weasleyâs voice anywhere. âUnfortunately not,â You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. âIs there a reason youâre perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?â Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?
âWhereâs your other half? Didnt think you two separated,â You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. âCurrently snogging Angelina Johnson,â He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. âThe chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?â You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. âAggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,â He replied.
You snorted. âAhh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,â You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. âI wouldnât be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,â He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. Thereâs no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. âYouâre cute when you blush,â Fred praised. He couldnât help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.
âAre you complimenting me Weasley?â You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. âObviously not, iâm flirting with you,â Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. âWhat makes you think you can flirt with me?â You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. âPerhaps itâs because weâre in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,â Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. âWeasleyâs canât afford a boat,â You spat.
Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. âConsidering youâre out here I think itâs safe to say your boat has sank. Guess weâre on the same island together then,â He replied. You couldnât help but find his facial expression smug. âGreat,â You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. âWell, if my presence really isnât that valued iâll relocate,â He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didnât realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.
âSit down Weasley. I-,â You paused, looking up at the ginger. âIâd prefer it if you stayed.â
Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. âFigured youâd say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,â He gloated. You slapped his arm. âYouâre unbearable. You know that donât you?â You grumbled. Fred couldnât help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. âYou seem to like it,â He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. âDo not,â You argued.
âDo too.â
âDo not!â
Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. âCare to dance?â He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didnât belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fredâs hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.
Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. âYou know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I wonât tell,â Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. âItâs not an act,â You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.
âSure it isnât. And iâm not the best prankster in Hogwarts,â He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. âYouâve really got quite an ego, donât you Weasley?â You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. âThats a bit hypocritical, donât you think?â He asked. You glared up at him. âI think not,â You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldnât deny how much you enjoyed his touch.
So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. âHey? Are you listening little serpent?â Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. âSorry, what?â You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldnât help but wish itâd last forever. âI was asking what youâre thinking about,â He said.
You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. âOhh, I see,â Fred said. You couldnât bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.
âDo you like that? When I guide you? Take control?â Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You couldâve dropped to your knees in an instant. âMaybe I do,â You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought theyâd be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.
The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fredâs refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. âCute,â He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. âAs much as iâd love to make you squirm, we canât do much here,â He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldnât get enough, your body craving him.
âThat eager, are we?â Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. âFuck me, at the very least Weasley,â You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. âTurn around for me pretty girl,â He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.
His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. âYouâre lucky weâre in the courtyard, otherwise iâd make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,â Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fredâs hands flew to your mouth. âGotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?â He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.
âYouâre fuckin soaked for me,â Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. âIâm bigger than Malfoy arenât I?â He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. âIn your dreams Weasley,â You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. âDont leave marks on me,â You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.
âWhys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out youâve let me in between your legs?â Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. âWhen they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,â Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.
âYouâre so fucking tight, so perfect,â Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. âIâm going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? Youâre going make a mess for me,â Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.
âPlease make me cum Freddie, fucking please,â You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than youâd like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. âThere she is, thereâs my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,â He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fredâs hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.
He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. âHoly shit,â Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.
âHey y/n?â
âYeah?â
âYou wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?â
âShut up Weasley.â
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Into the Woods - George Weasley
Summary: Waking George up to go out for a morning walk at the Burrow has him feeling quite frisky... This is basically straight up smut... 1.1k+ wc
The cool morning breeze had you snuggling deeper into George's side, chills running down your legs as the short sundress you wore did little to help warm you up. George, barely awake and holding back a yawn, welcomes your soft touch, a hand snaking around your waist to subtly pull you closer to him. "Maybe next time I won't wake us up quite so early." You admit, glancing up at your boyfriend, who chuckles at the comment. "I'd usually agree but I'm actually enjoying the privacy. You, me and the sounds of nature." A laugh bubbles in your chest and you jokingly push George away, who stumbles on the grass, gasping out a "You flirt!" despite both of you knowing how much you enjoy it.
When George finds his way back near you, both his hands make their way onto your hips, forcing you to face him. You cock your head to the side with a curious smile, accepting the kiss he leans down for. One of your hands rest on his cheek, though you begin to pull away when you feel his tongue swiping at your bottom lip. "George" You whisper when he chases your lips again, pressing individual pecks on them before trailing kisses on your cheek and down to your jaw. "George!" Lighting pushing his chest away from you, you attempt to separate the boy's lips from the area he begins sucking at on your neck.
His lips separate from your skin with a popping sound, though he doesn't fail to dig his face in the crook of your neck instead, hands on your hips moving to trap your body against his in a loving hug. "What's wrong sweetheart?" He asks, the wind making his ginger hair tickle your cheek slightly. "Georgie what are you doing?" "'M not doing anything." But his hands say otherwise, trailing down to your ass where he begins fondling you. You raise your eyebrows with a small smile on your face, one of your hands coming up to play with his short hair before asking him "Is this because of what happened yesterday?"
At your boyfriend's silence, you let out a small giggle. When you'd been called down for dinner in the middle of a quite intimate moment, you knew George would struggle to sit through the meal, however you hadn't been expecting long lasting effects. "I can give you a quick one if you want." You muttered, yelping when George immediately straightened up, one hand clasping around yours to drag you behind the trunk of a thick tree. George didn't hesitate to press his body against yours, a hand quickly making its way under your dress to pull your panties down to your ankles as he began kissing your jaw again.
"George! I meant like, like a handjob or something!" You whisper yelled, actions contradicting your words as you laced a hand in his hair, pulling him towards your lips to kiss you properly. He willingly obliged, this time gaining access to your mouth as he twined his tongue against yours in a messy kiss. Pulling away with a pant, George mumbled "Fuck, turn around for me sweetheart." You obeyed, spinning around and bending over just enough for your butt to stick out. Putting both hands on the tree trunk for support, you listened closely to the sound of George unzipping his trousers. He guided his cock between your thighs, wetting himself with your juices before spreading them down on his cock.
Clumsily, George probed two of his fingers near your entrance, whispering in your ear "Just want to prepare you for me baby." before sinking them into you. You whined at the intrusion, eyes widening at your own sound before remembering where you were. "George... Georgie, how close are we to the Burrow?" Your hips rocked back and forth with your boyfriend's fingers, looking over your shoulder to see him peering around the tree trunk. "Far enough."
You didn't even notice him taking his fingers out until he began pushing his dick into you instead, emitting a gasp from you as you gripped the wood in front of you. You heard George curse deeply, hands regaining position on your hips as he began to thrust into you at an increasing pace. Your chest hit the rough trunk in front of you with every powerful thrust, and you were squeezing your thighs together for more friction, the mix pain drowning you in pleasure. George leaned in closer to you, lips latching onto your neck to aggressively suck hickeys that would be impossible to hide in this dress. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back onto his dick with every thrust of his pelvis to hit your core at an angle that brought you too close to your orgasm too quickly.
Warning George of your approaching orgasm with a moan, you let him grab the nape of your neck, using the momentum to pull your torso off the tree trunk and up against his chest. He trailed that same hand down the front of your body, sneaking under the skirt of your dress, he cupped your pussy, thumb delving between your folds to put pressure on your clit. "Fuck, George!" You moaned, shutting your eyes tightly and throwing your head back on his chest, hands latching onto the thick denim of his trousers as your orgasm overtook your body, thighs beginning to shake slightly. "Yeah, that's it baby." You heard George mutter, hitting you with harsher thrusts that only increased the duration of your orgasm as he reached his high too, abs flexing with effort as he quickly pulls out of your cunt, aiming his cum away from you.
A hand still rests on your hip as George continues pumping his cock, milking out his cum with loud pants to catch his breath. You mimic his breathing, both hands now resting on your waist as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. George recovers before you, tucking himself back in his trousers and leaning down to pull your underwear up your legs. When he finishes, he wraps his arms around your front, pulling you back against his chest to press loving kisses against your forehead. "We have to check that one off the list." He whispers against your forehead, prompting you to spin in his arms, tugging the bottom of his shirt and pressing yourself on your tippy toes to steal a couple of real kisses from him. "Oh so that's why you did this? A bucket list?"
George shakes his head, making direct eye contact with you, a wide smile on his face as he confessed "No, I was just really horny."
#rainydayathogwarts#harry potter#george weasley smut#george weasley#george x reader#george weasley imagine#george weasley fanfiction#george wealsey imagine#george weasly x reader#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x reader#george weasley x you#harry potter smut#smut#george weasely smut#the weasleys
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âą One of the Boys âą
Reader x Fred Weasley
Based off of Katy Perryâs song âOne of the Boysâ
Word count: 3.5k
Summary: Youâve always been one of the boys. That was until you came back from summer break looking a bit, different, as Fred puts it.
Warnings: cursing, mildly steamy scenario
âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą âą
One of the boys
âToday was bloody brilliant!â Fred cheered and clapped you on the back as he raised his cup to Gryffindor. Practically the whole school was shoved in your common room to celebrate the quidditch cup.
âTo Gryffindor!â Oliver bellowed drunkly as everyone drank and cheered.
âSeriously, Y/N, you played fucking amazing today,â Angelina bellowed, downing the rest of her drink.
âI can second that. Since when did you get so bloody good, little one?â George smiled as he put his arm around you. The twins had always been your good friends, the three of you joining the Gryffindor quidditch team in your third years. Theyâd often referred to you as little one, due to the fact that they towered over you. They constantly teased and pranked you, but you would also join in on their antics. More often than not, you guys were playing quidditch during the warm seasons and pranking Filch in the winter. You were really just one of the boys and you couldnât be more happy to be a part of their mischief.
âIâve always been good, Georgie. But I will admit, this was probably my best game yet,â you beamed as you joined the rest in downing your drink.
âYouâre only that good thanks to our rigorous coaching throughout the years,â Fred smiled wryly, filling his own cup up again. You rolled your eyes.
âYea right, Weasley. The two of you combined still wouldnât be as good as me,â you challenged. The three of you went back and forth all night, drinking and laughing and celebrating Gryffindors victory. The high spirits continued throughout the week and before you knew it you were saying goodbye to all your friends at platform 9 and 3/4.
âOh! So good to see you sweetie,â Molly smiled warmly as she dragged you into a tight hug, âHave a good summer, weâll see you in the fall! Say goodbye boys.â Fred and George both approached you and each gave you a quick hug before heading out with the Weasley family.
âSee you next year little one!â George called out.
âDonât skimp out on the quidditch practice, Y/N! You could use it,â Fred shouted, giving you a cheeky smile and a wave. You rolled your eyes and sent a smile back before meeting with your own family and heading home for the summer.
3 months later
You checked yourself out in the mirror one last time and smoothed the top of your hair flat.
âCome on, Y/N! Youâre going to miss the train,â your dad called from downstairs.
âComing!â
Over the summer you had grown a considerable amount. Your dad had been teasing you about how much time you spent in the bathroom getting ready, but you didnât care. For once in your life you actually felt pretty. Your body had begun to fill out in all the right places and your hair had grown out well past your shoulders now. You had started to shave your legs and wear perfume. You had even bought new clothes as you had outgrown your old wardrobe. All of this had instilled you with a newfound confidence that had you beaming. As you walked onto platform 9 and 3/4, you wore a fitted long sleeve shirt and some new low waisted jeans. You had blown out your hair into soft falling curls and you had even applied some lip gloss. You were excited to start your sixth year with all your friends and your new look.
âBye guys! Iâll see you for Christmas,â you hugged your family before loading your trunks on the train. As you put your final trunk into the train, someone called your name from behind.
âY/N?â
You turned around to see Fred and George standing behind you, still towering over your frame.
âFred! George! How was your summer?â You bounded towards them and hugged George. When you pulled back to hug Fred he just stood there with his mouth slightly agape. George nudged him and he seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in and leaned in to hug you.
âYou look⊠different,â was all he could manage to say. You chuckled and put your hands on your hips.
âYes, Iâm not so little anymore. You guys can stop calling me little one now,â you teased.
âNah, youâre still tiny,â George brushed you off as you all started to head onto the train to find a compartment. After walking down the length of the train, you had finally found the compartment where Lee and Angelina were.
âY/N! How was your summer! Oh my gosh, you look absolutely stunning,â Angelina beamed as she hugged you and pulled you down to sit next to her.
âThanks Angie, I can say the same about you! And my summer was amazing,â you guys chatted back and forth, catching up on all the latest gossip and all the fun things you did over the summer. Fred and George beamed about the Quidditch World Cup and soon the five of you were full of sweets and ready to take a quick nap before you had to change into your school robes.
âEvery year I tell myself not to eat so many chocolate frogs, and every year I eat more than I did the year before,â Lee groaned, leaning back and rubbing his stomach. You laughed and slid down in your own seat, leaning your head against the window and looking out across the green landscape. You were so happy to be back with your friends. The summertime was amazing, but there was nothing like Hogwarts. As you smiled to yourself, you looked up from the window to see Fred staring at you with a serious expression. You raised an eyebrow at him but he just shook his head and looked out the window. That was weird. You shook it off and leaned your head against the window again and nodded off.
Before long, the train had pulled into the station and crowds of students were piling out into to the night to go to welcoming feast. As you filed out of the train and towards the carriages, Fred and George lagged behind a bit and whispered to each other.
âDo you think theyâre acting a bit strange?â You leaned in towards Angelina, sending another glance back towards the twins.
âArenât they always?â Angelina shrugged as she stepped into the carriage. She had a point.
After a few minutes, you found yourself at the Gryffindor table listening to Dumbledore announce the Tri-Wizard Tournament, everybody increasingly getting excited as his speech went on. The excitement reached its peak as piles of fresh food appeared in front of you and everybody dug into the feast.
âOh how I missed this food,â you groaned, piling food into your mouth. George hummed in agreement as he piled more potatoes into his mouth. You could feel Fred staring at you again but you decided against meeting his gaze this time. Were they going to prank you or something? He was acting so weird.
Shortly after dinner, everybody headed up to their dorms. Despite wanting to hang out together in the common room, the long day of travel and the large feast caught up with the Gryffindors as the students filed up the winding stairs to their rooms. You had just gotten to your room when you realized you left your book in the common room. You turned around and quietly padded down the stairs to retrieve it. You slowed your steps as you saw the twins huddled together on a couch with their backs turned from you.
âWell yes, Iâm not disagreeing. Any bloke can see she looks good, so what? I mean, what are you trying to say?â You managed to hear George say as you approached the coffee table.
