#the fact that I can still remember the ominous tone being thrown off because Mr. Kihyun couldn’t help but draw him like a magazine model | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plant-flwrs · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a ilvermorny transfer x one of the twins? I think it'll be cool if she wore roller skates to school (charmed by yours truly) since it's the 90s and she's cool but super sweet and caring - maybe when they invite her over to the burrow for the summer or their birthday she can give them a pair? Thanks ily!!!

roller skates // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: ok i always feel bad when my fics take so long to set up and theres barely any like actual romance and i am trying to work on it. i think its hard for me to go into a fic where a relationship is already established, so i like writing them coming together and the immersion of it. but i hate reading fics where it takes forever to get to the good parts so just know that i will be trying to work on that flaw in my writing! thanks so much for reading! (i made the reader from florida just because my mind blanked on any other places that don’t have snow lol, but it’s not really relevant in any other situations so ignore it if u please) also just realizing all of my summaries sound scary and ominous also just realizing how i say way too much in these author notes im so sorry bye

summary: The American transfer student draws attention to herself with her accent, but Fred is drawn to something else about her.

(10.4k hehe sorry :D)

-----

Looking around at the students bustling past you, the only word you could think of was “proper”.

Looking down at your muggle clothes, loose and mismatched, your hair resting naturally, the only word you could think to describe yourself with was “improper”.

A boy with a permanent scowl and striking blond hair glanced your way, and the taller adults behind him followed his eye line. The three of them looked you up and down and their mouths all distorted into nasty grimaces. You felt your father’s comforting hand clasp over your shoulder, trying to help you remember everything he had said to you before arriving at King Cross Station.

“They aren’t that different from us,” he repeated, and you could tell he was doubting himself as he glanced at the uptight children and their matching parents.

He guided you forwards, and you pushed your large cart in front of you, navigating through the crowd. It started to separate around you, and even more odd glances were thrown your way. You supposed you should have felt a little insecure- you looked quite out of place- but the feeling could not overwhelm the excitement you felt. You had read all about Hogwarts, its history, its architecture, and you even picked up a few books about muggle London.

You were stood in your father's embrace, about to board. Your things were stored away, and you heard the train roaring louder and louder. You glanced around, the fathers in their dress shirts and ties, mothers in long skirts and blouses. Their children wore sweaters and jeans, or suit jackets and dress pants.

Something caught your eyes, though; a few feet away there was a large family, mingling in embraces. They all had flaming red hair, and their clothes looked like yours. In fact, your clothes resembled the oldest woman’s clothes, mismatched and colorful. Her eyes watered, and she smoothed down the hair on a fidgeting boy.

“Ronald, hold still!” she shouted at him, and he reluctantly allowed his mother to soothe his red hair down into a part on the side.

Once the woman had moved onto another child, Ronald roughed his hair back to the mess it was before. The woman now clutched a smaller boy, who looked like he was Ronald’s age, by the shoulders. She moved a hand to soothe his unruly hair off his forehead. Your eyes widened when you saw the lightning bolt on his forehead.

The books you had bought about the English Wizarding World did not neglect to mention the boy who lived. Elbowing your father, you both cast glances at the family. Your father nodded his head, looking impressed at the sight of Harry Potter.

“Thanks again Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, and it sounded like he had said it millions of times before.

Mrs. Weasley waved off the two boys, who went to gather a girl with large bushy hair.

“Come on ‘Mione! We’ve got to get a good compartment,” Ronald said impatiently, tugging the girl's arm onto the train.

Mrs. Weasley was left with four other children. One of them looked like all the other proper British people you had seen at the station, a permanent sneer on his face. He shook his head stiffly at his mother and shook his father’s hand. You thought it was quite odd, and two identical boys standing with the family couldn’t contain their laughter.

“Yes,” one of them started, doubling over in a bow, “good day, mother,” he said pompously, imitating his brother.

“May you have a wonderful few months,” the other started, moving to shake his father’s hand as his brother had moments ago, “I’ll be looking for your owl,” he said, sounding incredibly posh.

The younger girl, with the same fiery hair, began to giggle, earning a scowl from the eldest brother as he boarded the train.

The girl pulled her mother in for a hug, and then her father, and waved to them fervently as she followed after her brother.

“You boys, stay out of trouble!” Mrs. Weasley said to the remaining twins, waving a finger at them.

“We always do, mum,” one said, and it was obvious by his tone that they didn’t often stay out of trouble.

They waved to their parents at the same time, stepping onto the train with a certain enthusiasm.

You averted your gaze, looking anywhere but at the family you had been staring at. You looked up at your father, hugging him one last time. When you pulled back, you heard his name being called.

“Mr. Y/n?” the voice called out, approaching the two of you.

It was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley already had his hand stuck out to your father.

“I’m Arthur Weasley, I’ve been the one to hire you at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry. This is my wife, Molly. Funny to meet you here,” he said politely, looking at you and your father in a nicer way than any other wizard had during your time at the station. His eyes didn’t wander down to your brightly colored shoes, or your patterned pants, and he didn’t even cast a second glance at your oversized, offensively colored sweater. You beamed at him.

“Oh! Yes, it’s great to meet you,” your father said, shaking his hand. He squeezed your shoulder, jostling you a bit, “This is my daughter, Y/n.”

“Oh, would you hear that accent, Arthur!” Molly gasped, smiling as if she was astonished. Your father chuckled at her reaction. You supposed it would happen to you a lot at Hogwarts.

They both smiled at you, and Arthur offered you his hand to shake. You held your hand out, but the sleeve of your sweater swallowed the limb. You shook the extra clothing away, and Molly chuckled. Finally shaking his hand, you held it out to Molly. She bypassed your hand and began to roll up the sleeves of your sweater.

“Thank you,” you said, and she nodded, accomplished, at you.

“Better get her going,” your father said, and the Weasleys nodded at you.

“Have a good term, dear,” Molly said to you, patting your shoulders the way she had done to Harry.

“Thank you,” you repeated, moving past them and heading onto the train.

You waved one last time at your father, and the door closed behind you.

You wandered down the isles, looking for an empty place to sit. You pretended to look like you knew where you were going, hoping fewer people would stare at you if you did. Your plan didn’t work, and you caught the eyes of almost everyone you passed.

You had made it to the end of the train, and your eyes peered into the last cabin. It was empty except for a girl and a boy. They seemed friendly enough, so you slid open the door.

“Mind if I sit with you guys?” you asked, and the boy looked at you quizzically when he heard your voice.

“Not at all,” the girl said.

She had strikingly blonde hair and gray eyes that poured deeply into you. She had a faint smile on her lips, and her head was cocked to the side.

“I’m Luna Lovegood,” she said, and her voice was light and airy, “This is Neville Longbottom.”

The boy shifted in his seat, casting a shy glance at you. He raised a shaky hand and gave you a curt wave.

You smiled widely at the two of them, glad you seemed to have picked the right place to sit.

The train ride went fast enough. Luna asked you all sorts of questions about America, and you asked her all sorts of questions about England. When Neville warmed up to you, he asked some questions about Ilvermorny. They asked what house you had been in there, and you told him you were a Thunderbird, the soul of the witch.

“Where do you reckon she’ll be sorted into here?” Neville asked Luna. You leaned forwards, curious for the answer.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, peering into a magazine she had balanced into her lap, “but if I’m lucky, it’ll be Ravenclaw.”

“Which one is Ravenclaw?” you asked, trying to remember what you had read.

“The wise and witty,” Luna said, moving her robes to show the crest on it. It was blue with a bird over it.

“A raven, clever,” you said, looking closer at Neville’s red-trimmed robes.

“You’d think,” he said, “but it’s an eagle. I’m a Gryffindor, we’re meant to be brave but,” he trailed off, and Luna placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“Oh, stop it, Neville,” she said gently, her gaze back onto you, “there's Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

You nodded, recalling what little you read.

“My dad said he figured I would be a Hufflepuff. The Ministry told him he was a Ravenclaw, he had to do the silly sorting hat and everything,” you said, and Neville smiled at you.

“Hufflepuff? They’re quite nice, I suppose,” he said, sounding disappointed that you weren’t in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

“Well, we won’t know for sure,” Luna said, closing her magazine, “until-” but the train’s brakes began to screech.

Her smiled widened, and you looked down at your robes you had changed into. Maybe now people would be less inclined to stare, you thought.

You were right, but only briefly. Once you had gotten to the Great Hall, you were shuffled in with the first years. Your face burned a slight red the whole time, your larger and older stature standing out amongst the sea of younger students. Your name was called, and you heard a faint whooping coming from the table of red.

You glanced at it, seeing Neville lowering a cheering fist from the air. He looked around nervously, and you saw one of the Weasley twins glancing at his quizzically. You smiled at Neville’s support and sat in the stool.

An old and tattered hat was lowered onto your head, and suddenly it began speaking in your ear.

“Hm, very interesting. You’re not from here, that’s obvious,” it spoke quickly, echoing in your skull, “but I think the choice is simple. I’d say,”

Suddenly the voice left your skull and boomed into the room, for everyone to hear.

“Hufflepuff!”

Cheers from a table full of yellow sounded off, some raising from their seats and clapping for you. You beamed, moving off the stool and skipping cheerfully towards the table. You walked down the aisle between the red and yellow, and Neville’s hand stuck out at you.

“Congratulations!” he said excitedly, holding his hand up for a high five.

