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festivalsofmargot · 1 year

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how do you think Ominis, Garreth, and Sebastian would react to a jealous reader being jealous because someone else was being flirty and asking them to the Yule Ball?

The 3 Boys & Your Jealousy

{Garreth Weasley/Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader}

Word Count:

Garreth: ~ 1500 words

Ominis: ~ 1700 words

Sebastian: ~ 1400 words

Warnings: Kissing, Fluff, Angst

Author’s Note: Lord, I’m having so much fun with these requests. Thank you, anon!!! I tried to make them all have different reactions to reader getting jealous, but I know they’d all secretly love it lmfao. So it’s a little similar, but it’s definitely the 3 boys enjoying it in their own way. Have a fun time, everyone 🥰 Hope you’re all having a good day ❤

Songs (if interested):

Garreth’s song: You Stupid Bitch - girl in red

Ominis’ song: Silence / akiaura - hentai boys, akiaura

Sebastian’s song: My Kind of Woman - Mac DeMarco

Garreth:

“I feel like you’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?” Garreth Weasley had come up to you and asked. For someone who was asking if something was wrong, he could look a bit more concerned. Rather than just munching on his apple, looking at it like it was the only thing that had his full attention.

You took a deep breath and rubbed at your temple roughly. You were overreacting and you knew it, but dammit you couldn’t help but hate him at the moment. “No Garreth, I’m just not in the best mood today.”

“Well, talk to me.” He plopped himself down on the Central Hall fountain bench next to you. “Some have called me a good listener.” He took another bite of his apple, obnoxiously loud.

“Not right now. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

“Who else could I bother like this? You and I got a good thing going.” He haphazardly joked.

“How about your date to the ball? That’s a good place to start if you ask me.”

He furrowed his brows, trying to decipher what you were talking about. Then he remembered Samantha Dale had asked him to be his date the night before. “Oh! You know about that? How does word travel so fast in such a huge castle?” He wondered aloud with his mouth full, looking at his apple as he turned it in his hand.

Merlin, you didn’t know why you were so head over heels for Garreth Weasley. Something about his carefree, aloof attitude made you fluttery all over. You wanted to smack him just as much as you wanted to kiss him.

Truth be told, you were convinced he was going to ask you to The Yule Ball. But once you saw Samantha Dale talking with him about it and seeing how big his smile was, you became so frustrated with yourself for ever thinking such a thing. How could you have been so wrong about his signs? You shouldn’t have assumed your flirty banter together was something special between the two of you. You had no one to blame but yourself.

“Look Garreth, I’m pretty busy. Samantha will be better company than me today.” You took out the essay you were halfway finished with and began writing, hoping he would take the hint.

He was about to take another bite of his apple when the pieces came together in his brain. You think I said yes to Samantha... and you're jealous.

It was hard to keep calm when he felt so elated. He had been pining for you since 5th year and never had the courage to confess his feelings. Being with you as a friend was better than risking not being with you at all. But here you were, acting as green as his eyes. Becoming jumpy, he scratched the back of his head and looked away from you, trying to bite back his delighted smile.

“So...” He began as casually as he could, “You don’t like the idea of me going to the ball with Samantha?”

You stiffened. Am I caught? You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I don’t care who you go with, Weasley.”

You used his last name instead of his first, that was how he always knew if you were upset with him. In this particular moment, he took a dark pleasure in it. “Well, it sounds like you care a little.”

You looked up from your essay to the marble floor in front of you and clenched your jaw, trying to calm your irritated nerves and stop yourself from saying something you’d regret. “It doesn’t matter if I care. Go with who you want.” You went back to your essay.

“But you care.” He slid closer to you so that his thigh was touching yours. Your whole body tensed and you shifted your leg away, disgusted at his brazenness to continue flirting with you when he was going to the ball with someone else.

“I’m going to work in my room.” You pulled your belongings together and left your place next to him.

Garreth got up and followed you easily, finishing the last of his apple and tossing it in a nearby bin. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe off any apple juice. Maybe he could wipe off his idiotic smile while he was at it too.