âOoh, who looks good? Does someone have a crush?â
The twins jumped as you grabbed your book next to them.
âBloody hell, Y/N!â Fred exclaimed with wide eyes. George laughed.
âSee, you say youâre no longer little, but youâre so tiny your footsteps donât even make a sound,â George teased, leaning back into the couch and tossing his arm over it. You rolled your eyes.
âYou guys just stomp around like ogres, I walk like a normal human. Anyways, Iâm heading to bed. Try not to drool over Angelina, Georgie. Itâs only the first day back,â you teased as you turned to head up towards the girls dormitory. You heard George let out a loud laugh before hearing a loud slap and more commotion. You just smiled to yourself, oh how you missed those two. You entered your room and placed your book on your bedside table before going to your wardrobe to change.
âI think George likes you,â you nodded to Angelina as she shot up in her bed.
âReally?â She said with a slight smile. You just chuckled. You were so happy to be back.
The weeks flew by and soon the other wizarding schools had arrived. The only thing that sucked about this whole tournament was that there was no quidditch. It was a surprisingly warm November day when you bounded into the common room looking for a certain pair of red heads. You spotted them huddled up in the corner of the room, probably working on one of their pranking products as you had learned of recently.
âYou two,â you pointed at the twins as they whipped their heads up, âwanna play quidditch? Two on two, George and Angelina, Me and Fred.â A cheeky grin immediately grew on Georgeâs face as he turned to look at Fred. A more sheepish smile appeared on Fredâs face as he stood up.
âAlright, Y/N, letâs kick some ass.â
The game had turned out to be exactly what the four of you needed in midst of all the school work that was being assigned. You and Fred flew seamlessly together, scoring over and over again on George and Angelina. They were putting up a good front, but your flying skills were outmatched. You had even attracted a small crowd of students by the time the game ended.
âGood game,â you said, landing onto the field and sticking out your hand for Angelina.
âYes, valiant effort you two,â Fred smirked, shaking Angelinaâs hand after you.
âMerlin, Y/N, I forgot how good you are,â Angelina mumbled as she took her defeat in stride.
âYeah, shes bloody brilliant,â Fred mumbled with a reserved smile. You looked up at him, beaming at the compliment but he quickly looked away and cleared his throat.
âGotta admit it, little one. You sure can fly,â George clapped you on the back before following Angelina off the field.
âWe make a good team, Freddie,â you smiled, patting his arm before beginning to walk off the field as well. You couldnât help but feel a little sad. Why was Fred acting so weird around you? Did he not like you anymore? He had been so distant this year, choosing to spend his time with George and whenever you came over to join them, he seemed to shut down and become reserved. And Fred had certainly never been reserved before. You shook your head and walked back to your dorm to shower. You decided youâd ask George about it that night.
After dinner, you sat in the common room working on some homework with Angelina. You tried to focus on your assignment, but your eyes kept drifting over to the pair huddled in the corner. How in the world were you going to ask George about Fred when they were always together? As if your prayers had been answered, Fred stood up and walked out of the common room. Your eyes followed him until he disappeared through the portrait hole. You took no time waiting and began to walk over to George.
âAh, Y/N, whatâs up?â George closed whatever he was working on and put his arm over the back of the couch. You took a seat next to him and turned to face him, nervously playing with your sleeves.
âUm, I actually had a question for you,â you stammered, looking up towards the portrait hole to make sure Fred wasnât coming back.
âSpit it out, Y/N. Whatâs up? Youâre making me worried,â George laughed, scooting closer to you. You cleared your throat.
âDoes Fred have a problem with me? I dunno, it just seems like he doesnât like me around anymore. Heâs been acting so weird and I donât want to bother him if he doesnât want me hanging out with you guys anymore,â you trailed off, looking down at your legs. George put his arm around your shoulders.
âY/N, I can promise you that is not the case,â he sighed, âwe both love hanging out with you.â
âReally?â You let out a breath and chuckled.
âYes, really. Merlin, he is such an idiot,â he grumbled to himself, shaking his head.
âWhat do you mean?â You raised an eyebrow at him when Fred walked back into the common room. You looked up and your eyes met his. As he got closer to you and George, his brows furrowed. George took his arm off your shoulders and you shifted your body away from his.
âWhat are you guys talking about?â Fred questioned, stopping in his tracks and crossing his arms over his chest, looking mildly annoyed. Why were his forearms so ripped? You shook your head and cleared your throat.
âI was just bugging him about the herbology assignment, which he hasnât even started,â you glared at George. It was true that he hadnât even started the lengthy assignment that was due by the end of the week. George chuckled.
âDid you set it up Freddie?â George questioned, probably about a prank, looking up at his twin. Fred still looked visibly annoyed.
âYes. I did, but I shouldâve made you do it.â Fred said dryly, his jaw clenching slightly. George rolled his eyes. You looked between the twins with a confused expression. You rarely saw them annoyed at each other.
âAlright, well Iâm headed upstairs. Goodnight you guys,â you ducked out of the awkward atmosphere and towards Angelina to grab your books.
âGoodnight, Y/N,â George said as Fred sat down in your seat and began to whisper something to George. What was that all about?
A few days went by and Fred was still acting distant. You wondered if George had even said anything to Fred about it. If anything, Fred was avoiding you even more. George tried to give you passing smiles and waves, but anytime he passed you in the halls, Fred would completely ignore you. Even at dinner, he would rarely engage in conversation with you and you were starting to feel really hurt. After this particular night where he purposefully avoided your gaze the entire dinner, you were actually angry at him. Heâd been acting so weird all year and then as soon as you talked to George about it, he started completely ignoring you. That night, you left your dorm and stomped up to the twins room. You knocked on the door and stood there with your arms crossed waiting until George opened it. He looked taken aback by your angry presence.
âI need to talk to Fred, alone.â You stated. George gulped and turned to Lee.
âLetâs go to the common room,â he grabbed Lee and pushed past you. Fred was now looking at you from his bed. You couldnât read the expression on his face. It looked half scared and half the nonchalant expression heâd been giving you the past few days.
âWhat the fuck is your problem with me?â You stomped over the his bed where he sat. He raised an eyebrow at you and crossed his arms.
âI donât have a problem with you, Y/N. What are you talking about?â He shrugged as he looked up at you nonchalantly, but you could see his jaw tensing.
âAre you serious right now, Fred? You know exactly what Iâm been talking about. Youâve been avoiding me all week, ever since I talked to George about you. I donât know if he even mentioned it to you, but I thought you didnât like me anymore! He told me that wasnât true, but now Iâm not too sure anymore! Youâve been acting like a prat all week!â You were fuming at this point. You couldnât believe he had the audacity to pretend like he hadnât been ignoring you for days.
âThatâs not fuckimg true! I told you I donât have a problem with you, Y/N,â he jumped up off the bed and stalked towards you, âwhy canât you just take my word for it?â His height became apparent as he loomed over you. You only stood up straighter and kept your arms crossed.
âWell then whatâs your problem? Why donât you like hanging out with me anymore? Why are you avoiding me?â You questioned, your anger slowly seeping away and being replaced with the hurt youâd been feeling. Fred sighed, his posture relaxing as he saw your eyes fill with sadness. He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair.
âI do like hanging out with you, Y/N. Merlin, Iâve been missing spending time with you, I justâŠâ he trailed off, his eyes falling to the floor.
âYou just what, Fred? Since when are you so shy?â You asked genuinely. That only made Fred groan and run his hands roughly through his hair again.
âSince I started liking you! Since you showed up on the platform looking like that and now I canât even look at you without thinking youâre the most beautiful girl Iâve ever seen,â the words tumbled out of his mouth and left you standing there with your mouth open. Did he just say he likes you? Did he just call you beautiful? âI miss playing quidditch with you and coming up with pranks together but fuck, Y/N. I donât want to be your friend anymore. I want to be with you.â You stood still for what felt like a long time. Were you dreaming right now? Your brain scrambled to make sense of what was happening. I mean, Fred was standing in front of you, confessing his feelings to you in a very real way. But youâd been friends for so long. What if this ruined everything? But he was standing right in front of you with his messy hair and his freckled face and his furrowed brows and he just looked so good and he was finally talking to you again and
âOh, fuck it,â you breathed out, closing the space between the two of you. You were kissing him. And it felt so good. He groaned into your lips as his hands found their way to the small of your back, pulling you flush against his body as his lips worked against your own. Your hands tangled in his red locks as you pulled at his neck to deepen the kiss. His hands slid up your body until he held your cheeks. He kissed you softly one more time before pulling back. You face was blushed red as you stared up at him with wide eyes. He finally let out a breathy laugh and his lips curved up into a crooked smile.
âYouâre so cute, fuck,â he laughed, still holding your face in his large hands, âIâm sorry Iâve been acting like a prat. I just didnât want to ruin our friendship. But after kissing you, fuck, I shouldâve ruined it a long time ago.â
âI just wish you wouldâve told me earlier. Had I known you liked me, I couldâve had you kissing me all year,â you smirked as you walked him to the edge of his bed. He sat on the edge and pulled you down with him.
âLetâs make up for lost time then,â Fred whispered as he pulled you to his lips. You groaned as you straddled his lap and deepened the kiss. This man knew how to use his tongue.
âFuck, Freddie,â you moaned into his mouth as his hands found their way to your ass. He chuckled as his grabbed your hips.
âIâve been wanting to do that ever since I saw you bent over your luggage on the platform,â he breathed out with a smirk as he slapped your ass. You gasped and hit his chest.
âFreddie!â You scolded, but it didnât last long as he pulled you back to his mouth, making you moan as his thumbs rubbed over your hip bones.
âBloody hell,â you heard someone say from the door. You gasped and pulled away from Fred only to see George standing in the doorway with his jaw wide open. Fredâs smirked stayed plastered on his face and his grip held you tight on his lap.
âSorry Georgie, think you can give us a few more minutes? Weâre still talking.â
#fred weasley fanfiction#fred weasley x reader#harry potter#harry potter imagines#wizarding world#harry potter fanfiction#reader x fred weasley#y/n x Fred weasley#george weasley#Fred weasley#harry potter oneshot#Harry Potter master list#hpboys#Fred weasley one shot#fred weasley oneshot#mallowsweetmiri
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my âtwins weasley phaseâ wasnât just a phase.
#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley#fred weasly x reader#fred weasely x y/n#george weasley x reader#george weasley#george weasly x reader#george wealsey imagine#fred and george#weasley twins#hp#hp fandom
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Busy Bee
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x slytherin!reader
Summary: you may have accidentally fallen asleep on draco, but in your defense, he was really comfortable to sleep on! now, though, you're forced to face your feelings for him and do something about them
Word Count: 2.6k+
Masterlist
â° Â â° Â â°
âBlaise, move your big arse away from my comfy spot.â
You had a tiring day of classes, and wanted nothing more than to just relax for the rest of the night. You had gone back to the Slytherin common room to hopefully see some of your friends and just wind down for the night.Â
Everyone in Slytherin knew there was one special spot on the lounge couch that was reserved for you. You had spent countless hours and dozens of nights in that exact spot either studying or just hanging out with friends. That was your spot, and when you came into the common room, everyone knew to make way for it.Â
Blaise chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. âSorry, (Y/N), didnât realize youâd be back so early.â
âEarly?â You exclaimed as you jumped into your spot. âIâve been busting my butt all morning for these stupid exams. Iâm exhausted.â
Pansy groaned from her spot on the floor. âWhy donât you just cut yourself a break once in a while? Itâs no fun when my best friend is too busy for, like, anything anymore.â
You frowned. âIâm not too busy for you! Iâm here now, arenât I?â You grabbed a blanket from the stockpile you kept in the common room, and wrapped yourself tight in it.Â
Pansy rolled her eyes with a smile. âYeah, yeah. Youâre just in time to hear about the latest shit with Emma.âÂ
Pansy had a wild grudge against this poor Hufflepuff girl who didnât even know that Pansy was beefing with her. It was quite funny, honestly, but you loved Pansy enough to let her moan on about what annoying thing Emma does everyday.Â
âOh goody.â Draco came out from the stairwell into the common room with a roll of his eyes. âAnother go round of how insufferable you think that Hufflepuff is.âÂ
He glanced over to see you cocooned in your blanket and let out a soft laugh. Draco took his seat next to you and laid his arm over the back of the couch behind you.Â
Draco intrigued you. Over the last year, the two of you had grown quite close. You considered Draco a good friend, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you didnât wish it were more. Draco was kind. He was flirtatious and charming, but he was sweet and gentle with you as well. Sometimes you thought Draco may have feelings for you in return, but you were far too scared to confront him about it.Â
âWell, for starters, we already know how much of a know it all she is, but for some reason she has to showboat just how smart she is. Youâd think she was a Ravenclaw what with how obsessed she is with being correct.â Pansy said.Â
Blaise started to respond to her squawking when Draco shifted closer to you. Blaiseâs voice drifted away as you focused your attention to Draco.Â
âYou alright, Dray?â You asked.Â
He smiled slightly. âYeah, just trying to get comfortable. Salazar knows Pansy will be talking about this nonsense for hours.âÂ
Draco dropped his arm from the back of the couch to wrap around your shoulder and pull you into him. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, silently hoping Draco couldnât feel the intensity of it.Â
You tried to hide the grin threatening to break out on your lips as you snuggled closer to his chest. This was definitely a first for you guys. Though you and Draco had been quite flirty, heâd never been so open with his physical touch before.Â
âThen she had the nerve to choose me as her partner. Like I would ever consider her!â Pansy glanced over at you and did a double take when she saw you wrapped up in Draco. Her eyes grew slightly, but she averted them with a clear of her throat as to not make it obvious.Â
âAnd then, she had the audacity-â
âShe really is quite obsessed with this hufflepuff, huh?â Draco whispered to you, quiet enough for Pansy not to hear.Â
You looked up at him. His face was so close to yours, your noses were practically touching. You bit your lip as a smile threatened your face.Â
âYeah,â you whispered back as you stared into his eyes. âLeave her be though, it keeps her entertained.â
Draco chucked, his minty breath hitting your face due to your close proximity. Your own breath caught in your throat. You hadnât realized just how close you were to him. You could feel your stomach doing cartwheels as you took in all of his glorious features up close. The glimmer in his eyes, the point of his nose, the curve of his lips.Â
âI didnât see you earlier,â Draco shifted the conversation, pulling your gaze from his lips back to his eyes. âWhat were you doing all day, busy bee?â
You blushed at the nickname. âI was just in the library writing up essays and study guides for our finals.â You let out a yawn, the reminder of your morning making you realize just how exhausted you were.Â
âSleepy?â Draco murmured in your ear.