You hit his hand, and he waved you off.

A girl with a yellow tie and dark hair waved you over. She inched over, giving you room to sit with her.

“I’m Sarah, happy to have you in Hufflepuff!” she beamed, and you didn’t think you would ever get used to the British accents.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you watched her eyes widen at the sound of your voice, “I’m Y/n.”

“You’re American! You must have come from that American school, what’s it called, Ilmorny?” she asked, ducking her head and whispering as the sorting continued.

“Ilvemorny,” you corrected her, still smiling.

Sarah asked you a lot of the same questions Neville and Luna had asked, but you didn’t mind answering them. She had even offered to give you a tour of the school tomorrow, with the promise that you would choose the bed next to her’s in the dorm.

Sarah had lived up to her promise. You walked with your head permanently tilted upwards, admiring the greatness of the castle. Sarah ate with you at every meal and even insisted on walking you to your classes until you knew the way on your own. She had been so nice to you, and when Luna told you about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, you knew you had to ask her to go with you.

The two of you walked through the snow, wrapped up in matching yellow and black scarves. She had linked her arm with yours and pulled along to all her favorite shops.

The two of you ducked into The Three Broomsticks, sick of the ice sticking to your face.

You saw a red scarf and a blue scarf sitting at a table, and when you saw the flow of blonde hair peeking from the blue one, you knew who it was. You pulled Sarah over to Luna and Neville, and Neville told you to pull up two chairs. You introduced Sarah to Luna and Neville.

“We’re just waiting for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to meet us,” Neville said, smiling cheerfully.

“Oh, should we go?” you asked, offering to free up your chair.

“No, no, stay,” Luna urged you, pulling your arm back down, “I’ll introduce you.”

This was how you were going to meet Harry Potter, you thought, huddled up at a small table, drinking a foamy beverage that left a little white mustache on your upper lip.

Harry was just like every other kid, and he was with the people you had seen at the station that day.

“What did you say your last name was?” Ron asked, leaning over the table so you could hear him.

“Y/l/n,” you said.

“Does your dad work for the Ministry?” he asked, and you nodded, “Our dads work together!” he said, elbowing Harry.

“Her dad is the bloke my dad was raving about all summer, the guy from America,” Ron said to Harry, and Harry nodded at you.

“What a coincidence,” you said, dipping your head to take another sip of the drink Sarah had ordered you.

You all fell into a natural conversation, and Hermione asked to switch seats with Sarah at one point. Sarah had no protests, filing easily into the seat next to Harry, glancing at him dreamily.

“Will you tell me about America? I’ve been to other parts of Europe for holidays, but never America. What’s it like? How different are the wizards?" Hermione sounded off questions like she had them rehearsed, but you were happy to answer them.

You and she were in a fit of laughter after she had told you about her parents’ reaction to her letter. Your eyes were shut, brimming with tears, as Hermione recounted her mother’s jumping up and down.

You were so involved with your conversation with Hermione, you hadn’t noticed Ron’s brothers come into the restaurant.

“Hello, Ickle Ronniekins,” one of them teased, messing a hand through Ron’s overgrown hair, “when are you gettin’ a hair cut?”

“Mum’s gonna cut it all off the second you get home,” the other said, pulling a chair in between Luna and Ron. The other pulled a chair in between Harry and Sarah, and you didn’t miss Sarah’s annoyed sigh at the interruption.

You and Hermione were recovering from your laughter, clutching your stomachs and breathing heavily.

“What’s so funny ladies?” one of them said, shoving Ron aside so he could rest his elbows on the table.

“Just telling Y/n about how my parents reacted to my letter from Hogwarts,” Hermione sighed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“You’re the famous Y/n?”

“The American?”

Ron elbowed each of his brothers in their sides, frowning at them.

“That’s me,” you answered cheerfully, smiling at them, “Are you Ron’s brothers?”

“More like,” one of them started.

“Best friends,” the other finished.

“He really would be nowhere if it weren’t for us,” they said at the same time.

A smile slid across your face; it was easy to smile around your new friends, you found.

Hogwarts was better than you could have ever hoped. You wrote to your father nearly every week, recounting the amazing things you had done with Sarah, Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. The seven of you were becoming inseparable.

Luna’s blue tie dangled over your face as you lay on her lap, she was trying this odd head charm she had read about in the Quibbler. Your head rested in between her legs, back on the ground. Her skinny fingers were pressed to your temple, and they hesitantly pressed into your skin.

“Is that right?” she asked, consulting the cartoon pictures that moved on the Quibbler laying next to her.

“I don’t reckon, it doesn’t feel like anything’s happening,” you said, sitting up and rubbing where Luna’s fingers had been.

“Neville,” Luna said, motioning him over. His face grew white as she pulled him into him, moving to where you had been. Luna’s fingers pressed against Neville’s head, and his eyes fluttered closed. Luna began to hum to herself, and Neville smiled.

You crawled over to sit by Ron under the tree. Sarah was talking to Harry, her eyes dazed over as he gently brushed off a leaf that had fallen on her shoulder. Hermione was near, her head resting on her bag, laying on her back with his legs crossed. She was deep into a muggle book you recognized, and you couldn’t blame her for not wanting to put it down.

“Hi, Ron,” you snapped him out of his thoughts, ending his obvious staring at Hermione, “enjoying the weather?”

“Yeah, it’s just about my favorite time of year,” he said, twisting a blade of grass in his fingers.

The snow had melted, winter break had ended. Ron was able to shed his mother's heavy knitted sweaters and wear some of his more comfortable shirts.

“I quite liked the winter,” you said, your head leaning against the tree, “it was my first time seeing snow.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell us that?” Ron asked, seeming bewildered.

“Don’t know,” you shrugged, smiling at him.

“Hermione! Oi, Hermione! Y/n had never seen snow before she came here,” Ron said, calling out to Hermione.

“I know, she’s from Florida,” Hermione said, uninterested, head still buried in her book.

“Florida? Why didn’t I know that?” Ron asked, feeling out of the loop.

“Don’t know,” you repeated, shrugging again.

“Because you don’t ask, Ron,” Hermione said, sounding unpleased with Ron’s loud volume.

You stifled a laugh, but Ron looked at you, feeling guilty.

“Hermione’s right, I guess,” Ron said, casting a sad glance at you.

“It’s alight, Ron, I won’t hold it against you,” you reassured, and Ron perked up a little.

“Tell me one thing no one else here knows about you,” Ron said urgently. To this, Hermione closed her book and lay it on her chest, interested in what you were going to say.

You thought about it. You didn’t have anything to hide from your friends, but you felt yourself blanking on even the littlest fact about yourself. You tried to think of any special abilities you had, besides being a wizard, or any life events that were significant. The only thing you thought of was the hesitance you had when packing your trunk for school, debating on whether or not to bring your roller skates with you. Ilvermorny had allowed them, and you skated to nearly all your classes. The school's cold granite floors were just begging to be skated across, you had thought, and it was ten times faster than walking.

You thought about your skates, you missed them more than you thought you would. The white boots with slick, black wheels and rainbow laces were one of your most prized possessions. You wondered now, again, if you would have gotten in trouble for bringing your roller skates to school.

“Oh, alright, I’ve thought of something,” you began, and Hermione sat up a little, resting on her elbows.

“I really like to roller skate,” you said proudly.

“Roller skate?” Hermione and Ron repeated at the same time. Ron sounded confused, but Hermione sounded entertained.

“Yeah.”

“Like from the 80′s?” Hermione asked, still sounding entertained.

“They’re making a comeback,” you defended.

“What’s roller skate?” Ron asked, looking between you and Hermione.

“It’s like shoes with wheels on them,” Hermione said, used to having to explain muggle inventions her friend, “You tie them up and you skate around.”

“What do you do that for? Do they go really fast?” Ron asked.

“They can,” you said, “but it’s really just for fun. I used to take them with me to Ilvermorny and go to my classes on them, but I didn't know if Hogwarts allowed them.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Ron asked, “Are they dangerous?”

“They're not dangerous, I suppose you could fall on them, but it’s not as bad as that Quidditch game you guys play,” you explained, “I just didn’t know if Hogwarts allowed those kinds of muggle things.”

Ron and Hermione nodded, and Hermione looked to be in deep thought.

“I’m sure they would,” she said, returning back to her book.

“What do you reckon they’re doing down there?” Fred asked, looming over George’s shoulder as he held the Marauder’s Map in his hands.

“Do you think Ron’s finally gonna get a girlfriend?” George teased, looking at you and Ron sitting together under the tree.

Fred sneered at his brother. Ever since he had told George he thought you were cute, it seemed George wanted to push his buttons any way he could. He would make jokes about you and Ron flirting, and for some reason it made his blood boil. He hadn’t even spoken to you on more instances than he could count on a hand, but he was enticed by you.

Your eyes were always moving, and they were always wide with excitement. He thought you were beautiful, you were always wearing your muggle clothes when you didn’t have to wear your uniform. You dressed kind of like his mum, he realized one day, but in a cooler way. That’s the word, cool, he thought you were cool. You fit in easily with Ron’s friends, you could talk about anything, and you were always so sweet.

“Where are they going now?” George wondered out loud, watching the names on the map begin to move.