You nodded your head with a mumbled âyesâ, then rested your head on his shoulder. Draco wrapped his arm tight around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. With his other hand, he softly combed his fingers through your hair.
You hummed as you closed your eyes. âYouâre comfy,â you sleepily mumbled.Â
Draco chuckled. His fingers brushed against your cheeks every once in a while as he gently continued combing through your hair.Â
As you felt yourself falling asleep, you could hear Draco shushing Pansy and Blaise to ensure they didn't wake you.Â
â° Â â° Â â°
The next morning you wake in your bed, unsure of how you got there. You must have gone up sometime in the night and just not remembered.Â
With a shrug, you stood up and stretched your arms over your head. Pansy was snoring in the bed next to you. You tiptoed over to her and gently shook her awake.Â
âPansy,â you called as you shook her some more. âCome on, babe, time to wake up.âÂ
She just grumbled and swatted your hand from her shoulder. You huffed. Pansy was terrible in the mornings, and for some reason unknown to you, she didnât believe in alarm clocks so you got stuck waking her up every morning.Â
A mischievous idea came to mind, and with a smirk you jumped on top of her sleeping body.Â
âAhh!â She shouted as you frantically shook her awake.
âItâs wake up time, Pans! Weâve got to get ready for our charms exam this fine, beautiful morning.â You said with a laugh.Â
Pansy sat up and pushed you off of her so you laid on the bed instead. âGeez,â she grinned as she rubbed at her sleepy eyes. âWho knew a night with Draco would make you so chipper this morning.â
You sat upright in crisscross as your smile fell. âWait, what?â
You had spent the night with Draco? But that didnât make sense, you woke up by yourself in your own bed. Plus, you would have remembered if something had happened between the two of you.Â
Pansy saw your confused expression and chuckled. She grabbed a pillow and gently swatted you in the face with it. âNot like that, you silly. Salazar knows if you slept with Draco youâd have probably died of happiness.â
âHey!â You whined as a blush started creeping on your cheeks. âIâm not that crazy for him.âÂ
âOh, please,â Pansy scoffed with a slight smile. âI saw the way you cuddled up with him last night. I almost had a heart attack for you when I saw how close you were! Go (Y/N), go (Y/N)!â She cheered.Â
You laughed and pushed Pansy away from you. âShut up!â Your giggles died down as you recalled how you laid with him last night. âWas it really that obvious?â
âGirl please! I thought Draco was gonna scoop you up and run away with you. You should have seen the look on his face when you fell asleep on him. He looked at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.â
Your heart fluttered. You knew there was something going on with you and Draco, but by the way Pansy was talking, though she had a knack for exaggeration, it sounded like he really did have a thing for you.Â
âSo, what do I do now?â You asked as you slightly rocked back and forth on her bed.Â
âAre you joking?â Pansy deadpanned at you. â(Y/N/N), you gotta go get your man! Iâm tired of watching you two drool like little puppies over each other just for nothing to come out of it.âÂ
Your cheeks flushed. It had been a long time of this back and forth with Draco, and you decided you were ready to see where it got you.Â
âOkay, Iâm gonna tell him next time I see him.â You said.Â
Pansy cheered. âYes, finally! Now hurry up, Iâll help you pick a cute outfit that has âdate meâ written all over it.âÂ
You chuckled as Pansy eagerly jumped up and ran to your closet. She grabbed your shortest skirt, a white button up top, and your Slytherin robes.Â
âPans, how is this any different than my usual outfit?â You asked as you stood from the bed and joined her near the closet.Â
âAh, my sweet (Y/N), itâs not about the clothes you wear, but how you wear them.â She grinned as she threw the clothes into your hands. âPut them on so I can work my magic.â
You chuckled and stripped out of your pajamas to put on your school outfit. Turning back to Pansy, you said, âOkay, now what?âÂ
She devilishly grinned. Pansy pulled your skirt even higher up your legs to expose just a bit more of the skin there. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of your shirt and fixed your boobs so they popped out a little bit more. She wrapped the robe around your shoulders, but let the front open so you could see everything underneath.Â
âAnd no tie,â she added, âthat way your shirt can stay that way.â
You chuckled. âYou get me into all these crazy shenanigans, you know that right?âÂ
âYou know you love me.â
âYeah,â you added wearily, âbut what if itâs too much? I mean, we still have to go to class. Itâs not like I'm only going to see Draco.â
âWho cares?â Pansy asked as she started to dress herself in a similar manner. âLet the other boys stare and show Draco that youâre a hottie who other boys can get at if he decides heâs gonna be a wuss today.â
You laughed. Pansy always knew just how to make you feel better. âAlright, letâs get out there, then. Donât wanna keep all the boys waiting.â You winked at her.Â
Pansy smirked and wrapped her arm with yours. You walked out together and down to your first class that you shared.Â
Luckily for you, Draco did not share the same period for charms as you. You thought if Draco was in the class you would have surely failed your final.Â
You felt pretty confident in your answers, and soon enough class was dismissed.Â
Your heart beat out of your chest as you said your goodbyes to Pansy and walked to your next class: one you shared with Draco.Â
Nervously, you picked at your clothes as you walked to potions. On your way there, you couldnât help but notice all of the random students staring at you. Boys, and girls, sneaked peaks at you as you walked past them.Â
It felt nice to be noticed, you just hoped Draco would react in a similar way.Â
Speak of the devil.
There Draco stood in all his glory. He leaned against the wall outside of the potions room looking you up and down. Dracoâs lip was trapped between his teeth and he sized you up.Â
âBloody hell, (Y/N).â Draco mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear over your rapidly-beating heart.Â
Draco pushed himself off the wall and started walking towards you, meeting you halfway. He didnât say anything. All he could do was stare. Draco knew you were gorgeous; heâd be a bloody fool to not have noticed it before, but there was something about the way you looked that made his head spin.Â
While he shouldnât say it, Draco had always imagined how you would look after heâd had his way with you. He didnât ever want to seem like a creep, you were too sweet for that, but that just made him more curious.Â
In all honesty, he didnât know you had this in you.Â
âUh, Draco?â You asked. Draco had zoned out as he stared at you. You could feel your cheeks getting warm and you took in how awestruck he looked.Â
âHm?â He glanced back up into your eyes. âSorry, sweetheart, you just- you just look incredible. Well, you look gorgeous everyday, just you look gorgeous and sexy if that makes sense.âÂ
You raised an eyebrow almost teasingly. âOh, so you think I look sexy now, huh?â You donât know where this newfound confidence came from, but you liked the way Dracoâs eyes widened as you crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your boobs out ever so slightly.
Once he recovered, a smirk adorned his handsome face. âI always think you look sexy, now I'm just seeing it in person rather than my dreams. And speaking of dreams,â Draco grinned devilishly, âhow did you sleep last night, darling?âÂ
You had almost forgotten about the confusion of the night. âI slept well. I think.â You chuckled as you pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. âI donât exactly remember getting to bed, though. Care to enlighten me?âÂ
Draco chuckled, âYou fell asleep, quite adorably I might add, and I as the gentleman I am had the privilege of carrying you up the stairs and tucking you in for the night.âÂ
You smiled, âhow come you didnât just wake me?â
Dracoâs cheeks tinged pink. âI, uh, I just knew how tired you were from your morning and I didnât want to disturb you. Hope that was okay.â Draco rubbed the back of his neck a little awkwardly.Â
You grinned and reached up to squeeze his arm. âIt was really sweet of you, Draco.âÂ
The two of you stared at each other for a minute, the silence held some tension, it had some longing imbedded into it.Â
âDracoâŠâÂ
âDo you want to go out sometime?â Draco cut you off.Â
You gaped at him. âLike a date?â
Draco smiled, âyeah, exactly a date. I knew Iâve liked you for a little while, (Y/N), but when you cuddled up against me last night, I had this thought that I wanted to do it again. And then again after that too. You held onto like you needed me, and, uh, I really liked that.â
Draco blushed a little at his confession and shuffled his feet around nervously.Â
You couldnât help but grin and wrap your arms tight around his neck. Draco was a little taken aback by your quick movement, but surely sunk into your hug and wrapped his arms around your waist.Â
âIâd love to go out with you, Dray,â you whispered as you were pressed so close to him. âIâve been hoping you would ask me out for a long time.â
Draco pulled away, but still held his hands on your waist. âSorry for keeping you waiting so long, darling.â
You giggled and grabbed Dracoâs hands to pull him towards the classroom. âCome on, Slughorn doesnât wait for anyone and I need to do good on this exam.â
Draco chuckled and let you pull him along to class. He couldnât wait to finally take you out on a date.Â
#draco malfoy oneshot#draco malfoy one shot#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy#harry potter#harry potter x reader#draco malfoy x slytherin!reader#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x y/n#ron weasly x reader#ron weasley#cedric diggory#cedric diggory x reader#fred weasly x reader#george weasley
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MORE DITZY READER WITH GEORGE I BEG OF YOU!!! đ«đ«đ«đ« I feel like sheâd be the type to just give him a kiss on the cheek as a way of saying thanks, and George would just stand there stunned as she left. đ€ - đȘ©
i think my new obsession is writing george w/ ditzy!reader, the cutest pair ever <3 ty for the idea!!
wc: 0.7k
Whoever knotted your shoelaces to the metal rod part of the lamp on the wall did a damn good job at it.Â
You held the chair that George was standing on steady as possible, your hands wrapped around the wooden back of the chair as George tried to pick out the part of your laces.Â
Of course the one time he doesnât bring his wand with him is when he needs it. You didnât have yours either, your explanation being you left it hidden under your pillow, George didnât bother to ask why.
George had already gotten one shoe off, handing it nicely to you despite how annoyed he was at how long it took just to get one untied.
âI can go get my wand if you need me to. I was worried I was going to lose it during dinner, thereâs a hole in my pocket.â You explained, George looked down at you to see you sticking a finger through the rip in the fabric of your robes.
âNo, no. Itâs fine, I almostâŠdamnâŠalmost got this one.â He brushed your words off.Â
After a few more moments of George practically picking at the shoelaces with his fingernails, the knot unraveled and he nearly let out a dramatic sigh of relief.
âYou think it was nargles again?â George asked, carefully stepping down from the chair, he had one hand holding your shoe and the other reaching out for yours, suggesting for you to get up off the floor.
He wasnât sure if he believed in Nargles or not. Knowing that most people believed they were either extinct, or had never existed at all.Â
But when he was with you, they did exist. So did the butterflies in his stomach when he saw you.
âMost likely. They took my tie last week.â You took his hand so politely, he noticed how soft your hands were compared to his calloused ones. You did a little hop when you got up, it got a smile out of George.
Taking your other shoe from him, you sat down on the chair to slip your shoes on.
âCould you tie the other one for me? Itâll take less time.â You looked up and asked George as you slipped on your second shoe.
âIâll tie both.â He nodded, already crouching down on one knee. Even though the whole point was tying two shoes at once would be faster, you didnât protest, only nodding and smiling at his offer.
Georgeâs head of thick, ginger hair was right was the only thing you could focus on as he looked down, tying your shoes with shift hands.
You impulsively stuck out a hand, running your hand through his hair, twirling a thick strand around your finger. George looked up, a bit confused.
âYou have very orange hair.â You stated.
âThank you?âÂ
âYou take very good care of it, itâs very smooth, silky. Not many boys' hair look like yours.âÂ
âWell, Iâm not sure if thereâs a large amount of long haired ginger boys in our school.â George chuckled, his focus going back to tying your laces. You let out a hum as you unraveled your hand from his hair and let him finish.
George straightened the bow on each shoe before standing up, lending a hand out to you again even though you could stand up on your own. You took his hand anyways.
âThere you go! I could fix that hole in your pocket too.â He suggested and you shook your head.
âItâs fine, I know how to do it myself. Iâm quite good at patching up things.â You said proudly, âThanks for getting my shoes.â
George meant to respond, but before he could you stood up on your toes to connect your lips to his cheek. Giving him a soft yet sweet kiss to his soon to be blushing face.
âYouâre so kind, Georgie. Iâll make sure to wear my cork necklace, keeps the Nargles away.â You smiled, turning as you began to skip down the hallway.
George only stood there still in shock caused by the unexpected peck, jaw ajar as he raised his hand to his warm cheek, feeling it as a grin took over his lips.
#george weasley fanfic#george fabian weasley#george weasley#george weasley fluff#george weasley x reader#george weasley imagine#blurb#requests#đȘ© anon
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"You, Of Course"- Fred Weasley x Reader
word count:10,705
warnings: very slight angst, some fluff, maybe a little ooc Fred.
summary: Fred asks Angelina to the ball, and so you decide to say yes to the one person you know you shouldn't have said yes to.
(gif not mine!)
You never knew that morning when you woke up that you would be asked to the Yule ball. You had no idea it would be a Ravenclaw to ask you either. Waking up that day you just expected another 24 hours of waiting helplessly to be asked by the one person you so desperately wanted to be asked by. His name was Fred Weasley, and he was one of your best friends, if not your best friend. You had met him and his brother George on the train at the beginning of your first year. Now here you were after having ever-so-clumsily fallen in love with Fred, hoping that maybe heâd fallen in love with you too. Perhaps heâd ask you to be his date to the Yule ball, and things would fall into place just as perfectly as you had imagined time and time again.Â
Now back to the Ravenclaw boy, his name was Alexander Gray. He was in the same year as you and just so happened to be a pretentious asshole.
You walked into the Great Hall that morning with no other intention than to eat breakfast and head on to your Herbology lesson. Not having slept well the night before you were not looking forward to the day. Though, you knew that the boys would likely try to keep you for as long as they could without making you too late for class.Â
You took your spot next to Fred and sighed heavily while gathering all of the things you needed for your usual breakfast. Fred and George had noticed you sit down and waited for your usual good morning, but it never came.Â
âWell, good morning to you too darling. Why so chipper?â Fred questioned teasingly. You turned to look at him and gave your best smile. âYou, of course,â you teased back and he grinned broadly. âI thought so, I mean I am your only reason to smile,â he said and you nodded meekly. If only he knew how right he was. He was the reason you smiled so much, if it wasnât for him youâd probably be the most miserable person ever. He noticed just how feeble you were being and a look of worry replaced his bright grin.Â
Before he could speak up, his brother did. â(y/n), are you alright? You donât seem like your usual self, did something happen?â George asked. You quickly shook your head, âNo, no everything is just fine, just didnât sleep very well last night,â you tried to reassure them. They both looked at you with uncertainty. âAre you sure?â Fred asked and placed a hand on your shoulder. âOf course,â you nodded as firmly as you could with the best smile you could muster. Fred being the reason you didnât sleep was something you decided to keep to yourself. You could tell that Fred didnât believe you and neither did George but they left it for the time being.Â
You went through breakfast quickly and said your goodbyes.Â
âIâll see you guys later ok, donât miss me too much,â you smiled before giving George a kiss on the head as per usual, not doing the same with Fred. (you see he had stopped his usual affections a few weeks ago and you just thought he had gotten sick of you so you stopped) Turning to leave you felt someone grab your wrist softly, and you turned back around. âHey, (y/n), have you got a date to the ball yet?â Fred asked, and your heart skipped a beat. Was this it? Was he finally going to ask you?Â
âNo, actually I donât, why?â you asked softly. At that moment your hopes were so high.Â
âJust thought Iâd ask, and let you know that Iâm going with Angelina, so when you get a date maybe we can all go together,â he said and immediately your heart fell. You could feel your smile falter for a few seconds before coming back up. You had to hide your feelings, you felt the need to bury them as far as you could. You took your hand from his grip and nodded your head. âOk,â you spoke before walking away from the table.Â
If you had looked back you wouldâve seen the concern and confusion cloud his eyes as you walked away from him. âWhat did you do?â George asked as all of your friends watched you walk away. âIâm not sure,â he said with confusion written across his face. âIâve never seen her walk away like that,â Ginny spoke up. âShould I go after her?â Fred questioned and Hermione stepped in this time. âNo, I think we should give her some space, she doesnât seem like she wants anyone around right now,âÂ
âYeah I guess youâre right, weâll see her in Potions, Iâm sure sheâll be ok Freddie,â George spoke to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Fred ignored that his brother called him Freddie despite you being the only one to call him that. He just glanced back over his shoulder and you were gone.Â
Tears blurred your vision as you tried to quicken your pace. Your heart broke, of course, he would ask Angelina, she was perfect, her skin, her hair, her personality, everything. She was everything that you werenât and so much more. Well, at least thatâs what you thought.Â
Despite the state you were in you could feel someone watching you. So immediately you wiped your eyes and looked up from where you were watching your feet. You caught the gaze of Alexander as he watched you walk by with a grin. Before you could get past him he stepped up next to you, âGood morning (y/n), would it be alright if I walked you to class?â he asked. Nodding you gave him a wary smile. âSure,â you said warily and pushed a piece of hair behind your ear.Â
âYou know, I know the ball is coming up soon, do you have anyone youâre going with?â He asked you. Your heart sunk even lower. âNo, I donât have anyone, no oneâs asked me,â you sounded the slightest bit hurt and he could tell but obviously didnât care. âWell, I wanted to know if youâd like to go with me?â he asked and your eyes widened. âWhat?â you asked softly as you looked at him. âWould you like to be my date to the Yule ball?â he asked once again. Your eyes fluttered as you looked at him in a fluster. âI um- Yeah, Iâll go with you, Alexander,â you smiled at him and he gently lifted your hand to place a kiss on the back of it just as you stopped next to your class.Â
âI hope to see you again soon pretty girl,â he smiled at you before opening the door for you to enter the classroom. You blushed softly and thanked him before walking to your seat and watching the door close.Â
Having a class with Angelina and being her partner after what happened was a bit awkward but you knew you couldnât let it show. You had always loved her, and she was one of your good friends, but at the moment you just couldnât bring yourself to smile so genuinely at her. Did you blame her? No, absolutely not. You wouldâve said yes too. It didnât stop your heart from hurting though.Â
âHey, (y/n/n), are you ok?â she asked as you walked out of class that day. Sending her a smile you nodded your head. âYeah, Iâm alright, just a bit tired thatâs all,â you told her the same excuse you had used that morning. âYou sure?â she questioned and placed a hand on your arm to get you to look at her. âIâm sure, I just had a long night. Iâll see you later ok?â you said and gave her arm a squeeze before waving at her as you walked away.Â
On the walk to your Potions class, you tried to calm yourself as best you could. You knew you were going to be sitting next to Fred, and so you needed to collect yourself. Taking slow steps in order to drag out your journey, you tried to take deep breaths. Before you could get there you noticed someone fall into step with you. Knowing those shoes anywhere you felt your heart stop for a moment. Of course, he had to find you before class started.Â
âHello love, itâs been a while hasnât it?â he asked and nudged your shoulder. Trying to get a positive reaction from you. â Not too long,â you said and kept your eyes straight ahead, not wanting to face Fred right now. âBut you missed me right?â he questioned again and you huffed out a laugh. âSure did,â you said. âI missed you too, you know,â he told you and you couldnât help but want to roll your eyes. âDid you really?â you asked and took a quick glance at him. âOf course, I did. The fact that you thought I wouldnât, wounds me (y/n),â he said and placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.Â
When you didnât respond his shoulders fell. âWhatâs wrong (y/n)? Have I done something?â he stopped you from walking and made you face him. You looked away from him again, âNo, you havenât done anything, Fred,â you told him. âHas someone else done something?â he questioned a little louder this time. âNo one has done anything, Iâm just tired thatâs all ok. Letâs get to class before we get detention please,â you said, and for the second time that day, you walked away from him. He sighed and watched you get further from him.Â
You didnât want to feel the way you did, but you couldnât help it. âCâmon Fred, weâll be late,â you called back to him and heard his steps get closer. You could tell he was upset, âSorry Freddie just not a very good day,â you said softly before squeezing his arm reassuringly. âSâok just want to make sure youâre ok, I mean youâre my best friend,â he said and you sighed before nodding your head. âRight, you too Freddie,â you said as you opened the classroom door. He held it for you as you stepped inside and made your way to your shared desk.Â
You hardly noticed that George was already there, and almost everyone else was too. Luckily you had gotten there before the bell rang, so no points were taken off.Â
The class ended and you sighed heavily lucky enough to have gotten out with no new essays. You walked out of the class flanked by your favorite twins. âI didnât fall asleep this time,â George says almost astounded with himself. You chuckled, âIâm proud of you Georgie,â you said and looped your arm through his. You had your next class with him, but Fredâs fortunately for you was Herbology which you had already had that day.Â
âWeâll meet you in the Great Hall for lunch Fred, have fun in Herbology,â George spoke to his brother as he reluctantly walked in the opposite direction. Looking back and wondering why you could act so casual and affectionate with his brother but not him. He didnât know what was happening but he had to figure it out soon or he would go crazy.Â
You leaned your head against Georgeâs shoulder as you walked, and he looked down at you. âWhat happened this morning?â he asked and you sighed. âWhat did he say?â he asked again. âHe told me that he was going to the ball with Angelina and that when I find a date we should all go together,â you let out a breath. He let go of your arm and wrapped his around your shoulders. âIâm sorry (y/n),â He said and tugged you closer to him. You knew that he knew you had feelings for Fred. âI would ask you but Iâm going with AliciaâŠâ he trailed off, he really did feel bad. âYou donât have to be sorry, someoneâs already asked me. I said Iâd goâŠâ you told him and felt your shoulders sag just a bit. His eyes widened as he looked down at you. âWho asked you then?â he questioned in excited curiosity.Â
âAlexander Gray,â you answered him softly. He huffed out a laugh, âYou have to be joking, you know how he is (y/n). I canât believe you said yes to him,â he said in disbelief. It was common knowledge that Alexander was quite fond of leading girls on for a few months and then breaking their hearts. You just said yes because he was the first person to ask, and it was only true that you wanted to go to the ball. You wanted that experience, you wanted that experience with Fred, but that wasnât an option anymore so you set your expectations a little lower. Meaning you said yes to a jerk in the middle of being in a vulnerable state.Â
âWe all know no one else would ask me George, and I want to go to the ball and not alone. I want someone to dance with, and even just for a while enjoy the night despite it not being with who I wanted,â you told him. It was his turn to sigh.Â
âI know for a fact that there are so many people here who wouldâve loved to go with you. You just donât value yourself enough. Youâre worth a lot more than you think,â he told you and squeezed you tightly in a side hug.Â
âThanks, Georgie,â you said and leaned into him.Â
The class had flown by and soon enough you were seated in the Great Hall for lunch.Â
Sitting next to Fred and George as usual, you stayed pretty quiet throughout the meal. You worked on some homework so you wouldnât have to that night.Â
âWell, (y/n) here has got herself a date for the ball havenât you?â George asked as he looked over at you. Your eyes were wide and you swore you blacked out for a second. Fred looked at you with furrowed brows. âI thought you said you werenât going with anyone this morning?â he asked. You shook your head lightly. âI-um- yeah actually someone asked me on the way to class this morning,â you replied. âWho was it?â Fred asked, he almost seemed a bit upset. âUm- it was- it was Alexander Gray. He walked me to class and asked me if Iâd go with him so I said yes,â you told him and the whole table just stopped to look at you for a second. âThis has to be a joke. You said yes, to Alexander Gray. why? Do you hate yourself or something, or are you just an idiot?â Fred questioned incredulously. You looked at him with hurt eyes.Â
He knew he had messed up when he saw the look you gave him. You got up from your spot and walked out of the Great Hall, your back turned to him for the third time that day.
âYou idiot! What was that all about?â George hit his brother. âI didnât mean to say that. It just came out,â he said hopelessly.âYou complete moron,â Hermione slammed her book shut. âDid you see how hurt she was?â Ginny asked. âWhy would she say yes to him?â Fred asked everyone. âDid it not occur to you that maybe she just wanted someone to go with? I mean after what you said this morning I would say yes to someone who asked me right after as well. She didnât want us to think that sheâd have to go alone, itâs rather obvious,â Hermione stepped in again. âThat doesnât mean she has to say yes to him,â Fred spat out.Â
âYou are absolutely insufferable,â she said and got up from her spot as well to go after you. Ginny joined her.Â
âYou know, you should be the one going after her,â George told him and shook his head. âI donât think she wants me around much today,â Fred said. âYou really donât realize that youâve hurt her feelings at least twice now?â George spoke up. âWhat do you mean twice? What did I do in the first place?â Fred questioned in frustration. âI canât tell you that, but you sure as hell know what you did the second time around,â George said not willing to out your secret. âWhat do you mean you canât tell me?â he sounded even more frustrated. âYouâll figure it out eventually,â George said and went back to his food.Â
You walked away from him once more, and you never thought he would say something like that to you. He knew you better than anyone else and he had to have known that it was gonna hurt you. You had no clue why he would be this upset about it. Sure Alexander is a crappy person but you never thought he would insult you for it.Â
Tears leaked from your eyes as you continued your walk to the black lake. You hadnât expected anyone to follow you and so you were surprised when Hermione and Ginny showed up beside you. You quickly tried to dry your tears, but it was too late they had already seen them.Â
â(y/n), are you ok?â Ginny asked. âOf course, sheâs not ok your brother was a complete git,â Hermione spoke up. âNo, no he wasnât. I guess he was right, I am kind of an idiot arenât I? I mean I said yes to the first boy who asked me because I couldnât stand the fact that Fred was going with Angelina,â you let the words tumble from your mouth. They both looked at you with sympathy as you sat down in front of the lake. âI mean maybe I do hate myself, I never would have said yes if I didnât think so lowly of myself that he was all Iâd ever be asked by,â you spoke up again as you let your eyes wander to the water. âDonât say that about yourself, we all know how much youâre worth. So does Fred despite what he said he knows how many people would kill to ask you to the ball,â Ginny said.Â
âIt sure as hell doesnât seem like Iâm worth that much to him at all. I shouldnât even care, but I do, I do care so much and it drives me crazy. He drives me crazy, in the best and worst ways and I donât know what to do anymore. Itâs clear he doesnât want me, so itâs best if I just get over it, and just try not to think of him anymore,â you finished your rant and took a deep breath in and out. âYouâll be ok, you know? Heâll come to his senses and see just what heâs lost. Why donât we return to the castle and get you cleaned up before afternoon classes?â Hermione said and brushed your hair behind your shoulder. You looked over at her and gave a weak smile. âOk,â you said and you all three got up to head back to the castle.Â
It was almost funny to you that everyone seemed to know about your love for the ginger, everyone except for him.Â
The end of the day came quicker than you thought it would and soon enough you were situated by the fire in the common room. Hermione and Ginny were sitting around you and then came the rest of your friends. You noticed Fred coming your way and instantly began to internally panic. Hermione could feel you tense up and placed a comforting hand on your knee. âYouâre ok,â she whispered for only you to hear. You slowly nodded your head and let out a sigh.Â
â(y/n), can I talk with you?â he asked and you looked at him for a second before feeling Hermione nudge you. âUm, yeah ok,â you said and got up from your spot to follow him to the corner tucked away from everyone else.Â
You sat down and so did he. âIâm not good with this kind of thing, but I know for a fact that Iâm sorry. I didnât mean to say any of that, I know youâre not an idiot, and I was wrong for what I said to you,â He told you and you wrung your hands. âItâs ok, I mean maybe I am an idiot for saying yes to him⊠I guess going alone wouldâve been better, I just wanted that experience with someone,â you told him truthfully. He looked at you with furrowed brows. âYou're not an idiot, Iâm sorry I even said that. I just think you deserve better than him. Heâs not good enough for you that I know for sure,â he said and reached out to grab your hands in his. âThanks, Freddie,â you said and tried not to let your eyes tear up again. Knowing he did care made things so much worse. âOf course, itâs the truth. Now, I have one question for you if I may,â he said and you looked at him in confusion. âWhat is it?â you asked. âSave a dance for me?â he asked and your heart skipped a beat. âYeah, of course,â you breathed out softly before giving him a weak smile.Â
He let go of your hands but before he walked away he looked down at you again. âIs there anything else bothering you love?â he questioned and you looked at him softly before shaking your head. âNo, nothing at all Freddie. I am a bit tired though so I think Iâll just head on to bed now,â you said and got up from your spot. âYou can tell me anything,â he reminded you as you stepped away from him. âI know. Goodnight Fred,â you told him and gave him a wave before bidding everyone else goodnight.Â
He sighed heavily as your footsteps receded up the stairs. Hopeful things would be better the next day, he went to sit with his friends. âIs everything ok?â George asked. âYeah, I think everything is ok now. I apologized and we talked, I just hope sheâs ok, she still seems a bit off. Iâm worried,â Fred explained. âSheâll be ok, I mean sometimes you have to figure things out on your own,â Ginny said. âYeah, I guess youâre right,â Fred sighed.Â
The next week seemed to fly by, and before you knew it it was the day before the ball. You had picked out the perfect dress and you were honestly excited.Â
Walking down to breakfast you had an actual smile on your face. You looked happier than you had been in a while. You stepped into the Great Hall and instantly found your friends with an open spot just by Fred and George as usual. Before you could get to your seat someone came up and took it. Your brows furrowed and your lips fell into a thin line, just as you were about to tell this person off you realized who it was. It was Angelina and your heart sank. You walked up to the table and greeted everyone before Hermione moved to give you a spot next to her. You smiled gratefully and took the seat. George smiled over at you sympathetically and you gave a small smile back.Â
You could tell he felt bad for you, and it hurt even worse because it seemed that Fred didnât really care that she took your spot next to him. Though it wasnât your assigned seat, and it wasnât specially reserved for you, it was. It was your seat, it was where you always sat every meal of the day. You could see Hermione glaring daggers at Fred, and you placed a hand on her arm to get her to look at you. âItâs ok,â you spoke softly. âNo itâs not,â she spoke through gritted teeth. âIt has to be,â you said and she sighed. âHeâs so oblivious itâs painful,â she told you and you almost chuckled. She looked over at you with an amused smile at the thought of almost making you laugh.Â
âSo, (y/n), I heard you have a date. If you want we can all go together,â Angelina spoke up and you gave her a tight-lipped smile. âSure,â you said and nodded your head despite wanting to say no. You wanted to tell her that you wouldnât like to go together, that youâd rather be stuck with Alexander all by yourself than watch her and Fred be so close all night. Instead, you said âyesâ, you said yes just for him, to put a smile on his face. You saw him do just that, he smiled at you and placed his arm around Angelina.Â
âIâm gonna go, I actually wanted to get to class a little early today I have to talk to the professor about something,â you spoke and got up to leave. âIâll see you in class then?â Angelina asked and you nodded. âYeah, Iâll see you in class,â you said and waved to everyone. âWait up (y/n), Iâll walk you to class,â George said, and you smiled at him gratefully. âIâd like that, câmon then Georgie,â You said and motioned for him to join you.Â
âGeorge our lesson is in the opposite direction you wonât make it back in time,â Fred looked at him in confusion. âThatâs ok,â George shrugged his shoulders and wrapped an arm around you. âLetâs get going then,â you said and began your walk to your herbology class.Â
âDo you reckon he fancies her?â Angelina asked and everyone kind of laughed. âNo way, weâve been best friends since first year,â Fred huffed out a laugh. âI donât know, he seems really sweet on her sometimes,â Angelina tried again. âDoes he?â Fred asked. âBut I guess thatâs because youâve been friends for so long,â she shrugged and went back to her food.Â
Fredâs mind thought back to all the times that you and his brother were together. He was reminded of how affectionate you were with him and he was with you. Maybe he did like you, maybe heâs just been trying to hide it all these years. Then he thought about all the times you and him were like that. Every time youâd play with his hair and loop your arm through his as you walked together. All of the times youâd kiss his head before getting up to go to bed, and when youâd hug him for no other reason than you missed him.Â
The times when he would be the one to pull you closer, where he would let you sit between his legs with your back against his chest while you read. He would compare your hands to his because of how small they were against his. The thought of his brother doing anything remotely close to that with you was unnerving. He didnât like it one bit, was he jealous? No, he couldnât be, he didnât like you like that. Or did he?