You got up and dusted off your pants, feeling the baggy jean material under your fingers. You helped Ron up, offering him a hand and pulling him off the ground. You, Ron, and Hermione trailed after Harry and Sarah, who trailed after Neville and Luna. You had all been feeling a bit warm outside, so you decided to go to the Gryffindor common room for the rest of the afternoon. You and Sarah were always excited to go to the Gryffindor common room, feeling it was a nice change from yours in the basement.

Fred’s eyes watched as you, Ron, and Hermione walked together towards the Gryffindor common room. He suddenly felt nervous, even though he was up in his dorm with George. He stood, and looked at himself in the mirror. He pulled down at the bottom of his shirt, tugging uncomfortably at the way it clung to his arms. He hadn’t been dressed to impress, and he usually didn’t, but at the sight of your name getting closer to his on the map, he ignored George’s torments and changed into nicer pants and a more flattering shirt.

Harry stepped passed Neville, who had forgotten the password, and held open the portrait for everyone as they stepped through. You, Sarah, Luna, and Hermione occupied the biggest couch in front of the fire, and Neville and Ron took the armchairs on either side of you. Harry sat on the floor in between Ron’s chair and where Sarah had sunk into the corner of the couch.

Sarah beamed at you, taking notice of the small action, and you wiggled your eyebrows back at her. She blushed and leaned over the side of the couch, resting her chin in her hand and starting a conversation with Harry.

Hermione pulled her book from her bag again, reading the pages eagerly. You and Luna sat shoulder to shoulder as Luna began to tell you about her plans for the summer.

“I think I’ll try to learn French,” she said, toying with some sunglasses she pulled from her pocket.

“You’re going to learn French?” you repeated, a smile pulling up your lips.

“I think so, might also help my dad with his plums,” Luna said, turning to you as she slipped on the sunglasses. They overcame her face, entirely oversized and wonderful. They were bright green and had purple lenses that were reflective. You could see your wide and amused smile in them.

“Your father grows plums?” you inquired, always enjoying conversation with Luna.

“Yes, they’re Dirigible Plums.”

“What are those?”

Luna pulled her hair back and showed you a pair of earrings she wore. They looked like little orange balloons, but leaves hung from them.

“Oh, those are very pretty, Luna,” you said, admiring them.

“My dad says they make you wiser,” she explained, “so he grows them in his garden.”

“And you wear them as earrings,” you said, smiling at her.

“Yes,” she nodded and gave you a crooked grin.

“What are your plans for the summer?” Luna asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. My father will be working, so I’ll probably be home all day,” you said, feeling a little lonely already, “I’ll have my roller skates though.”

Luna looked at you, confused, but you were more talking to Ron anyways, who you noticed was listening to your conversation.

“You should come to the Burrow this summer! Everyone does, even for just for a week,” Ron said, standing and moving over to sit on the coffee table in front of you.

“That sounds cool, I’d love to,” you said, grinning at Ron.

You looked around you and felt so lucky, lucky to have found such kind and accepting people at your new school.

Pacing upstairs, Fred smoothed down his hair before ruffling it again and then smoothing it. He knew you were downstairs, and he knew he wanted to talk to you, but you just made him so nervous. He never gets nervous.

George sat with his elbows on his knees, eyebrows raised, watching his brother obviously losing his mind.

“Just go down and talk to her,” he said, a little afraid his brother might explode, “you’re gonna wear a hole in the ground.”

Fred stopped where he stood, near the door. He sighed heavily and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard, “I’ll just go talk to her.”

Fred recalled the day he had formally met you at the Three Broomsticks. He was smooth, able to mask the way your curious gaze had made his stomach flutter. He couldn’t very well go down there and make a fool of himself, could he?

“Oi Fred!” he heard Lee call from where he stood near Harry, which was also near you, “Come over here a minute.”

Fred sauntered over, forcing himself not to stare at you.

Hermione had put down her book, and Luna had left to go to her own common room to do some homework. You and Hermione sat cross-legged facing each other, playing a muggle card game.

“Yeah?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the banister of the fireplace.

Harry and Lee sat at two wooden chairs near the fireplace, only a few feet away from the couch you were on. This angle allowed him to watch you as your head threw back in laughter as Hermione scowled at her losing the game. His eyes easily flickered back to Lee, who pulled him into the conversation he and Harry were having about Quidditch.

Ginny walked through the portrait hole, returning from some Quidditch training she had been doing. Ginny was taking Quidditch very seriously this year and had taken to exercising on the pitch with Angelina every weekend.

“Ginny!” Ron called out to her, putting down the newspaper he was reading. He waved her over with a hurried hand.

“What?” she said, plopping down on the empty space next to Hermione, “What game are you guys playing?”

You looked up from the deck of cards you had begun to shuffle as Hermione told her.

“Ginny,” Ron said again, pulling his sister’s attention back to him.

“Hm?” she said, and it was very obvious she was tired from her day's activities.

“Have you asked anyone over for the summer yet?” Ron asked, and his eyes flicked to you, “I just invited Y/n, so I don’t want it getting too crowded.”

Ginny looked over to you, her gaze becoming analytical. You raised a hand to wave and cast her a kind smile, and she returned it.

“I don’t have anything planned, it should be fine,” Ginny turned away from Ron and back towards you and Hermione, “When are you lot coming? At the same time?”

You looked towards Hermione, not knowing the answer.

“Oh, I didn’t have any specific ideas yet, Ron’s just asked me. Still have to write to my dad,” you said, and Hermione nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be the usual time for me, though,” Hermione said, and Ginny smiled.

“What’s the usual time?” you asked, beginning to deal the cards to you and Hermione.

“A few weeks before school starts, Mrs. Weasley takes us all to Diagon Alley for our school things,” Hermione said, speaking fondly of the memory.

“Should I ask my dad to come then, when Hermione does?” you looked towards Ron, “Unless I should come at a different time,” you said, not trying to intrude.

“That would be perfect! Harry comes ‘round that time too, so we’ll all see each other,” Ron said.

He looked over at Harry, and upon seeing his brother, he called Fred over the way he had done to Ginny.

“Fred, have you invited anyone home for summer yet?”

Fred’s gaze immediately went to you, and he found you looking at him too.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and over to Ron.

“Who?” Ron said, curious because his brothers usually didn’t have people over to the Burrow during holidays.

“George,” he said, smirking.

“Git,” Ron mumbled under his breath.

“Why do you ask, Ickle Ronniekins?”

“I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t get too crowded when Hermione, Harry, and Y/n come ‘round,” Ron said, squirming as Fred forced himself into Ron’s seat that was only big enough for one of them.

Fred’s cool demeanor dropped for a moment, his eyes widening. He quickly recovered, wrapping an arm around Ron.

“How considerate of you,” he said, giving his brother an unwanted side hug.

Ron got up from his seat, leaving Fred to sit by himself. He watched you with unblinking eyes as you listened to Ginny talk about her time with Angelina on the pitch.

Looking down at your packed to the brim suitcase, you glance to the corner of your room. Your pristine roller skates sat there, one on their side. They looked sad and forgotten, but you knew that wasn’t true. Ever since you had gotten home from Hogwarts, you had taken to skating around ‘muggle’ London. You had also just gotten used to saying ‘muggle’.

Your father left early and got home late, and part of you was jealous that he got to see a Weasley every day and you didn’t. To ease your envy, you took to your skates.

You weren’t sure if you should pack them with you for Ron’s house. You were leaving when your father got home for work, the two of you setting off just before dark. You shoved a sweater deeper into your bag, making room for the skates.

Your father was to eat dinner with the Weasleys, sleep on the couch, and set off with Mr. Weasley for work in the morning. No point in two trips, they figured.

You were traveling by Flu powder, and your father went first. He heaved your bag into the fireplace with him and erupted in green flames. You carried a backpack on your shoulder, filled with little things that couldn’t fit in your suitcase.

Fred was more nervous and excited than he had ever felt in his whole life. He was determined to chat you up this summer, at least do something to make sure you knew he existed. He had been pacing in he and George’s shared room, but George pulled him down to the kitchen and made him drink some tea, hoping to calm him down.

You twisted your fingers, looking nervously into the fireplace. You were extremely excited to spend the remaining weeks of your summer with the Weasleys, but a small part of you was scared. You were nervous that Ron’s parents wouldn’t like you as much as they did at the train station. You were nervous that Ron, and his siblings, would get sick of having you around. You were nervous that you would become a burden.

You had been writing with Hermione, and she ensured you of how kind the Weasleys were. She told you that you had nothing to worry about, and you felt a little relieved.

You had visited Sarah a couple of times during the summer. She lived fairly close, close enough for you to take muggle transportation. Her family was welcoming and all had wide eyes at your accent. Thinking of their kindness, you felt confident enough to finally step into the fireplace.

Green flames surrounded you, and within seconds, you were stood in a different fireplace. It was a little shorter, and you were glad you had hunched over a little. Mr. Weasley and your father were shaking hands off to the side, over by a large couch. Mrs. Weasley was looking into the fireplace and waving you out. Ron was trudging your suitcase upstairs already, and Hermione and Ginny stood by Mrs. Weasley smiling widely. You noticed Fred and George sat at a large wooden table near the kitchen both drinking some tea and eating.

You took a step from the fireplace, making sure to wipe off any ash that may have stained your clothes, and allowed Mrs. Weasley to pull you into a hug.

“Oh, so good to see you again, dear!” she said, rocking you back and forth in the suffocating hug.