You sighed heavily and leaned into your friend. âDid she have to sit there? I mean, thatâs my spot you know. Everyone knows thatâs my spot,â you whined a bit and he chuckled. âShe just sat down, we didnât want to be rude,â George said. You rolled your eyes. âI know, Iâm just getting sick of losing things to her. I mean she kind of stole the love of my life, and now she steals my seat next to him,â you threw your hands up in frustration. He chuckled âItâs only temporary. Theyâre only together for one night, and then you can have your seat back too,â he said and you sighed again. âYou think?â you asked and looked up at him with a slight pout. âDefinitely,â he said and squeezed your shoulders. You leaned your head against his shoulder. âYou know I love you right?â you asked him. âOf course, I do, who doesnât love me?â he quipped and you nudged him in the side. âAlright, alright, I love you too,â he said and you smiled up at him and he kissed your forehead.Â
Little did you know that Angelina was making her way to the classroom and overheard, and saw you and George. Keep this in mind, Angelina knew you had a date to the ball, but she didnât know who it was. She, of course, took it that you and George were together or at least liked each other. She smiled to herself and kept on walking, already too excited to prove herself right to Fred.Â
George opened the door for you and you walked in but not before giving him a hug. âBye Georgie see you in Potions,â you said and waved. He was about to let go of the door before he saw Angelina coming his way so being ever the gentleman he held the door for her too. âThanks, George,â she said and came over to sit next to you.
âAre you excited for the ball tomorrow?â she asked and you just nodded your head. âYeah actually I am,â you said. âIâm glad we can go together,â she said and you gave her a weak smile. âI am too,â you lied.Â
The rest of the class went by smoothly and on to the next you went. Straight to the dungeons for Potions. Getting there you noticed that Fred and George were already there which was a weird sight but they did have a shorter walk than you so you shrugged it off.Â
You shot George a smile and went to sit with Fred. âHello love,â he said and you gave a small smile back. âHey, Freddie,â you said and got your book out to turn to the correct page.Â
âIâd bet you anything that we get an essay today,â Fred said and you chuckled, âWe already know youâd win, so thereâs no need for a silly bet,â you said. âThatâs true, but we can always debate what itâs going to be about,â he said and you rolled your eyes. âSure,â you agreed.Â
Before he could say anything Snape spoke up, and the lesson began.Â
Fred of course, did things throughout the class to try and make you laugh, and despite yourself, you did.Â
You walked out of class that day with surprisingly no essay and you chuckled. âWell I guess you wouldâve lost that bet Fred, there was no essay today,â you shrugged as you continued down the corridors with the brothers. âSomething is off about that,â George said and was about to toss an arm around your shoulder, but Fred noticed and did it before he could. George looked at him a little strangely but continued on.Â
âBye Fred, see you after this lesson,â you said and before he walked away he placed a kiss on your head. You looked at him with surprise and tried to suppress the light blush on your cheeks. It was nothing new to you, but he hadnât done something like that in weeks.Â
âYouâre blushing,â George teased and you swatted his arm. âI am not!â you tried to deny it. He laughed. âYou absolutely are,â he said and just wrapped his arm around your shoulders.Â
âDid he seem a bit strange to you?â you asked George as you looked up at him with confusion. âA bit, yeah,â he agreed. âHe hasnât bothered to be that affectionate in weeks. That was weird,â you said as your brows furrowed. âDonât think on it too much. I know you always overthink,â he said and tapped your head. You sighed and nodded, âI know, I guess I just missed it,â you said. âWell, apparently he did too,â George said. You hoped he was right, you really did but you had your doubts.Â
Fred kept thinking back on the way you just seemed to melt into him when his arm was around you. He thought of the blush on your cheeks when he kissed you and couldnât help but miss that feeling immediately. He didnât truly understand what was happening but he could tell it was freaking him out. He had never realized just how much he thought about you and the little things that you do, or even the way you make him feel. He all of a sudden couldnât wait to see you again.Â
His lesson seemed to stretch on and on until finally, it came to an end. He quickly gathered his things and practically raced out the door and to the Great Hall. When he arrived he saw you sitting in the spot next to Hermione again and noticed that once again Angelina had taken up your spot next to him. He sighed but made his way over to the table.Â
âHey Fred, how was herbology?â you asked. He smiled brightly at you, âTake a guess,â he said and you scrunched your nose and tilted your head to the side in thought. âHmm, Iâm gonna guess that it was just as boring as it always is to you,â you said with a smile. He felt his heart melt at your actions. He was so happy to see you acting as your normal self. Little did he know that he was the cause of it. His bringing back that affection you adored so much about him brought back some of your happiness. Despite Angelina being in your seat you just decided to keep Georgeâs words in mind. This was only temporary, a one-night thing.Â
âYouâre perfectly right love,â he said and you chuckled. âI knew it,â you spoke happily. Before anyone else could say anything Angelina spoke up.Â
âFred, can I talk to you for a minute?â she asked and got up. âUm, yeah sure,â he said and followed her out of the Great Hall.Â
They exited through the doors and she pulled him aside.Â
âWhatâs this about?â he asked her. âI have proof,â she spoke confidently. âProof of what exactly?â he asked her in confusion. âProof, that George and (y/n) are together,â She stated simply. âWhat?â he questioned loudly. âShh, lower your voice,â she said and grabbed his shoulders. âWhere did you get that idea?â he asked this time quieter.Â
âI saw them on the way to class this morning and they both said I love you. He kissed her forehead and held the door for her. Her smile was as big as Iâve ever seen it, I swear,â she said and Fredâs brows raised. âThereâs no way, they wouldâve told me,â he said, sounding upset. âMaybe they havenât told anyone yet,â she shrugged. âBut they wouldâve told me,â he said.Â
He had the thought in the back of his mind that it was all platonic of course, but then again he could be wrong. He felt his heart sink at the thought of you and George together, it didnât seem right. You were a perfect pair, but not as a couple at least thatâs what he thought. You both had dates for the ball but not with each other, maybe it was just because you were hiding it. No, he couldnât shake the feeling that you and George werenât right together. You were just friends, I mean you always told them that you loved them and they reciprocated of course. They were always affectionate, although he realized for weeks he hadnât been as affectionate with you. He had been so busy caught up on pranks and going to the ball with Angelina that he didnât make as much time for you. He didnât realize it affected him until he pulled you close and kissed you goodbye. He didnât realize how much he did miss you, the smell of your hair, and perfume. He missed how you would just lean into him, and fit so perfectly at his side.Â
He and Angelina walked back into the Great Hall and noticed that George was behind you with his arms around your shoulders and his chin resting atop your head. Angelina gave him a knowing look before walking back to the table to collect her things and sit with her other friends for a while.Â
âSo what did you want to show me, Darling?â George asked and you chuckled at the name. âI just wanted to give you the notes that you didnât take during History of Magic,â you said and he huffed. âWell, thatâs boring,â he said and you chuckled again. âBut youâll appreciate it after hearing about the test we have next Friday,â you said and he let out a whine. âA test, really?â he questioned and you smiled. âYes, George, a test, now copy these down and give them back before Friday please,â you said and handed them to him. He let you go and went to sit back down next to his brother. âFreddie, since you're learning the same thing you should copy those notes too,â you said and he just nodded.Â
He just hoped he was reading too much into it. âYou ok Freddie?â you asked. âJust fine,â he answered and you looked at him skeptically. âWe can talk later if you want to,â you said and tried to give him a reassuring smile. He thought about it for a moment, âYeah ok,â he said and tried to give his best smile back.Â
The day seemed to fly by after that. You just had this worry in the back of your mind. This fear that maybe you had done something wrong, or maybe Angelina had upset him. Overall you just wanted him to be ok, and thatâs what you were gonna make sure happened.Â
The evening feast had come to an end and so you all headed back to the common room, whether that was to read, hang out, or in your case have a talk with your friend.Â
As you made your way through the halls you fell into step with Fred. âMay I?â you pointed at his arm. He just looked at you and gave a smile before nodding. You looped your arm through his and leaned against him a bit. âAngelina wonât mind will she?â you asked in honest wondering. âOf course not, she knows how close we are and itâs not like weâre dating,â he told you and you just nodded, âAlright, I just wanted to make sure I wasnât crossing any lines,â you said. âIn fact, come here,â he said and pulled you to a halt so he could wrap his arms around you in a hug. You smiled brightly and let out a happy sigh at the feeling of him so close again. You leaned against his chest and held on as tightly as you could.
 âIâve missed you, Freddie,â you admitted softly. He heard your words and his heart melted. âIâve missed you too love,â he said and held you tighter. âIâm sorry for being the way I was these past few weeks. Iâve been separate from you and your feelings,â He told you and you looked up at him in surprise. âYou donât have to be sorry, Iâve been in a really bad mood for a while and havenât been the easiest to be around, so Iâm sorry,â you told him and pulled away a bit.Â
âI guess we both havenât been the best friends have we?â he asked and you chuckled softly. âI guess youâre right, now before it gets even colder, letâs go talk in the common room ok?â you asked and he nodded. âCâmon then,â he said and held his arm out to you once again. You took it as you walked through the portrait hole.Â
You did as you used to do, and snuck him up to your dormitory. You sat down on your bed and luckily no one else was there. âAlright, now what did you want to talk about?â you asked him as you patted the spot next to you. âItâs about something that Angelina said to me today,â he spoke up and you nodded telling him it was ok to continue. âShe told me that you and George were together,â he got out. Your face scrunched into one of utter confusion. âWhere in the world did she get that absurd idea?â you questioned in astonishment.Â
âShe said she saw you and George on the way to class this morning, he kissed your head and you both said I love you. She assumed you were together,â he told you and you scoffed and shook your head. âYou donât honestly believe her do you?â you asked him.Â
âI donât know, you guys can be pretty affectionate sometimes,â he kind of trailed off. âWhat? Iâm affectionate with you too, and Iâd say even more so than with George,â you spoke in a huff. He looked at you and tried to hide a grin, âThatâs true isnât it?â he asked and you immediately nodded. âIâve been asked by both of our mums if we were together, and have had to assure them every time that we were just friends.â You told him with a laugh. âMumâs asked me as well,â He said and you chuckled. âSo, just to clarify, your brother and I are not together,â you told him and he nodded. âRight, good, that eased my conscious,â he said and you smiled. He felt a weight lift off of him and he could breathe again. He had no idea why it weighed on him so harshly, but he knew that you were doing something to him. Something he never noticed before.Â
You walked down the stairs with Fred behind you. You tried not to laugh as he nudged you forward. When you got to the bottom step you both split up. You went straight to George and he went to Angelina.  Â
âI guess youâll have to break the news to poor George that you arenât together,â he said and you laughed. âSure, and youâll have to break the news to Angelina that she was sorely mistaken,â you joked back. âTogether?â he asked and you chuckled but nodded. âTogether,âÂ
He walked up to her and smiled, âYou might want to watch this,â he said with a smile and pointed over to where you stood in front of George.Â
âWhat do you mean?â she asked. âJust watch,â he said and they went silent.Â
âGeorge, I know this may hurt, but I need to tell you something,â you spoke loud enough for most people to hear. He looked at you with worry in his eyes. âWhatâs wrong (y/n)?â he asked and stood up. âI hope you know that I love you, I really do,â you said and made tears come to your eyes as your bottom lip wobbled. He reached out to grab your hands and pull you away from everyone. âWhatâs going on?â he asked and moved a piece of hair from your face. âIâm sorry but we arenât together, we never have been, and Iâm sorry to break it to you this way, but I just needed you to know the truth,â You told him with a shaky sigh.Â
He looked at you with utter confusion, âWhat do you mean (y/n)? I know weâve never been together, where is any of this coming from?â he asked and shook his head. âI just wanted you to know that Iâll always love you but just as a friend alright?â you asked and took his face in your hands. He held your wrists, âOk, well I love you too just as a friend,â he said and you quickly pulled him into a hug. He hugged you back just as tightly. âWhatâs going on?â he whispered. âAngelina thought we were together, so I thought I'd give a bit of a show,â you whispered back and he chuckled. âOf course, you did,â he said and smiled down at you. âSo, friends?â you asked. âFriends,â he said and kissed your head just like he had done earlier.Â
Angelina looked at Fred with wide eyes, âAre you kidding me?â she asked and Fred let out a laugh. âThis is how you tell me Iâm wrong?â she questioned in slight annoyance. âWe had to tell you somehow,â you walked over to them. âYou could have just told me,â she said. âWhatâs the fun in that?â you asked and she rolled her eyes. âYou guys are the worst I swear,â she said and you chuckled. âRight, but youâre still my date though?â he asked her. And your heart hurt a bit. âI am still your date,â she assured him and he smiled. âBy the way (y/n), whoâs your date if youâre not going with George?â she asked you curiously. You sighed heavily. âAlexander Gray,â you spoke softly but she caught it. Her eyes widened, âWhat? Why?â she questioned. âHe asked me so I said yes,â you told her. âYou couldâve said no,â she told you. âI know, but I didnât, and I just have to live with that now,â you said and sighed before walking away. âIs she ok?â Angelina asked Fred. âI think sheâs just upset about it,â he told her and said goodbye before following in your footsteps.Â
â(y/n), are you ok?â he asked when he reached you. âYeah, Iâm ok, just a bit embarrassed is all,â you said and shrugged. âDonât be, weâve all made mistakes before, just maybe none as bad as this,â he joked and you sighed before swatting his arm. âOk, Ok, Iâm sorry,â he said, and you ended up chuckling. âI just hope he doesnât try anything,â you said. âDonât worry he wonât and if he does Iâll be there ok,â he told you and you smiled at him. âThanks, Freddie,â you expressed your gratitude for your friend.Â
âI think Iâm going to head to bed, love you, Fred,â you said and kissed his head as you stood up to leave. âLove you too (y/n),â he replied. You told everyone goodnight and ascended the stairs.Â
âSo you seem to be on good terms with her again,â George said as he walked over to sit with his brother. âYeah, everything is good,â he said with a content smile. âYou look a little too happy right now. Did something happen?â George questioned him. âShe said she loves me,â Fred told his brother. âDoesnât she always say that?â his brother asked him. âYeah, but it felt a little different this time,â he said with a smile. George smiled knowingly at his brother. Maybe he was starting to realize just how much you meant to him, and how much he meant to you.Â
The next day came quickly and with it came nerves you never thought youâd have. You didnât ever imagine yourself being nervous about going to a ball with Alexander Gray because you never imagined going to a ball with him. You saw him and his most recent girl and would cringe. Now you are that most recent girl and still you cringed.Â
You had started to get ready with your friends, and things were going ok. That is until you saw Angelina. She looked even more beautiful than she normally did. Her hair was up and her dress fit perfectly. She was a vision. You knew that there was no way that Fred wouldnât fall for her now if he hadnât already. You looked at her and sighed before looking at yourself and sighing again. Hermione noticed that and walked over to you.Â
âYou look beautiful too, did you know that?â she asked and you smiled softly at her. âThanks, Hermione, you do too,â you said. âWhy donât we finish your makeup and get down there?â she asked and you nodded your head. âAlright, I can do that,â you said and turned back to the mirror. Hermione stayed seated next to you making small talk as you finished the last details of your makeup.Â
You got done and turned to look at your friend. âAny fixes?â you asked her and she turned your face to the light. âNo, itâs perfect,â she told you and smiled. âIâm ready if you are,â you told her and she smiled. You took one last glance in the mirror and tried to put on the best smile you could muster.Â
You walked down the stairs in your beautiful baby blue dress. Closely resembling a ball gown, layers of tulle, and perfectly fitted at the waist. The sleeves hung perfectly off of your shoulders, and your hair lay just right over them. Fred turned to the stairs just as you stepped off the last one. His eyes went wide, and he swore the world stopped spinning.Â
The second Fred stopped talking everyone looked at him and followed his stare.Â
There you were, to him the most beautiful girl in the castle. It seemed like for a moment they might all say the same.Â
You felt everyoneâs eyes on you and you looked up. Noticing Fred looking at you like you were the only one in the room felt like a dream, you didnât expect that, honestly, you didnât expect anyone to look at you like they were. Angelina spoke first.Â
â(y/n), you look beautiful,â she said and walked over to give you a hug. You blushed softly and smiled. âSo do you, and you Alicia you look lovely as well,â you said and smiled over at her.Â
You walked over to join them all and George quickly wrapped an arm around you and smiled down at you. âLovely as ever (y/n),â he said and you smiled at him. âDashing Georgie,â you said and reached up to pinch his cheek teasingly. He swatted your hand away and chuckled. You looked over at Fred and he had a bright smile on his face. âYou look beautiful, love,â he said and walked over to you to give you a spin. You chuckled as you twirled around once. Angelina looked at the scene in front of her, and suddenly a knowingness came over her. She could see the look on your faces, you werenât just friends and you could never be just friends. She knew that now. She smiled at the scene in front of her and let it play out. George smiled too, he knew that if something didnât happen that night, in due time it would.Â
Fred smiled at the blush on your cheeks and couldnât help but feel his heart skip a beat at the sight of you smiling so fondly back at him.Â
âShould we all get going then?â Alicia asked and you finally broke your gaze from his. âUm, yeah of course, Alexander should be waiting for me by now,â you said and your smile faltered a bit at the thought.Â
âYouâll be fine, trust me,â Fred spoke to you and gave you a soft nudge forward. You nodded and made your way out of the common room with everyone.Â
You stood at the top of the stairs and looked at everyone just waiting to see Alexander waiting for you. But he was nowhere to be seen. Everyone stood there and waited for a while with you but eventually, you just told them to go in and that you would wait for a little while longer. Fred gave you an unsure glance but you just nodded at him telling him that it was ok. He squeezed your hand before he left, and George tossed you an encouraging smile.Â
You stood there waiting for you donât know how long. You had heard the songs change and by the third song, you knew he wasnât coming. You could feel tears form in your eyes as you sat on the step. Too embarrassed to enter alone, you didnât even want to know where he may be. Heâs probably in there with another girl, or he just decided that he didnât want to go with you anymore.Â
Fred was anxiously waiting to see you walk in but he never did. It had been about 30 minutes and there was no sign of you, itâs like you were just gone. âIs she still not here?â George asked him. âNo, sheâs not, why is she not here?â he questioned his brother. âI donât know mate-â Before he could finish Angelina spoke up. âWhy donât you check on her?â she told Fred. Fred looked down at her in uncertainty. âAre you sure?â he asked the girl. âIâm very sure, I think she may need you more than I do right now,â Angelina said and gave him a little shove toward the door.Â
âIâll see you guys later,â he said and made his way out to find you.Â
As he exited the Great Hall he noticed Alexander with another girl. As much as he wanted to punch him, he could do that later. He needed to find you and find you fast.Â
He came to the stairs expecting to see you but you were gone. You had disappeared from the area and so he ran up the steps in search of you. He didnât even know when you left, and he was upset that you didnât come to him.Â
â(y/n)!â he called for you but got no answer. He ran down the hallways and up the stairs as fast as he could. He didnât think you wouldâve made it to the common room yet but he again didnât know when you left. He finally got to the portrait and quickly spoke the password. He immediately stopped inside and heard muffled crying. His heart dropped at the sound knowing that it had to be you.Â
He scanned the room and noticed you sitting by the fire with your head in your hands. His heart just kept breaking at the thought of you being hurt. He slowly made his way over to you.Â
â(y/n),â he quietly called and your cries suddenly stopped. He noticed you trying to wipe your tears away as best as possible. âOh, hi Freddie. What are you doing back so early?â you asked as you turned to smile at him. He could feel his chest get tight, seeing the mascara smudged around your eyes he gave you a sad smile before sitting next to you.Â
âYou never came in,â he said softly and reached over to take your hand in his.Â
âOh, yeah he uh- he didnât show up, so I just thought it best that I came back,â you told him and he could tell you were trying not to cry again. Your bottom lip was wobbling and your eyes were glassy. âYou couldâve come to me,â he said and placed his hand on your cheek. At his touch, your tears finally fell and you let out a shaky breath. âI didnât want- I didnât want to ruin your night,â you told him as your voice broke. âOh, love, you wouldnât have ruined my night,â He said and proceeded to wipe your tears as best as he could. âI was embarrassed, I didnât want to humiliate myself so I just left,â you admitted to him and he sighed. âMe and Georgie wouldnât have let you feel that way for long you know that,â he told you and you sadly nodded. âI know itâs silly to cry over someone like him, I just thought that maybe Iâd get to have a nice night with someone,â you spoke softly and looked down at your hands. Tears clung to your lashes and spattered onto your cheeks and hands.Â
âI guess I just wanted that experience,â you said quietly. âYou can still have it,â he told you and you looked back up at him in confusion. âWhat do you mean?â you asked him. âCome to the ball with me,â he said and you looked at him in surprise. âI canât, Iâm a mess, and what about Angelina?â you fretted. âYouâre beautiful, and Angelina was the one who told me to leave,â he explained to you. The look of surprise never left your face. âEven so, I canât go back down there Freddie, not like this,â you told him. He got to his feet âThen stay here and dance with me,â he said and offered you his hand. âAre you sure youâd rather stay here with me?â you questioned him. âIâd rather be anywhere with you,â he told you and you blushed before taking his hand. He smiled at you, and helped you carefully off of the floor, making sure not to step on your dress.Â
You stood fully and he placed his hands on your waist. You smiled softly up at him and shyly wound your arms around his neck. He smiled down at you and slowly began moving along to a song that only you could hear. âDid you know that I think youâre the most beautiful girl in this castle?â he asked you and you blushed even deeper. You shook your head and chuckled, âThatâs not true, did you see Angelina and Alicia tonight, Hermione too? Now theyâre beautiful,â you said. âSure, theyâre pretty but you, youâre beautiful,â he told you and lifted his hand to move a strand of hair from your face.Â
âYouâre just saying that 'cause youâre my best friend,â you tried to shrug it off. âIâm saying that because itâs true,â he affirmed. You shook your head with a shy smile. âReally?â you questioned. âReally,â he told you with a smile. He let you go to take hold of your hand. You let out an airy giggle as he twirled you a few times before pulling you back in.Â
âYou know, thereâs something that just hit me all of a sudden yesterday. I had never realized how much I thought of you, how much I missed you when you werenât around, and how much I really do love you,â he admitted. You felt your heart stop, and your breath got caught in your throat. âI love you (y/n),â he admitted to you and a feeling of disbelief washed over you. âYou love me? You actually love me?â you questioned. He chuckled a bit at your reaction. âI do,â he said.Â
âIâve loved you for as long as I can remember,â you confessed. He smiled broadly at you, âI guess Iâm a little late to the party then,â he said and you chuckled. âJust a little, I mean your twin knew before you did,â you teased him and he rolled his eyes. âAlright, alright, no need to rub it in,â he said and you smiled at him.Â
You just stopped and looked at him, really looked at him. His freckles and bright brown eyes, the curve of his lips, and the way he looked so lovingly at you. âI think this is the part where we kiss isnât it?â he asked softly and you smiled even brighter. âI would think so,â you whispered as he got closer to you.Â
He stopped for a moment just letting his lips brush yours before fully placing them on yours. You melted at the feeling of his lips pressed against yours, it was even better than you imagined it would be. It wasnât rushed, it was slow and soft, and it was all the things a first kiss should be.Â
He gently pulled away from you and smiled at the contentedness on your face. You looked peaceful, and he felt warm at the fact that he could bring that to you. He swore he had never felt that loved in his entire life. âDo you wanna know something?â you asked with a soft smile. âOf course,â he said and wrapped his arms around your waist. âYou make me really happy,â you whispered and he smiled broadly. âI would hope so,â he said and you chuckled.Â
He saw your smile falter a bit, âWhatâs wrong?â he questioned and placed a hand on your cheek. âWhat about Angelina? I feel so horrible,â you worried yourself. âHey, hey, you donât have to worry about that. Itâs not like weâre dating you know. It was just a one-night thing, and I think sheâd perfectly understand our situation love,â He told you and stroked your cheek gently. âYou think so?â you asked and reached up to grasp his wrist. âI know for sure,â he said.Â
He got a sudden realization, âwait is that what I did wrong?â he asked and you looked at him in confusion. âWhat?â you asked. âGeorge said I had hurt your feelings twice, did me asking Angelina hurt your feelings?â he asked with a sly smile. A blush covered your cheeks and you quickly covered your face with your hands. He chuckled, âAw, love, Iâm sorry. If I had realized sooner I wouldâve asked you,â he said and gently pried your hands from your face. âDo you forgive me?â he asked and pressed his forehead against yours. âThereâs really nothing to forgive, but yes if that makes you feel better,â you smiled shyly at him. âMuch better,â he said before leaning forward to kiss you one more time.Â
âUgh, took you long enough,â you heard a voice sound from behind you and you pulled away from him. George, Alicia, and Angelina stood there with knowing smiles. âTook you forever to figure it out didnât it?â Angelina asked while she and Alicia chuckled. âYou didnât figure it out until a few hours ago Ange,â Alicia said and everyone chuckled. âTook you longer than me,â Fred said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. âOk, when did this become an attack on me?â Angelina asked and you chuckled. âItâs ok Angelina, Iâm sorry if I ruined your night,â you said regretfully. âYou didn't ruin anything, Iâm just glad that youâre ok,â she said and smiled at you, and you smiled back. âI think weâre all going to turn in for the night, goodnight everyone,â Alicia said and gave a smile and a wave before walking up the stairs followed closely by Angelina. You walked over to George and wrapped him in a hug, âThanks for caring so much Georgie,â you said and he held you tighter. âIâll always care,â he said and kissed your head before saying goodnight to you and his brother.Â
He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. âDo we have to say goodnight?â he asked and nuzzled his nose against your neck. His cheek was warm against your bare shoulder and it made you grin, you almost felt dizzy from disbelief that this was actually happening. âWe donât have to, but Iâd rather not stay in this dress all night,â you told him and felt him smile against your shoulder. âYou can take it off if you want to, do you need any help?â he asked and you chuckled before swatting his arm. âNo, I donât need any help, but a kiss before I go should speed up the process,â you told him and he turned you around to face him. You smiled toothily and it made him grin. âIâll meet you back here in ten,â he said and leaned down to kiss you again before letting you go.Â
You spent the rest of the night with Fred, sharing kisses and laughing. He danced with you and you got dizzy from how much heâd spin you.Â
The morning came and you made your way down to the Great Hall with Hermione and Ginny. âIâm so happy for you (y/n), it took him ages but he finally sorted it out,â Hermione said and you chuckled. âYouâre practically my sister now,â Ginny said, looping her arm through yours. You smiled down at her and squeezed her arm happily.Â
You entered the Great Hall to see your spot open just as it should be, right next to Fred. You all walked over and took your spots. âGood morning everyone,â you smiled happily.Â
âWell, good morning to you too darling. Why so chipper?â He asked and turned to you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. âYou, of course,â you told him and he smiled even brighter. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed your head. âI love you (y/n),â he told you and you smiled up at him. âI love you too, Freddie,âÂ
#fred weasley#fred weasley imagine#fred weasly x reader#fred weasley fic#fred weasley fanfiction#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley x you#fred weasley fluff#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley oneshot#harry potter fandom#harry potter imagines#fred and george
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can you please do a dom!george imagine?