You didn’t care if you couldn’t breathe, you decided at that moment that Molly Weasley gave the absolute best hugs. She released you, patting your shoulders and running a loving hand through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You beamed at her, and she smiled back at you.

When she moved away, Hermione quickly replaced her. Hermione’s arms pulled you close, wrapping around your backpack.

“I missed you!” she said, smiling at you.

“I missed you too!” you said, nearly ‘awing’ at everyone’s kindness.

Ginny hugged you too, and when you stepped away, Ron had come back downstairs. You hugged him, and then Harry, and finally you were left to be able to breathe your own air.

The house around you was adorable. It was better than you could have ever imagined. Magic was everywhere, and everything just felt like home.

“You’ll be staying with me and Ginny,” Hermione said to you from her spot next to you at the table.

“Perfect,” you replied, the same awestruck smile plastered on your face since you had arrived.

Fred looked at you from across the table. He felt like his dinner was moving in his stomach, and his hands were sweating. He’d nearly dropped his fork three times. He breathed deep, and when the conversation lulled, he took his chance.

“How has your summer been, Y/n?” he asked, and you looked up from your plate to him.

He nearly died, your happy eyes looking at him.

“Great!” you said, wiping your hands on your napkin in your lap, “I’m glad to finally be here.”

He smiled back at you, and it took him a moment to realize he’d been staring for a little too long, and that you had asked him a question.

“My summer? Oh, my summer’s been good too,” he replied, nodding.

You looked to George, who was next to him and raised your eyebrows, inviting his answer.

“It’s been good,” he said casually, and then an evil grin spread across his face, “but I think Fred’s just about worn my ear off talking about you.”

Fred coughed, choking on his mashed potatoes. His face went red, and he looked at his twin with an anger George had never seen before. Fred quickly looked back at you, as if to gauge your reaction. Your head was tilted down, but a shy smile was on your face and a blush crept on your cheeks.

Fred’s anger subsided at the sight of it, but when George kicked him from under the table, he was reminded.

“What is wrong with you?” Fred asked, nearly yelling at his brother in the privacy of their own room.

“I gave you a push,” George answered, not looking up from the Zonko’s catalog in his hands.

Fred simmered, coming to the realization that George was right. He fell onto his bed, thinking back to the pink on your cheeks and the bashful curl of your lips.

He didn’t know how he was meant to sleep, painfully aware of the fact that you were asleep just a room away.

“Did you hear what George said to Y/n at dinner?” Hermione asked, pulling Ginny into the argument you were having once she got out of the shower.

Ginny shook her head, removing the towel from her hair, “No, what’d he say?”

You rolled your eyes at Hermione as she divulged into every little detail of what George had said.

“And Fred could not stop staring!” she finished, and you let out an exaggerated breath.

“He was not staring!”

“Yes, he was,” Ginny said cheekily, sitting down on her bed.

“Ginny!” you said, giving up hope of having her on your side.

“He totally fancies you,” Hermione said.

Your face twisted for two reasons: the word ‘fancies’, and the fact that she thought Fred Weasley might fancy you.

“He does not!”

Ginny sat on her bed, listening to you and Hermione go back and forth. She knew Fred fancied you, he had since they had been at school. She saw his longing looks, the way he looked at you first after he told a joke, and the pure admiration he had in his eyes any time he looked at you. It especially convinced her when Fred had been talking about you all summer. She came to a decision.

“He does,” she said, watching Hermione’s face change into the proud one she wore when she answered a question right in class. Your mouth hung open.

“What?” Hermione’s gaze turned towards you, and she smiled widely. You liked to think it was her infectious smile that made your mouth turn up, and not the idea of Fred liking you.

“He has been talking about you all summer, I’m surprised Ron didn’t tell you earlier,” Ginny said, bringing the towel to her hair again to catch some dripping water.

“He probably hasn’t even noticed,” Hermione said, the tone of annoyance dripping off her tongue.

Ginny flashed her a sympathetic look, but Hermione ignored it, continuing.

“Do you like him?” she pried, and the whole room felt like it was frozen.

They both looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

You didn’t know. Fred was handsome, and funny, and clever, but you hardly knew him. You knew he was mischievous, and that he tormented Ron, but other than that you might as well have been strangers. You could not deny, however, that he was attractive.

“I don’t know,” you said, honestly.

“You don’t know?” Ginny repeated, confused.

“Yeah, I mean, I barely know him,” you answered, the obvious energy in the room shifting to something of deep thought.

“Do you fancy him, though?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised.

“I think he’s cute, yeah, but how can he fancy me? We’ve barely spoken to each other. Are you sure Ginny?” you asked again, still doubtful.

“I’m sure he’s noticed the little things more than you think he would, Fred can be pretty considerate when he wants to be,” Ginny said, and you breathed out loudly. You flopped on your back, the mound of blankets around you and Hermione soothing your landing.

“See? I wouldn’t know that!” you said.

You knew it was a little silly, to focus on something like this. You had an older, attractive, popular boy head over heels for you, but you were harping on the fact that you didn’t know whether or not he was considerate.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hermione said harshly, “I mean it’s not like you’re forced to marry him. You go on dates with people to get to know them, after all.”

You were nearly offended by Hermione’s tone, but you figured she was just getting irritated on the subject of crushes.

“I know, ‘Mione, I’m just confused by it,” you reassured her.

“Well, test the waters tomorrow,” Ginny said suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows.

You cringed away from her, and swells of giggles were coming from Ginny’s room nearly all night.

The three of you slept late into the morning. The Burrow’s eventful noises were nothing compared to the sounds of muggle London, so you slept peacefully. It wasn’t until something began tapping on Ginny’s window, did the three of you wake up.

“What the-?” Ginny started but soon fell silent at the sound of a loud crashing noise. Shards of glass scattered around the room and Hermione was lucky that she had rolled away from the window in her sleep. You put your hand up, flinching at the noise, and when you dropped it, the warm summer air flooded into the room.

A small golden snitch was soaring around the room, averting every swipe of Ginny’s hands, and ducking behind her dresser.

Ginny slipped on some shoes, and carefully navigated through the glass. She leaned cautiously out of the window, and that's when the screaming started.

“Harry! Are you mental?! What on Earth-” her screams divulged into threats and insults, and you looked over her shoulder, watching Harry hover many feet away on his broom, his face looking quite guilty.

You found your shoes and moved over to the window. You then realized that Fred and George were hovering closer to Ginny’s window, silencing the snickers and amazed faces they wore. At the sight of Fred, your eyes widened, and his eyes met yours. He smiled kindly at you, and before you knew what you were doing, you ducked behind the window, crouching by Ginny’s feet.

You heard George’s laughter, and Ginny’s ramblings stilled.

“What are you doing on the floor?” she asked you, lowering herself to crouch with you.

“I don’t know,” you answered, whispering. Your cheeks were red and your eyes were wide. Ginny’s threatening look turned into a smile.

She began to giggle, and soon enough, Fred and George hovered just above the window, peering into Ginny’s room.

“What are you girls doing down there?” George asked, resting a hand on the part of the windowsill with no glass on it, peering into the room.

Ginny looked at you, her smile wide. You looked around and began to pick up large shards of glass.

“Cleaning up the glass,” you said casually, although you could still feel the distinct burn of blush on your cheeks.

You could only safely pick up two large shards of glass without cutting your hands, so you raised yourself from the ground, meeting Fred and George’s eyes. Ginny followed you, crossing her arms and smirking.

The boys wore their practice robes, their names and numbers on the backs. They both had discarded goggles hanging from their necks, and their hair was wild. You looked between the both of them, swallowing thickly.

“Could you keep it down?” Ginny finally said, trying to ease the situation, “We’re trying to sleep.”

George removed a hand from his broom and glanced at his watch, “It’s nearly 12 in the afternoon,” he said sarcastically.

“Really? Well, we need our beauty sleep,” Ginny said, and you noticed she nearly reached out to close the window.

George rolled his eyes and zipped away on his broom, leaving Fred.

“I’m gonna go get a broom, clean this up,” Ginny said, huffing as she navigated her way back through the glass on the floor.

You and Fred were left there, staring at anything but each other. Fred moved slightly up and down on his broom as he hovered. He finally cleared his throat and looked at you.

“Sleep well?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You nodded and smiled, rocking back and forth on your feet, “You?”

He nodded too and looked away quickly.

“Oh, I think George, is calling me,” he said, and it was obvious George was not calling him. He flew away on his broom, and you closed your eyes, letting out a restrained breath.

You groaned and threw yourself on Ginny’s bed. Hermione rolled over, a large and entertained grin on her face. You covered your face with a pillow and ignored Ginny and Hermione’s imitations of the incident while they swept up the glass.

Mrs. Weasley was furious to see Ginny’s window. She had come in later in the day, a basket full of laundry on her hip.

“Hello girls,” she said pleasantly, “Do you have- what the bloody hell is that?”

Ginny’s eyes widened at the sound of her mother’s deep and serious tone.

“Mum! It wasn’t us,” Ginny leaped from her bed and ran to her dresser, she quickly caught the snitch from where it had been hiding behind her dresser, “It came through the window this morning when the boys were playing.”

Mrs. Weasley looked at you and Hermione, and you both nodded your heads furiously. She huffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

Finally looking up, she set the laundry down and stood in Ginny’s doorway.

“BOYS!” she shouted, and you heard the sudden halting of George and Fred’s laughter, and Harry and Ron’s footsteps upstairs silenced.