I have a scenario: u am at the Burrow for summer holidays and George decide to fuck u in his room while everyone is sleeping (AND HE SHARE IS ROOM WITH FRED)
He'll be like "be quiet love"
(I IMAGINE GEORGE BEING A DOM WHO FUCK ROUGHLY BUT STILL PRAISE AND ALL BECAUSE HE IS SO PERFECT AND A SWEETIE)
it feels so fucking wrongâ your boyfriend steadily pounding into you while his twin brother sleeps soundly in the same room, merely inches away from you. but the way georgeâs aching, swollen cock massages your inner walls so perfectly clouds your mind completely, not caring about anything except your nearing orgasm as you desperately wrap your legs tightly around his torso, pulling him as close to you as humanly possible.
âyou really gotta be quiet, darling.â george whispers right into your ear, his hot breath on your skin sending electrifying shivers down your spine. âor freddie will wake up. and we donât want that, now do we?â you nod in response while you bite down hard on your lip, knowing that the moment you open your mouth, a loud moan will escapeâ but when he suddenly increases his pace as much as he can while still keeping the bed from loudly hitting the wall, a soft moan uncontrollably slips from your lips.
georgeâs large hand flies to mouth instantly, covering it firmly to ensure no more moans escape as fred groans at the sound, causing george to momentarily come to a halt until he feels itâs safe to move again. âthat⊠was close.â he chuckles with a relieved sigh, before peppering your neck with soft, lingering kisses and setting a steady rhythm once more. âyouâre really raising my bloody heart rate here, sweetheart.â
you cling to him desperately, your sweaty bodies pressed tightly together as you hear his racing heartbeat in the quiet room. his cock hits your g-spot over and over again with each thrust as you manage a soft sorry, your voice barely audible and muffled by his large, firm hand. âdonât worry about it, love. iâll be the one apologising tomorrow when you canât walk anymore.â
à©âĄËł
#âĄâË for arina đă»â#george weasley#george weasley smut#george weasley x fem!reader#george weasley x you#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x reader#george weasley x female reader#george weasley imagine#george weasley blurb#george weasley drabble
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harry potter fic recs
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
harry potter 1
harry potter 2
harry potter 3
harry potter 4
harry potter 5
harry potter 6
harry potter 7
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
#stay safe and take care#fic recs#harry potter fic recs#harry potter imagines#theo nott x y/n#harry potter one shots#fred weasley x reader#james potter x reader#sirius black x reader#harry potter recs#harry potter masterlist#harry potter fic rec#harry potter#theo nott one shot#theo nott x soulmate au#theodore nott x you#mattheo riddle x you#draco malfoy x reader#jealous fred weasley#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x reader#george weasley#cedric diggory x reader#cedric diggory#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x jealousy#fred weasley x jealousy#jealous mattheo riddle#theodore nott x jealousy
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The Ear that wasn't
pairing: George Weasley + reader
word count: 1,312
warning: injuries, death and it's a bit angst
Summary: After the battle of the seven (eight) Potters, George becomes distant, and you decide to find out why
masterlist
After moving to the Burrow, things have changed. Everyoneâs more sombre, and the world seems a little darker. The impending doom of Voldemortâs terror a bit more real. Madeye died and Hedwig as well when we were attacked while moving from Privet Drive to here. It was fun pretending to be Harry for a bit, the polyjuice potion wreaked and tasted awful, but looking like someone else was amusing, that was before death eaters started throwing spells left and right at least.Â
The most noticeable change in my life was the distance that George has been placing between us for a month since we came here. The first two days I stayed by his side while he was recovering from becoming âholeyâ. We couldnât bring any medics to the Burrow, so we all had to make due with our collective medical knowledge; finding spells to ease the pain, recalling how to put on a proper bandaid, and how to stop the blood from gushing.Â
Fred and I were riding together, and went to the Burrow via another route along with the others in order to confuse the death eaters as to who was Harry while George was getting hit with a sectumsempra. We arrived at the Burrow and there seeing Hermioneâs sad expression looking at me and Fred made my heart lurch to my throat. I couldnât recall a time Iâd run faster inside to find George lying on the sofa.Â
I spent the first few days tending to him, and spending as much time near him as possible, mostly due to the nature of our relationship and also to take care of him. Weâd only gotten news about his ear when we finally reached madame pomfrey (a trustworthy person) who told us that George wouldnât be able to get his ear back. Iâd expected it, but George seemed heartbroken.Â
I stayed behind after dinner, tidying up the table at a slower pace than usual, watching as George cleared the cups too. His movement is precise but never without a little whimsy. The bandage is still wrapped around his head, and he starts shoving cups between the crook of his elbow to hold more in one go. I clear my throat, âHow do you feel?âÂ
âWell.âÂ
I sigh, knowing how curt all his replies have been. He heads into the kitchen and I continue to stack the rest of the plates before waving my wand, sending them into the kitchen. I walk behind them and point my wand into the sink, allowing them to gracefully pile up inside. The magical tools get to work and start rinsing.Â
I look into the living room first looking for George, and I see him sitting on the couch twirling around his wand, and staring off deep in thought. Madame Pomfrey had informed us that his (additional) lack of focus could occur due to the concussion and spell, as well as some loss of balance. I gulped, âDo you need anything?âÂ
âNo.â He grumbles, and leans back sinking into the sofa. I walk closer to him and take a seat beside him. He doesnât bother to spare me a glance. I bit my lip and hesitantly said, âWe can go take a nap for a bit in the room if youâd like?âÂ
âI donât need you fussing over me.â George snaps, and I purse my lips, used to this attitude from him over the past month. I shuffled closer to him, and confessed, âIâm not fussing over you, I just want to spend time with you.âÂ
He sets his wand aside and sighs. He puts his head in his hands, hunching over his thighs. The fire crackles and fills up the silence between us. I place a comforting hand on his back, stroking his skin, feeling the soft material of his shirt and his vertebrae. He sighs once more, and deep in thought he whispers, âWhy?âÂ
âBecause youâre my boyfriend.â I chuckle at the absurd question, even when he wasnât I loved spending time with him. He looks at me, palm holding his cheek, and my amusement dies down from seeing his miserable eyes, and wrinkled eyebrows. My hand lifts from his back and moves to his hand. I ask, âWhatâs going on, George?âÂ
âI-â he stutters, and looks away. I squeeze his hand supportively, and he closes his eyes. I let all the thoughts that have been jumping around in my head stay for a second of all the things he could say, the most prominent being: I donât love you anymore. He sucks in a breath and turns back to lock into my eyes. He mused, âIâm not good-looking anymore, and I donât want you to not want me.âÂ
I blink, and process. George, the ever confident, forever handsome, cocky and funny George Weasley doesnât think heâs good-looking anymore. What would even make him think- ohâŠthe accident. I say, âIs this about your ear?âÂ
He looks away once more and I know that itâs the truth. I start rubbing comforting shapes over the back of his hand, and I reach over to grab his other hand. I protested, âI donât think youâll ever stop being good-looking, not to me.âÂ
He scoffs, not believing my words. I could see his eyes begin to have a slight shine to them. I pout at his expression, and I drop his hand to reach over and cup his cheek. I turn his head towards me, and brush my thumb over his cheekbones. He let out a bitter chuckle before he smiled, sputtering, âIâm practically deformed.âÂ
I smile at him, and give him a look. I lean into him, smelling his familiar scent that I havenât been able to smell in a while. The wood and biscuits engulf my senses. I kiss his lips, and his eyes flutter momentarily to a close. I let my lips linger near his before pulling away and watching his closed eyes as he sighs before looking back at me. I whisper, pulling his face to mine, âEven if you were a troll, Iâd still love you George.âÂ
He gulps and checks my eyes for any glimmer of a lie. He leans into my hand, and pouts. He relaxes looking at my face before slowly turning his head to press a kiss to my inner palm. His lips linger and he cups my hand with both of his. He kisses it again before adding, âI donât want you to not be attracted to me.âÂ
âYouâre plenty attractive George with or without two ears.â I commented. He squeezes my hand, the warmth of his fingers spreading to mine, providing a comforting head during the dead of winter. I convince, âAnd I believe that thereâs more to our relationship than just your looks, George. Thereâs your wit, and your kindness, and your humour- and I could go on for so long, so youâll have to stop me, and your smile and laugh, your courage-âÂ
âI get it, I get it.â George chuckles, and pulls our intertwined hands back up to his lips to press a kiss on each of my knuckles, feeling his warm breath on my hand and the softness of his lips on each of my knuckles. He gazes at me sincerely and says, âThank you.âÂ
âItâs only the truth.â I state, and he pulls me into a long and deep hug, resting his head into the crook of my shoulder, giving me kisses whenever he sees fit. My arms still reach after him when he pulls away to say, âIâd also still love you even if you were a troll.âÂ
âThank you, thatâs good to know.â I laugh, and I finally see that wonderful humorous grin of his. He stands up and encases my hand to pull me up beside him. He presses his lips to mine then suggests, âHow about that nap?âÂ
a/n: I really wanted the gif to be the scene when Harry and Ginny are kissing and he goes "Good morningg", but alas I couldn't find one, so this will have to make do. Hope you liked this one.
#harrypotterimagine#hogwarts#harry potter#harrypotter#fanfiction#fluff#gryffindor#harrypotterfluff#george weasley#deathly hallows#the burrow#the weasleys#fredweasley#fred weasley#george weasley angst#george weasley blurb#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley fluff#george weasley imagine#george weasley smut#george weasley x reader#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x you#harry potter angst#angst with a happy ending#light angst#angst#drabble#one shot
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the hate game (1)
oliver wood x female!reader
wc:Â 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:Â 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:Â 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.
Whatâs consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.
The first, and only, time youâd 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.
Youâd aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasnât a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.
A collective gasp and a monthâs worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.
And sure, while afternoons in Snapeâs 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 youâd been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Woodâs 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.
âTyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.â
His little comment had earned him a broken nose.
It had been the start of a five year long feud.
Itâs 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.
Heâs marching towards you with the same ferocity thatâs curdling in your chest:
âThaâs blatching and you know it!â 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.
Thereâs 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.
âWhat?â You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. âAs if Laurel and Hardy havenât been elbowing my girls all game!â
It goes without saying that youâre referring to Gryffindorâs red-head twin-set of beaters.
âBullshit.â He seethes, itâs purposefully quiet enough that McGonagallâs approaching figure doesnât 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.
âYou two are exhausting.â 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.
Itâs another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.
âYes, professor.â
As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day heâd 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 yâreally 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.
Oliverâs 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 Oliverâs 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: Ryoâs black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.
Youâre still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - heâs leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.
Itâs pathetic, really. Heâs not sure whether heâs referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and youâre still shaking like a leaf and heâs halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so youâll stop shaking and stop annoying himâ
âOliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.â 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 youâre 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 heâs not gonna address - youâre not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.