The sound of four hesitant feet walking to Ginny’s room was the last thing you heard before Mrs. Weasley’s screams burst your eardrums.

The Burrow was crowded now that the boys had been banned from leaving the house. They had only briefly been allowed out of the house to de-gnome the garden, but Mrs. Weasley stood at the door, making sure they had absolutely no fun.

Your suitcase lay open in Ginny’s room, the three of you dressed and having absolutely no ideas as to what to do. You had all already ran through your spending money going to Diagon Alley on your first days there, and without the boys offering some entertainment, the three of you were idle.

Ginny paced, looking through her own things with interest. She twisted her broom in her hands, offering the idea of Quidditch, but Hermione wasn’t interested. Ginny was scanning her room, and her eyes fell on your bag. A pair of white shoes with wheels on them lay tucked away in the bag. She walked over to them and pulled them out hesitantly.

“What the bloody hell are those?” George said from the doorway.

The three of you girls turned, looking to the door. The four boys crowded in the hall, all peering into the room with interest. It seemed they were bored too.

“Are those the roll skates?” Ron asked, mispronouncing the word and shoving past George and taking the roller skate from Ginny.

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes flicking up over the top of your magazine.

The rest of the boys filed into the tiny room, nearly all of them shoulder to shoulder. Hermione rose from her spot next to you, picking up the other one from your bag.

“I remember seeing commercials for these things when I was a kid,” Hermione said, spinning the wheel in her hand.

“Commercials? What are you on about?” Ron said, and Harry caught your baffled look and smiled.

“What are they?” Fred asked, taking Hermione’s seat next to you on Ginny’s bed.

You lowered your magazine and looked at him, only to find him already looking at you. He gave you a crooked smile and nodded in greeting. You successfully fought a blush and smiled back at him.

“They’re roller skates. They’re like shoes with wheels,” you explained, taking the skate from Ron.

You rolled up your jeans a little and slipped on the skate. Fred watched your delicate fingers lacing up the shoe, noticing the way your hair fell into your face as you looked down at them.

Hermione handed you the other one, and you did the same to the other foot. You stood easily from the bed and nearly lost your balance. It was lucky that Fred’s strong shoulder was there for your hand to clasp onto, or else your feet would have slipped from under you.

You looked down at your hand still on Fred’s shoulder, even though you were standing fine. He slipped your hand off but kept it in his hand. You then became aware that you were just holding hands at this point. He stood with you and turned to face you. He pulled your other hand into his, and pushed you away from him, smiling widely as you rolled easily on the hardwood floors.

Everyone knew then that they had found their entertainment for the day.

The sound of joyful laughter flooded your ears as Fred pulled you around the limited space in Ginny’s room. Your hands fit together perfectly, and he walked backward as he pulled you, keeping his smiling eyes on you the whole time. Soon he was pulling you into the hallway, and everyone trailed after. You felt Ginny’s small hands pushing your back, and you began to gain speed. Fred hadn’t caught up, and you were coming closer and closer to him. You looked down but didn’t want to put your toes down to brake, in fear of scuffing up the floor. So, you let yourself fall into Fred’s arms.

The two of you stayed upright, but his long arms were wrapped around your waist. Your hands fell to his chest, and his chin pressed against his neck as he looked down at you. His hair fell into his eyes, and yours fell gracefully in its natural place. You smiled, and he smiled, and soon you erupted into giggles at the silence behind you. George catcalled, and you stuffed your giggles into Fred’s chest, tucking your head under his chin. You felt him take a sharp inhale, and his arms became a little tighter around you.

When Mr. Weasley got home, he was accosted by his children.

“Dad!” They said in unison, all waiting for him by the door.

He jumped at the sight of them all, then began taking off his coat.

“Look at these!” Ginny said, pointing to your feet.

You did a little spin, careful not to make any marks on the floor. Fred watched you spin elegantly, your arms coming out a little like a ballerina.

“Remarkable!” Mr. Wealsey cried, moving to look at them.

Questions came from his mouth faster then you could answer them, and you slid the wheels against the floor under the table while you ate dinner.

“We had an idea, Dad,” Fred said, looking at you proudly.

“Yeah, think you’ll like it,” George added, glancing at you with a smirk and then looking back at his dad.

“We need you to conjure some sort of track outside,” Ron finished, talking with his mouth full.

“A track! That’s brilliant!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, missing the worried look from his wife.

“It was Y/n’s idea, she’s brilliant,” Fred said, looking across the table at you.

You giggled as George made a gagging noise.

“With what? Stone?” Mrs. Weasley inquired, placing a hand on her hip.

“Oh no, they’re usually made of wood or asphalt,” you explained, “they have a whole building of them in the muggle world. People rent the skates and pay to skate on a big rink.”

Mr. Weasley's eyes widened with excitement, and Mrs. Weasley’s worry tamed.

“Let’s do it tonight.”

The eight of you walked to a clearing on the side of the house. It was where the boys usually played Quidditch, but it hadn’t been in use for days. Mrs. Weasley hadn’t stopped the boys from helping with the track, and you were grateful.

“Hold it higher, Ron!” Mr. Weasley called out, and Ron raised his father's wand with a bright orb of light coming from it.

The track was nearly done. It was huge, a large hoop secured to the ground. There was an enchanted orb of light in the center of the circle, and it illuminated the entire rink.

Your friends watched you blaze around the track, your hair whipping around behind your face, the sides of your cardigan flapping in the wind. You heard loud cheers when you successfully began skating backward.

The rest of your trip to The Burrow was spent out there. The boys were lifted from their punishments, and the rink became the one place you all went to when you woke up, and the last place you were before bed. Soon enough, though, your father appeared in the fireplace with your school trunk by his side. He quickly took back the bag you had been keeping at the Weasley's, and you went through your trunk one last time, making sure you had everything.

This year, walking through the train station, you were still stared at. But you didn’t care because an entire family surrounding you, and they all looked like you.

Your father gave you a lasting embrace before Fred followed you onto the train. He had waited for you, watching as you hugged your dad. He waved to your father, and his hand grazed your lower back as he walked behind you. The two of you found the compartment that had to be the most crowded of the lot.

Lee, Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Sarah, George, and now you and Fred, packed into a compartment, the entire room filled with busy conversation the entire ride.

It was weird to be in the Hufflepuff common room, your bedroom devoid of Ginny’s huffs as she rolled over to get comfortable, or Hermione’s anxious mumbles she said in her sleep. You pulled your blankets off of you, your legs feeling sore from the constant skating you had been doing for weeks.

Speaking of, you had made the decision to bring your skates to Hogwarts. You slipped them on, tightening the rainbow laces. You pointed your wand at the wheels and cast a silencing charm, so the turn of the wheels would be silent.

You carefully climbed the stairs from the Hufflepuff basement and looked both ways before you skated towards your destination.

Fred had been sitting under his covers, looking over the map as he usually did before he snuck to the kitchens. Out of habit, he looked at the Hufflepuff common room for your familiar name. He was shocked to see you across the castle, in a long-abandoned classroom. He suddenly lost his appetite and slid into some slippers.

He rested his forearm in the crook of the door, leaning against it. He watched you illuminated by the candles lit on the wall. You easily glided between the desks, twisting and turning, spinning, and navigating between them. His eyes followed you, your body moving naturally. He watched the sway of your hips as your wait transferred from foot to foot, the skates rolling against the smooth stone. You moved to the open space in the room, skating backward, your back to him. You turned just a few feet in front of him, and when you saw Fred, your surprise ran through your body. Your feet faltered and you bumped into a desk, making a loud crash.

He jumped from his spot in the doorway, closing the door behind him. He moved to you in two long strides, crouching to reach you on the floor.

“Are you alright?”

“You scared the shit out of me, Fred!” you said, smiling up at him.

“Couldn’t help it, I had to come see you,” he said smoothly, bringing the map from his back pocket.

“What? How did you know I was here?”

He unfolded a piece of paper and held it out to you. You took it in your hands and realized what it was. Before you could look at it for long, Fred took it back, a worried expression on his face.

“Filch is coming, he must have heard the noise,” Fred folded the map and put it back in his pocket.

Suddenly, his hands were on your waist, and he was guiding you to your feet. He looked around the room and saw the door to the supply closet.

With a wave of his wand, the flames of the candles were extinguished and he was pulling your gliding figure to the closet. The door closed just in time, and Filch burst in. You and Fred were pressed together, his hands still on your waist. You opened your mouth to ask him about the map, and one of his hands covered your mouth. He felt your soft lips, and his eyes locked onto yours. You heard Filch’s heavy feet stomping around the room and the screech of the desk against the floor.

Your mind was occupied by the lack of space between you, your back pressed to the door, and Fred’s warm hand on your face. He looked deeply at you, and his face was inches from yours.

You thought back to the day Ginny told you about how Fred felt, and you realized that you no longer had any hesitations about Fred. Standing this close to him, his leg slid between yours, his chest against yours, you felt what he felt. You fancied Fred.

Fred felt your lips curl into a smile beneath his hand. It was dark, so he couldn’t see your face, but he wished more than anything that he could. He heard the door close, and Filch was gone, but neither of you moved. Fred’s hand retracted from your mouth, moving to your neck. His fingers slipped under your hair, and his thumb rested in your jaw.

“Why did you come here?” you whispered.

“I like to watch you skate,” he answered, his voice devoid of any laughter.

“You’ve watched me skate for weeks,” you said quickly, inching your face closer to his, craning your neck to look up at him.

“I like to watch you,” he said without thinking, “I like you.”

You closed the space between you two. His lips were slow, and so were yours. You arched your back against the door, anything to get closer to him. His face was warm, and yours was cold. His lips pressed hard against yours, and the kiss held everything he had felt since he talked to you in the Three Broomsticks. It was all the nights he had ranted to George about you, all the times he had mentioned what little time it was until you’d finally be at The Burrow, all the times he looked at the map just to see your name, all the times his stomach had flipped just at the thought of you.

You pulled away, breathless, and he lowered his head to rest on your shoulder. His breathing was heavy, and your eyes had fluttered closed. He reached for his wand and said “Lumos,” just so he could see your pretty face and swollen lips.

He walked you back to the basement, and you shared another slow kiss. He had almost followed you down the stairs, watching you leave with your skates hanging from around your neck.

The next morning in the courtyard, Ginny was the first to notice.

“What happened?” she said, skeptical of your dazed face and the constant flush you had from just being near Fred.

He sat a few feet away in his own world, avoiding George and Lee’s conversation about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

You smiled at Ginny, and she furrowed her brows at you. You were about to tell her, but Ron fell with a thud onto the ground next to you.

“It’s been three bloody weeks and Snape’s already assigned 100 pages of reading,” Ron groaned, pulling a heavy textbook from under his arm. Hermione and Harry trailed behind him, sitting with much more grace than Ron had.

Hermione also noticed your at peace look and looked at you analytically.

You were finally able to tell them in the hall, during an extended period between classes.

“He kissed me last night,” you said with a blush.

“I told you!”

“Finally!”

You hushed them, a bashful smile coming to your lips. Fred passed the three of you, his eyes locked on yours as he walked. Over his shoulder, he sent you a flirty wink. You felt weak at the knees and was glad that you were leaning against a wall.

“Maybe he’ll ask you to Hogsmeade,” Hermione said, tugging you off the wall and in the opposite way Fred was walking. You looked over your shoulder to see him walking backward, watching you walk away.

“Knowing Fred, he’ll probably pull some elaborate prank or get fireworks to spell your name out,” Ginny said, watching you look at her brother.

Fred did something like that, the two of you in the courtyard, laying in the grass. He had pulled you from dinner just after you were dismissed, and he led you to the courtyard. You both stared at the sky, and he looked at you. You met his gaze and then he pointed at the sky.

In huge, shining, red words read “Y/n, Hogsmeade this weekend?”.

You smiled at him and nodded. His hand snaked to cup your cheek still laying down. He pulled you towards him, and you moved to look down at him, propped up on your elbow. His lips met yours, and the sound of more bursting fireworks flooded the air around you.

It was nearly Christmas now. You and Fred have been dating for a few weeks, and he invited you back to the Burrow for the holidays.

You accepted, and you trudged your heavy bag into the fireplace. It was filled with gifts for the Weasley’s, and you were feeling quite confident about it.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione stayed at school for the holidays, leaving you, George, Fred, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat in front of a fire on Christmas eve.

You had called your father on your flip phone he had given you as an early Christmas present. He was coming over tomorrow for Christmas morning, and you felt incredibly content.

Coming back to the couch, tucking your phone into your pocket, you slipped back under Fred’s arm, curling into his side. Mr. Wealsey had already had a go at the device, and he just watched amazed at it fitting into your pocket so easily.

The next morning you were woken up by the sound of your father’s booming voice downstairs. You sat up, stretching, and looked over to Ginny’s bed. It was empty, the covers were thrown aside. You slipped on a large cardigan, pulling it around your cold arms and going downstairs.

You were met with what felt like a dream. All the Weasley’s sat around the table, eating a huge Christmas breakfast and drinking tea. They each wore matching sweaters with their initials on them, and your father was standing with Mr. Weasley by the couch.

“Happy Christmas!” they all beamed at you.

Ginny tugged you over to the couch, sitting on one side of you while Fred sat on the other. Your father stood behind you on the couch, and a pile of presents were stacked in the room. You had brought your presents for the Weasley’s down last night, and you saw them on the ground.

Wrapping paper was everywhere, and the sound of happiness flooded the room. It finally came time for everyone to open what you had gotten them, and Fred went first. He tore away the red paper and held the plain box in his hands. He shook it, holding it up to his ear and smiling at you.

“Careful!” you told him, and he tore away the tape holding the box shut.

Inside, a brand new pair of garnet roller skates. He gasped, his large hands holding a skate up.

“Oh, my-” Mrs. Weasley said, already thinking of the awful thing he and George could do with those.

“It’s amazing!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you.

You returned the hug, and whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Fred.”

Soon, all the Weasley’s were holding different colored skates, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

#fred weasley #fred #weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley request #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you

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kurowrites · 7 years ago

Text

The Second Time Around

Okay so I’m really sorry, since I completely butchered this prompt. Originally, @mind-the-wicked wished for a “Hocus Pocus AU only instead of reviving evil witches, Tony revives Steve” and GUESS WHAT I DID? A vaguely Hocus Pocus-inspired AU in which Steve revives Tony. There is a lot of handwaving involved as far as timelines and customs go, so please bear with me. It made sense at the time. I don’t know.

[cries]

Rating: Teen

Warnings: One Tony was harmed in the making of this fic, but when is it ever different. Otherwise, no warnings.

Word count: just shy of 4900 words

Honestly speaking, Steve’s mother had taught him better. They were Irish, after all, and if there was one thing that they had taken with them on the long way from Ireland to the new world, it was their superstitions and beliefs.

So lighting up that highly suspicious candle during a full moon on Hallowe’en? A terrible idea, no matter how you looked at it. It was something he would never do, usually, the stories that he had been told as a boy far too ingrained into his being to even consider it.

But tonight, apparently, wasn’t ‘usually,’ and so he ended up doing exactly that: lighting a highly suspicious candle during a full moon on Hallowe’en. It has somehow made sense at the time. It had been very dark in the building, after all, and there had been no light at all, so a crummy old candle seemed to be just what he needed. He hated having to admit that after the fact, but he didn’t think at all and just dug out his lighter (always be prepared, although why he had brought a lighter but not a flashlight was beyond him) and light the candle.

At first, everything seemed completely normal. The candle lit easily and burned brightly, and for the first time, Steve could actually see his surroundings as more than vague shadows.

The place was old and dilapidated, with a liberal smattering of cobwebs and animal excrements and all the other unmentionable things that seemed to magically gather in old and dilapidated places. It looked as in the fifty or so years since it had been abandoned, no one had even bothered to try and maybe save at least part of the building. A few old, dusty machines were still around, some of them collapsed due to the rust that was eating them up, but other than that, the place was empty.

Why then, Steve found himself asking, had several supervillains been staking out the place, showing faar too much interest in what essentially was a ruin? He had no answer to that. The only possible interest they could have in this place was the fact that every halfway respectable person would probably go out of their way to avoid it.

While Steve was still considering the emptiness that surrounded him, the candle suddenly made an ominous cracking noise, as if someone had thrown some kind of substance into the fire. For a moment, the candle burned bright blue.

And explosion went off, and Steve, luckily a few steps away from the candle, dropped to the floor and rolled away, covering himself up to avoid damage.

When he dared to lift his head again, the room had filled with thick pluming smoke, rendering Steve almost blind.

Then, something moved. Or rather, stumbled. Steve braced his shield, ready to lash out at whatever came crawling out of the residual smoke, his mind already supplying him with all the dark creatures that he had heard about in the old stories.

However, what followed was an angry ‘fuck’ followed by some creative cursing.

“God, what is this dump?” he heard the same voice say in a disgruntled tone. “Where did I end up?”

And then, out of the smoke, came a young man dressed in a smart if antiquated suit and a carefully styled head of dark locks.

He stopped when he caught sight of Steve, still crouched to the floor with his shield ready to be thrown any moment, and raised an eyebrow.

“Well hel-lo there, darling,” he said with a smirk. “Fancy meeting you here.”

This would have been the perfect moment for the sudden intruder to get acquainted with his shield, but strangely, Steve found himself hesitating. He gripped the leather straps a little more tightly, tensed to react at the slightest provocation.

The stranger shifted his stance once he realised that Steve wasn’t going to answer.

“So,” he said conversationally, “are you the asshole that kidnapped me?”

Steve jerked a little, surprised. “Someone kidnapped you?”

“Well,” the stranger replied, shrugging. “The last thing I remember are two big, burly guys gripping me from behind and bashing me over the head when I tried to get free. And then suddenly, I’m here. You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“There wasn’t anyone here until two minutes ago,” Steve said, getting up slowly. He wasn’t sure if this man was telling him the truth or not, but for the moment, he had the impression that he wasn’t an immediate danger.

“Well, I don’t know,” the stranger retorted a little sharply, putting his hands into the pockets of his trousers and lifting his chin defiantly (as if to dare Steve to mess with him). “I was kind of unconscious until a few moments ago.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, lifting his free hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “I understand. Why don’t you give me your name, and I’ll see if I can help you.”

The stranger snorted in an unkind way, looking at Steve from under his lashes. On someone else, it might have looked seductive, but on this man, it looked vaguely threatening.

Despite, as Steve couldn’t help but notice, his very handsome face.