âWell.â Archieâs running a hand over his thick black curls. âThat was unexpected.â
Oliver huffs. âItâs been a weird day.â
-
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.Â
The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week:Â Sirius Black, Azkabanâs most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports.Â
Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge.Â
Itâs got the castle on edge, itâs got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner.Â
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 youâre 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 teamâs kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers.Â
Youâd promised the team youâd get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor.Â
But for tonight, theyâre gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed.Â
Youâre exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish.Â
The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. Itâs long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out youâre likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturdayâs match roster.Â
Despite the prospect, you donât dwell on it. You find youâre more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge.Â
Youâve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time youâre relieved to find that Sirius Black hasnât crept up behind you.Â
Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone.Â
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 donât move.Â
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.Â
Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes youâre anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches.Â
Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. âFucking hell, Wood.âÂ
He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again.Â
âI thought you were Sirius Black.âÂ
âWell thatâs stupid isnât it.âÂ
You huff, shifting the weight of the teamâs robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. Youâre halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor.Â
âWhat are you even doinâ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, donât you?â His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didnât know who you were talking to.Â
âI could ask you the same thing.âÂ
Youâre reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick.Â
âAye right. Whatever, goodnight.âÂ
Heâs brushing past you.Â
In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. âWaitââÂ
Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where youâre connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded.Â
âI âŠâ the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. âCould âŠâ
You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. Itâs unreadable.Â
His brow scrunches. âYes?"
"Could you want me to walk my common room?âÂ
Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, youâd 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.Â
Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldnât die alone.Â
âPlease?â Your voice is quiet and you think itâs the gentlest word youâve ever said to him.Â
Thereâs a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. Itâs quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration.Â
Youâre practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him.Â
âNever mind.â 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. âForget I asked.âÂ
Oliverâs moving before youâre stood straight up again. Heâs 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.Â
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.Â
âCâmon, before someone catches us out here. Iâm not doing any more detention because of you.âÂ
Heâs already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliverâs surprise act of kindness.Â
You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and heâd dump it all back into your arms.Â
Itâs quiet.Â
You donât make a move to talk and Oliver doesnât look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and youâre still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks.Â
âWhyâre you out here alone?âÂ
You look, met with the side of his face: itâs still like he hadnât said anything at all. Thereâs a tugging instinct to snap at him.Â
Why do you care?Â
But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it wonât end in an argument. You test the tepid waters.Â
âUh âŠâ your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. âI let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didnât want them walking up in the dark.âÂ
Youâre tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You donât.Â
"And now youâre walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."
Your breath hitches.Â
Itâs not the first time heâs 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.Â
He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent.Â
The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: itâs the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room.Â
Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.
"âM surprised Ryo didnât 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.âÂ
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 - youâve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours.Â
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.
âGet between the twins, and stay there!âÂ
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 thereâs another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. Itâs there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch.Â
Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you canât swallow.Â
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. Theyâre floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace thatâs too fast for you to make a move in any direction.Â
Thereâs a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: itâs 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.Â
Someone yells your name but you donât hear it.Â
Youâd 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.Â
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 itâs 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, Woodâs got jokes now? I didnât 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 donât share them with you."
You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think weâre friends."
He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobodyâs 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 youâve 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?"
"Yâknow," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we ⊠we hadâ"
"If you hadnât suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.
You laugh at him, "If you hadnât 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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sandman || fred weasley
smut 18+, minors dni
You lacked the capability to relax.
Being in Ravenclaw the expectations of the world were on your shoulders, not including the dementors that circled Hogwarts walls that made your skin crawl.
You had been up late studying with Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, who had already been dragged to bed by Ginny.
Clutching your quill you continued to scribble on the parchment paper, your temple beginning to throb.
âHow did a Raven manage to fly into the lions den this late at night?â Fred Weasleyâs recognizable voice asked you. You poked your head up from your Herbology textbook, Fredâs curious eyes watching you.
âI was studying with Hermione, she ditched me early. So much for an all nighter,â You explained, marking your page. You resisted the urge to fold the corners, placing your quill in between the pages about gillweed.
âGranger going to bed early to avoid studying? How out of character. Did you give her some of our drowsy draught potion?â Fred teased. You giggled, watching the lean quidditch player approach you. A white wife beater revealed how much muscle he truly had, his usual robes keeping them concealed.
He strode over to you confidently, taking a seat on the floor beside you. The fireplace cackled behind you, the warmth of the fire drawing Fred closer. âItâs almost three am, do you plan on sleeping?â Fred asked curiously. You knew as well as he did that he was notorious for sleeping through anything. Including the dreadful hail storm that once terrorized Hogwarts.
âIâm basically an insomniac at this point, I canât relax for more than five seconds without racking my brain to solve an equation,â You admitted sheepishly. You nervously tucked your hair behind your ear as Fred leaned back on his hands. âHere turn your back towards me, I have some legit magic thatâll help you relax,â Fred told you. You hesitantly raised your eyebrow. The ginger tended to be a mischievous prankster, even if you werenât a victim of his tricks.
âAnd youâre not going to prank me?â
âPfft, of course not,â
âPromise Weasley?â
âI promise,â
You shifted around, your back now turned to Fred as you pulled your skirt down. You werenât sure what to expect, acutely aware of how close you both were. Fred brushed your hair away from your back and over your shoulder, before beginning to massage your shoulders. âI thought you said this was magic,â You say timidly, his large hands massaging your skin with ease. Fred chuckled at your response, brushing some of his shaggy hair out of his face.
Merlin he needed a haircut.
âYes this is the magic of relaxation,â
Your tense body began to slowly relax under Fredâs touch, the gingers eyes scanning your neck.
âLooks like youâre good at something other than pranks Weasley,â You say teasingly. Fred rolled his eyes. âIâm good at quidditch too ya know,â He countered. Fred could feel himself growing flustered as he continued massaging you, his eyes wondering down your figure.
âYour neck looks pretty tense, I can fix that for you if you want. Iâll just need you to turn around,â Fred offered, trying to appear cool and confident. You felt your face flush pink as you shifted around, facing him. You had never gotten a chance to interact with Fred one on one, George always connected to his hip.
The moment seemed oddly intimate, even though you had never considered relationships or sex worth your time. Yet the ginger sat in front of you with his large hands and soft lips, practically begging for you to kiss him. You had never considered yourself to be attracted to Fred Weasley, yet your body was yearning for more of his touch.
Fred couldnât contain himself anymore, closing the gap between your lips and his. He tasted faintly of butterbeer, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips danced against his. Your arms found themselves around his neck, Fredâs hands slithering down to your waist. In a swift motion he had pulled you onto his lap, straddling him in front of the fire. Your fingers found his hair, small groans being swallowed by him as your hips bucked against his.
You could feel a wet patch growing in your panties, the soaked fabric rubbing right against Fredâs growing boner. His large hands slipped up your skirt, grabbing your ass. Your hips grinded against his, lust boiling in your stomach. âI wanna taste you,â Fred muttered against your lips, his words a confession. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you briefly pulled away, Fredâs lips almost chasing yours.
âW-what Weasley?â
Fred brought his thumb to your lower lip, dragging it downwards.
âI want your lips wrapped around my cock as I make you cum on my face,â
His filthy words sent a shiver of arousal down your spine, right down to your cunt.
You went to unzip your skirt before Fred grabbed your wrist to stop you.
âKeep it on,â He whispered, his order teetering on the line of a plea. You swallowed as the ginger laid down in front of you, eagerly awaiting you. âI donât wanna hurt you,â You admitted, causing the ginger to chuckle. You stood up, pushing your panties down to your ankles before stepping out of them.
âIâd be a lucky man if I were to die between your thighs. Câmere,â Fred told you. You kneeled down over his head, your cunt inches away from his face.
âFred what if I crush-â
Your concern was silenced by Fredâs hands pushing you down onto his face. You whimpered as his warm tongue licked a stripe up your cunt before assaulting your clit. You felt your thighs tighten around his head as his hands kept you in place, your filthy noises becoming louder by the minute.
âFuck, right fucking there,â You moaned, grinding your hips onto his mouth. His lips began to suck at your clit, causing your thighs to shake. Your eyes centered on Fredâs boner, his cock throbbing inside of his pajama pants. You leaned forward, hungrily shoving them down. The lack of boxers caused you to giggle as his cock landed on his stomach.
âNo underwear huh? Naughty boy,â You teased. A sharp smack landed on your bare ass, causing you to winch in pain for a brief moment before Fredâs tongue brought you back to ecstasy.
The ginger was longer than you expected him to be. You took his shaft into your hands, bringing it into your mouth. A soft groan was muffled by your folds, encouraging you to sink your head further down onto his cock. You took as much of him as you could in your mouth, using your hand to jerk the rest of his cock.
Fred admired your determination and for a brief moment he considered switching positions, the thought of you on your knees for him mouth watering. Yet, there was something about having your pretty lips wrapped around his cock as he was buried into your pussy that pleased him more.
You tasted divine, much sweeter than any other girl he had fooled around with. He licked up your cunt, pushing his tongue inside of your hole. You were involuntarily animalistic, your hips having a mind of their own as Fred laid there in heaven.
Fredâs hips were beginning to do the same, bucking upwards. His cock hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag as saliva trailed down your chin. Fred momentarily pulled away from your dripping cunt, smirking as your juices coated his lips and chin. You took him out of your mouth, gasping for air.
âYou sound so pretty when you gag on my cock. Do it again and iâll make you cum,â Fred ordered. You tried to grind down onto Fredâs face but his strong hands kept you in place. You could feel his warm breath a mere inch away from your cunt, taunting you.
The idea of cumming on Fred Weasleyâs face had never been more appealing to you.
Desperately you brought his cock back to your lips, shoving it down your throat. You forced yourself to keep his shaft in place as you gagged around him. Saliva was trailing down your chin and neck, beginning to dampen your blouse.
âSuch a good listener arenât we? What a good girl,â Fred praised, kitten licking your folds. You pulled back, inhaling deep breaths of air.
âNow be a good girl and ride my face until you make yourself cum,â
You leaned back hesitantly, gripping his chest for support as he placed his mouth back onto your cunt. It was as if he somehow had memorized your body, his tongue licking every right place. Your moans were sinful enough to wake up the entire Gryffindor house and it was a miracle no one had bothered to go into the common room.
âFreddie, I, fuck-â You groaned, a familiar knot in your stomach forming. His lips had wrapped themselves around your clit, sucking harshly at the sensitive bud as your thighs trembled around his head. His large hands kept you on his face, refusing to let you move away.
You could feel your cunt clench around nothing as your thighs began to shake, squeezing Fredâs head unintentionally. Unholy moans that were mantras of his name echoed off of the common room walls as you came. Euphoria had washed over you, your nails digging into Fredâs chest.
Fred licked and sucked at your clit until you slowly lifted off of him, your knees almost buckling as you shifted away from his face. You weakly sat beside him, your after orgasm glow apparent to the ginger in front of you. âLook at you, youâre so cute,â Fred teased, using his thumb to wipe away the remaining spit on your chin.
In a swift motion you brought your lips back to his, Fred rising to his knees. You could taste your juices on his lips as you roughly meshed your lips against his. Fred couldnât take it anymore, pulling away to meet your gaze. He shrugged his wife beater over his head, discarding it without a second thought.
âBend over for me, yeah?â
You turned around, bending over in front of him without a second thought. You could feel him lubricate the tip of his cock by running it up and down your folds. The sensation of it hitting your abused clit made you shiver. âYou have no idea how long iâve thought about doing this,â Fred confessed. A cool breeze hit your bare skin as Fred lifted up your skirt, exposing your ass in full to him. As he pushed inside of you his fingers gripped your waist forcefully, as if he were afraid youâd disappear.
âSo full- shit,â You groaned, your eyes screwing shut as he bottomed out.
âYouâre practically fucking milking my cock, merlin, you slut,â Fred groaned. Your cunt only clenched around him tighter at the sound of his degrading words, causing him to smirk.
He began picking up the pace, fucking into you slowly. Your noises only grew louder as his hips began to snap into yours faster. Fredâs thrust were merciless, his body chasing an ecstasy only you could provide.
Strings of curses mixed in with your name left Fredâs lips as he watched his cock go in and out of you. He was so deep inside of you that you almost thought you were seeing stars, your body drunk off of the feeling of his cock.
âYou feel so good Freddie, so fucking- good,â You slurred, your words of encouragement only making Fred pound into you faster. His cock was abusing your g spot, causing your legs to shake as your knees dug into the carpet below you. You could feel the rug digging into your skin, making it raw which each thrust.
âI wanna fuck you everyday, make you my personal Raven,â Fred grunted. He could feel you getting closer to your final high, his hand slithering down to your swollen clit. You began to squirm as his fingers circled around your sensitive bud, unable to handle the fast circles he was drawing. âOh- iâm gonna cum, I canât, fuck!â You cried, your walls spasming as Fred ripped you into a state of euphoria.
Fred fucked you through your orgasm mercilessly, ravishing in the sight of you in a state of pure bliss. He was so focused on you that by the time he tried to pull out his cock it was too late, his cum painting the inner walls of your cunt. Your body was spent, slumping over onto the floor as Fred pulled out of you.
Two orgasms was all it took to get you to finally go to sleep. Fred smirked to himself as he shoved his pajama pants back on, your small sleeping body curled up into a ball in front of the fire. He grabbed your things, shoving them into a bag he knew heâd deliver to you in the afternoon when you ran into each other in defense against the dark arts.
He eyed your panties on the floor, contemplating putting them back on you. Instead a more mischievous thought came to mind, which caused him to decide to shove them in his pocket instead. He picked up your body up bridal style, carrying you upstairs to the girls dorm. Fred knocked on the door, hoping whichever gryffindor girl opened it wouldnât be a first year.
A sleepy Hermione Granger opened the door, rubbing her eyes as her vision settled. âY/n is still here?â She asked. Her mind was already scrambling itself on what to do, the responsibility of being a prefect weighing on her shoulders. âYeah she finally just went to sleep, I donât think I can deliver her to Ravenclaw tower at this hour,â Fred shrugged. Hermione stared at Fred, shirtless and hair messy. He looked like a wreck, and you didnât look much better.
Questions were on the tip of her tongue, ones she decided could wait until the morning. Hermione knew there were a few extra beds that were designated for first years, but in emergencies they would have to do. âThe spare beds are to the right, be very quiet and donât pull anything stupid,â Hermione said sternly. Fred carried you inside of the room, ignoring the dozens upon dozens of sleeping gryffindor girls. Hermione trailed close behind him, ensuring he wasnât up to any funny business.
âHowâd you get her to go to sleep anyways? Shes practically an insomniac,â
Fred shrugged, laying you down and bringing the red colored comforter up to your shoulders.
âIâm not sure myself, guess you can call me the sandman,â
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