“I’m Tony Stark,” the stranger finally deigned to reply. “But you know that already, unless you’re living under a rock.”

The name did ring a bell, but he couldn’t place it right now.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduced himself instead. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark gave an amused chuckle.

“Seriously?” he asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow once more. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“That’s my name, yes,” Steve replied, both a little confused and annoyed. “And it’s not that isn’t public knowledge either. Most Americans know who I am.”

“You are so full of yourself,” Mr. Stark groaned. “I mean yeah, the costume is nice, although I don’t get all these alterations you made to it. But using that name is just rude, considering that Steve Rogers is dead.”

“I feel pretty alive for a dead person,” Steve replied drily.

“Steve Rogers died in 1945, stop talking nonsense,” Mr. Stark hissed.

“Yeah, and they pulled my out of the ice in 2011, alive,” Steve growled. It happened sometimes that people still insisted that he was a sham because there was no way that he had survived in the ice for so long. Steve, frankly, had no time for those people. “Why is that so difficult to comprehend? It was all over the news, and it’s not like that happened just yesterday.”

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rose higher.

“2011?” he asked with confusion in his voice.

“Yes,” Steve said, annoyed still. “It’s 2017, this hasn’t been headline news for five years.”

“2017?” Mr. Stark repeated, with actual shock in his voice now. “No, it’s 1967!”

Steve considered the statement for a moment. Either this man was having some kind of episode or he had received such a heavy blow on the head that something had gotten mixed up in his brain. He would put his money on the second option, really. But then, he wasn’t a doctor and had no idea why a young man would suddenly believe he was living in 1967.

It was foolish to try to work it out. He should simply make sure this man got to see a doctor that would get him checked out.

He cleared his throat, trying to put his most reasonable face on. “Mr. Stark, I understand that you are confused right now, but I’m sure, once we’re out of here and you have been looked after by a medical professional, everything will turn out fine.”

“I am not confused!” Mr. Stark exclaimed. “Honestly, just tell me, what are you after, money? Just get whatever you want and let me go!”

“Please, Mr. Stark, calm down,” Steve said, still trying to hold on to his best ‘reasonable and trustworthy’ persona. It was kind of a bad fit, really, since these weren’t exactly the kinds of situations where he shined. Calming panicked citizens during a supervillain attack, sure, but not when they believed that he might be the bad guy. There was a reason why he usually left more delicate matters to Jan.

Mr. Stark glared at Steve intensely, his face clearly spelling out his complete distrust of Steve.

“What kind of game are you playing here?” he asked.

“No games,” Steve replied. He gathered himself before he slowly and carefully made his way over to where Mr. Stark was standing. Mr. Stark looked tense, but he stood his ground and did not back away as Steve approached. “My first and foremost concern at the moment is to get you out of here.”

It could be a trap, possibly. But no matter how much he felt that this situation was extremely strange, he didn’t feel that his man was a danger to him.

After Steve’s application of all of his rhetorical skills, Mr. Stark finally agreed to come with him and get out of the old, dilapidated building. He looked suspicious the entire way, glaring at his surroundings as if they had somehow personally insulted him.

It was only on the way back to the Avengers headquarters that it clicked why the name Tony Stark had seemed so strangely familiar to Steve. The building they’d been in had once been a small factory for Stark Industries, but it had been abandoned and left to rot a long time ago.

To find a Mr. Stark in a former Stark Industries building was likely not a coincidence. Maybe he had only remembered that name after the whack on his head because he had seen it somewhere in the building. On some of the rotting machine parts, probably.

When they had left, Steve had contacted Jan and given her a heads-up, so be the time they arrived at the headquarter, she was already eagerly waiting for them. She gave Mr. Stark (still glaring suspiciously at his surroundings) one look and then sighed.

“Steve,” she said. “What have you picked up this time?”

Steve lowered his voice, leaning closer to Jan so that Mr. Stark wouldn’t hear them. “He says his name is ‘Tony Stark’ and he believes it’s the year 1967. I have no idea where he came from. I lit up a random candle in the Stark Industries building and it exploded. The smoke from the explosion might have forced him out from wherever he’d been hiding.”

“1967?” Jan repeated, her eyebrows rising. She shot another quick look at Mr Stark, who glared back. “Well, his styling is certainly on point. That’s peak 60’s fashion.”

Jan would certainly know, considering that her actual job was fashion designing.

“I’m not sure what to do with him,” Steve continued. “We should probably start with trying to find out who he really is. And maybe get him checked out.”

Jan considered the situation for a moment.

“You know,” she said slowly. “It’s strange that the name Tony Stark would pop up, especially in combination with the year 1967. If my memory doesn’t deceive me, Anthony Edward Stark was the son of the rich industrialist Howard Stark, who made a fortune with his company after the war. Of course, the company still exists today, as you know. Stark Industries. Tony Stark was to take over his father’s duties in time, and he was a genius by all accounts. But before he could step up as the new head of Stark Industries, he tragically died in 1967. They say it’s been a tragic accident, but there have always been rumours that there was more to it than that.”

“But why would he believe he is Tony Stark?” Steve asked, gesturing at Mr. Stark, who gave him a poisonous glare for his efforts. “It makes no sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jan agreed. “But that won’t stop us.”

Steve eventually handed Tony off to Jan, getting her to promise that she should take care of him and maybe recruit Natasha or Thor into keeping an eye on Mr. Stark, too, just to make sure that there wouldn’t be any issues.

They had taken Tony’s fingerprints and a photo in the hope that the more data they had, the more likely they were to find out who he really was.

Tony had been extremely fascinated with the came that Jan had produced out of her bag, taking it off her eagerly and turning it around in his hands, apparently just one screwdriver short of taking it apart.

It reminded Steve the tiniest little bit of himself when he’d woken up in the future for the first time, faced with all the technological advancements, only with a lot less hostility and a lot more enthusiasm.

After the photo session had been finished, Steve headed off to research Mr. Stark’s identity, while Jan took Mr. Stark to see a doctor.

The fingerprints they had taken had no match in the system, and after digging around aimlessly for a while, Steve decided to look up the deceased Anthony Stark instead.

What he found was… overwhelming. There were endless articles about him and his famous father, articles about his status as the most eligible bachelor and his undeniable appeal in women’s magazines, articles about all the different conspiracy theories after his death. There were also photos. An incredible amount of photos.

And, Steve had to agree, the man in the photos looked remarkably like the man whose picture he had just taken moments before. In fact, they looked the same down to the last detail.

Before he knew it, Steve had sent a request to the responsible authorities to get him a copy of the files of the investigation after Anthony Stark’s untimely death. It was likely to be a dead end in this case, but if anything, the original Mr. Stark’s death and Obadiah Stane’s subsequent rise to power seemed highly suspicious. A second look was doubtlessly warranted.

He decided to give up for the night just when his phone started vibrating. The call was from Jan, so he picked up quickly.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“Well, not really,” came Jan’s not very reassuring answer. “The physical went fine, the doctor couldn’t detect any injuries or any kind of trauma. But he has no idea how modern technology works, apparently, and then he got his hands on some tools and started taking everything apart. He took apart my TV, Steve! And then he put it back together, and not only does it work, the annoying flimmering I’ve been complaining about is also gone! I had to stop him before he took all of my kitchen appliances apart, too!”

“So he’s handy,” Steve said, unsure of what else he was supposed to say to that.

“Handy?” Jan repeated, incredulous. “Handy?? Steve, I had to explain the internet to him because he’d never heard of it, and 30 minutes later, he’s picking fights with people in internet forums! I have no idea what’s going on in his brain!”

“I’ll be there soon,” Steve assured her, ending the call.

Oh well, he thought to himself. Better than a horde of Hydra agents, probably.

Mr. Stark was busy cursing at the display of a laptop in his lap when Steve arrived in the living room in Jan’s apartment. At some point, Mr. Stark had changed out of his 60s suit and into something more casual and much more modern and comfortable. (It was probably one of Jan’s prototypes that she was currently working on.) Steve couldn’t help but notice how much better he looked without the pomp of the suit. Somehow, it seemed much more… approachable?

Not to mention that the tousled hair was very cute.

Natasha was there too, curled up in one of the armchairs and staring at Mr. Stark like a cat observing a particularly fascinating and unusual prey.

Jan rolled her eyes at Steve when he entered, waving one hand at Mr. Stark in a gesture that clearly spelled ‘see what I mean, this is ridiculous.’

“They all say I’m dead!” Mr. Stark exclaimed, shaking the laptop a little as if that would magically change the contents of whatever website he was currently browsing. “I’m obviously alive!”

“Well, ‘you’ haven’t been seen for the past fifty years,” Steve said. “These things tend to happen.”

Mr. Stark looked up, surprise written all over his face.

“Hey, it’s fake Captain America,” he eventually said, overly cheerfully. “Well, not so much now. I gotta say, I dig the All American Hotness in t-shirt and jeans.”

When Steve raised an eyebrow at him, Mr. Stark raised one right back.

“What?” he asked. “The internet tells me that gay marriage is legal now. Don’t be a homophobe.”

“That’s really not the issue here,” Steve said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He was pretty sure that he of all things wasn’t a homophobe. “The issue is that no matter how similar you might look to the late Anthony Stark, there’s no way that you’re the real one. It’s been over fifty years since his death, and by all accounts, Anthony Stark should by getting close to eighty now. You don’t even look thirty yet.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Mr. Stark replied. “And it’s not like you of all people have room to talk, Sleeping Beauty On Ice.”

“That was all technology,” Steve said, frowning. “They tested me thoroughly and found out that I’m capable of surviving certain conditions that a normal person wouldn’t. So instead of freezing to death, my bodily functions just shut down enough to put me into a deep sleep.”

“How convenient,” Mr. Stark groused. “Of course, I have no convenient explanation for why I’m here, since I don’t even know how I ended up in that building in the first place.”

Natasha murmured something in Russian and Steve looked over at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Witchcraft,” she said simply.

“Okay,” Steve said doubtfully. “And since when have you become a specialist of the occult?”

“I have many talents,” Natasha answered cryptically and gave him her best razor-sharp smile. (Steve decided he didn’t want to know.)

Jan clapped her hands.

“Right!” she said brightly. “I knew there was a reason why we keep Stephen Strange on the emergency contacts list.”

Jan called Dr. Strange and Dr. Strange said he would come after making all of them wait for a bit because of some other, and much more important, “supernatural emergency.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Stark kept poking at the internet, cursing whenever he found something he didn’t approve of, and murmuring to himself whenever he did approve of something.

When Dr. Strange finally arrived after a seemingly endless wait, he took one look at Mr. Stark before he turned around and fixed Jan, Natasha and Steve with a glare.

“So who was it that dabbled in Necromancy?” he asked. “Because that-” he jabbed sharply at Mr. Stark, sitting on the couch, “-really shouldn’t be alive.”

The three of them exchanged glances with each other.

“That would probably be you, Steve,” Jan suggested when they had been quiet for too long.

“Me?” Steve asked, a little shocked at the accusation. He would never.

“Well, you lit that candle in the old factory,” Natasha said. “If you think about it, it’s pretty odd to just find a candle lying around in an old, abandoned factory. Someone must have left it there on purpose.”

Well, one thing was certainly true about that. Normal candles didn’t just suddenly flash blue and explode. That left the question: Who had put it there, and why?

Steve had an uncomfortable flashback to all the different supervillain organisations that had been sighted in the area recently. Next to him, Jan’s expression told him that she was thinking about the same thing.

“Can we reverse it somehow?” Steve asked.

Dr. Strange sent him a flat look that clearly spelled that he certainly wasn’t going to dabble in Necromancy to help them get rid of a reportedly dead person.

“We can’t just let him stay here!” Steve reminded them.

“Why not?” Jan asked, and her brow furrowed dangerously. “It’s not like this is his fault!”

“Exactly!” Steve exclaimed. “He’s supposed to be dead!”

“He died with 27, for fuck’s sake!” Jan spat. “He might have wanted a little more from life than that!”

It was true, and Steve couldn’t deny that. And it made him angry.

But he also knew how it was to be completely out of time. A lot of people that Tony had known before were dead now. And the other… Steve didn’t want to think about that. The only thing that he had really left was…

“What the fuck did Obie do to my company?” Tony shouted, glaring at the laptop still in front of him. “What is this? The future was supposed to be brighter, not full of weapons!”

Jan made a conflicted face and walked over to the sofa. Tony looked up with a genuinely upset expression on his face.

“The future was supposed to be flying cars and planetary travel, not high-tech wars,” he told her quietly. The heartbreak in his voice was one that Steve was only too familiar with. He too had once believed that the future was bright.

“I know,” Jan said with a sigh, putting a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder. “But humanity has yet to learn how to be peaceful.”

Tony looked at her sadly. “We have already gone to the depths of depravity, how much further do they want to go?”

Then, suddenly, his expression changed into something much more determined.

“I’m going to dismantle them,” he declared, as if it was an easy thing to do.

“You’re officially dead,” Steve reminded him. “Technically, you don’t even exist.”

Tony glared at Steve as if he wanted to set him on fire by the force of his sheer will alone.

“We’ll see about that,” he eventually said, getting up and stomping out of the room.

Natasha sent Steve a judgemental and yet faintly amused look, and then turned to follow Tony.

“Don’t you just have a way with words,” Jan sighed.

Well. He couldn’t exactly deny that.

Tony certainly didn’t waste any time. Steve wasn’t sure how he made it all work, the trauma of his sudden arrival in the future, the fact that he had been dead for fifty years, everything.

Steve was sure that Natasha had her fingers in there somewhere, managing that Tony got his officially approved identity complete with social security number and tax returns suspiciously quickly. She also supplied him with contacts, Steve was sure, even though she would never admit that.

Once he was legally alive, Tony went to work without looking back. He immersed himself into the study of bleeding edge technology and before Steve even knew it, Tony had acquired the patents for three new kinds of smartphones, one paper screen, and a better hybrid motor for cars, among other things.

“It’s frightening,” Jan had said at one point. “Like, I knew they used to call him a genius, and he was actively involved in the research and development of Stark Industries when it had still been his father’s company. But it’s like the technological advancement since the sixties has completely unshackled him, as if he’s finally free to do the things he could only dream about before. It’s frightening and awe-inspiring at the same time.”

In the privacy of his own mind, Steve completely agreed with Jan. It was amazing to see the transformation, and how effortlessly Tony seemed to adapt to the 21st century. After a short while, it felt as if he had never led a different life, as if he had never died at all.

And then, whenever Tony caught Steve observing him, he would look back with a serious expression on his face before it would transform into a daring smile.

Steve never knew how to react to that (Was it a challenge? Or smugness) and just stared back blankly, his heart beating a little bit faster in his chest.

The true sensation came when Tony’s newly founded firm, Stark Solutions, got powerful enough in a very short time to be able to take over Stark Industries. At his first press conference, he announced that he would merge the two companies under the name of Stark Industries, but that the weapon production would cease immediately.

Until this point, Stark Industries had been at the forefront of the weapons market, and suddenly people were scrambling in a panic because Tony had decided that it was a better use of his time to gear his tech towards civilian use.

Tony didn’t care about the media backlash, and he laughed at the military threatening him, making their lives harder on purpose.

Steve looked at Tony and sometimes wondered how a dead man was more invested into the living word than many people who had yet their lives in front of them.

They never talked about it, but Steve had looked through the files of the investigation of Tony’s death, and he had come to the conclusion that there had been foul play. All signs pointed towards Obadiah Stane, who had had Tony killed for the sake of his own personal success.

He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure that Tony had looked through the files as well, and come to the same conclusion. It was only a pity that Obadiah had died in the 90s, Steve thought, because if it was worth beating one person shapeless with his shield, Obadiah was that person. He didn’t really take pride in these feelings, but honestly, who cared about pride when powerhungry men murdered innocent people to get what they wanted. He’d been Tony’s godfather, for fuck’s sake.

Among the high society, it was pretty much an open secret that the Tony Stark that had suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere to become one of the most powerful people in the tech business practically overnight really was the Tony Stark that had reportedly died in the 60s, but strangely, they gobbled him right up. No one questioned him, and no one asked about Obadiah, instead loving everything he did and panting after him in obvious and humiliating ways that made Steve roll his eyes.

He was the king of the court, and everyone knew it.

Steve couldn’t care less about that.

Steve’s personal high point came one night when Tony caught him at the Avengers headquarters just when he was preparing to go home after a relatively calm day.

“You’ve never asked me to join,” Tony said by way of greeting, looking at Steve as if the answers were written on his face somehow.

Steve shouldered his bag and walked to the door Tony was currently leaning against, trying not the be too obvious in his appreciation of Tony in jeans and a t-shirt that hugged his figure just so.

“I’m not making a dead person join a band of superheroes,” he replied, but the jab had long lost its sting. Steve would call Tony a dead person and Tony would smirk and show him all the way in which he most certainly was very alive.

It was… addictive.

“I am richer than God,” Tony said with a slight smirk, but Steve knew it was neither a boast nor a joke.

Granted, most of that money would never even get close to Tony, since the moment it had been earned, it would be reinvested in one of his companies or his loyal employees as if he was compelled to do so, but the point stood.

“So what, are you planning to be our Daddy Long Legs?” Steve snarked, shooting Tony a grin of his own.

“Something much better,” Tony replied with an equally predatory smile. “I have a suit of armor.”

Steve looked at Tony in surprise. “You built a weapon?”

“No,” Tony replied. “Not that it doesn’t have weapons, but that’s really not what I had in mind. I built a defense. Something that will stop people becoming the victims of violence. People shouldn’t live in fear of death every day. I thought this is what you stand for.”

“I do,” Steve found himself answering.

“Then,” Tony murmured, stepping closer to Steve and curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt before pulling him down to eye level, “why don’t you show me what you’re made of?”

For a moment, they both breathed the same air.

“Show me that suit,” Steve said, feeling a little breathless.

“Gladly,” Tony smirked. “Oh my Captain.”

Honestly speaking, Steve’s mother had raised him better. No good things came out of consorting with the dead, he’d been taught, and all the better if you didn’t even try. All it would do was to invite more trouble into your live than it was worth. His mother would be so disappointed in him if she knew what he had done. And she had been right; it had invited a lot of trouble into his life, more than he really knew what to do with, some days.

But here was where she had been wrong: All the trouble was utterly worth it. And if she had ever met Tony, she would probably agree with him.

Tony, certainly, was worth the exception.

#kuro writes #stevetony #stevextony #stony

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