You could feel his chest practically against your back as he followed close in pursuit. “Leave me alone, Garreth. I’m really not in the mood today.” You growled at him, but he didn’t let up.

He took glances around as he kept up with you. Once he was confident no one was looking, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into a nearby, empty corridor.

“What are you -”

“Tell me you’re jealous. I want to hear you say it.”

His words sent your mind through a whirlwind and you shoved him away. “You got some nerve, going to the ball with Samantha and going after me like this -”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! I turned her down. School gossip failed to mention that part, I see.” He interjected. “Now let me have this a little longer.” He stepped closer to you, daring you to push him away again. “This thing where you want me all to yourself, I think I really like it.” His words came off as a jest, but he was genuinely aroused.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to determine if he was being truthful or just trying to keep up his flirty banter with you. But your icy glare at him through your lashes only made him more feral rather than intimidated.

“I -” He cleared his throat, regaining composure. “I’ve been looking for you all day so I could ask you to the ball, but you kept dodging me.”

“Garreth, if this is some sort of messed up joke where you try to get two dates to the ball -”

“It’s not. But, that is a fun idea.” He quipped, hoping it would lighten the mood.

Sighing, you turned on your heel to walk away.

“Sorry sorry sorry, bad joke, bad time.” He grabbed your wrist, panicked. “But I’m serious about taking you. I really want to take you.” He swallowed thickly and held your wrist in his hand. “Would you... want that too?” As he waited for you to respond, he had started stroking your skin with his thumb, unaware he was doing so.

His hopeful look along with his tone had managed to convince you he was being truthful. This was the first step either of you had taken beyond flirty banter, and it had you finally soften to him that day. You looked at his hand on your wrist and adjusted so you could entwine your fingers through his. His heart nearly burst out of his chest. Was this finally happening?

You looked up at him then, but locked on his lips rather than his eyes. Heat formed in his abdomen at your gaze. He used his free hand to cup your jaw. The dark look in your eyes told him you had the same severe craving for him as he did you. He eased towards you and brushed his lips over yours.

He pulled back to gauge your reaction. You looked at him with wide eyes and for a brief moment, he thought he had messed up and taken it too far. But all that panic went away when you dropped your books and threw your arms around him, seizing his lips, taking all coyness between you two and throwing it out the window.

Your sudden burst had rocked him both physically and mentally. Gripping you back, hard and fast, he steadied himself, stepping on your essay as he did so. He matched your eager mouth movements with just as much intensity.

Needing to come back up for air, you pulled back. You looked at each other, breathless. All that tension between you two through the years had finally been able to get released at least somewhat.

“You looked so happy when Samantha asked you. I assumed you said yes.” You told him, still catching your breath.

He hadn’t realized you had been there to see Samantha asking him to the ball. He was both sorry you didn’t catch him rejecting her and sorry you had to catch it at all. Merlin only knows how he would have handled watching someone else asking you. “She’s a good friend, I mean I wasn’t going to scowl or laugh her off. I was letting her down as easy as I could.”

“I’m sorry I was jealous.”

He kept his face close to yours and glanced back at your lips, ready for more. “I’m sorry I enjoyed it.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not.” He captured your lips once more.

Ominis:

Ominis was in a full on panic. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he had done wrong. He may be blind, but he could sense, clear as day, that you were upset with him.

He was pacing back and forth in his dorm room when he was supposed to be at dinner. The sickness he felt had made it hard for him to want to digest anything.

He had been up at all hours of the night thinking about how he was going to ask you to The Yule Ball. But every time he tried to approach you that day, you’d take your leave. He thought he would have gotten his chance in History of Magic class, but everything seemed off. You usually tried to sit close to him and brush your fingers along his, it excited him each and every time. But today, he felt as if you were sitting as far as you possibly could from him.

He was trying to think back on everything that happened before you became so drastically distant. The last time he remembers you two being fine was when he had finally built up the courage to ask you that morning.

Sebastian had pushed him to do it and fueled his ego to prep him, affirming that he saw the way you looked at him and how you weren’t so subtle about it. He was filled with so much joy, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a buffoon when he went to talk to you.

“Ominis!” You had greeted him so cheerfully, it had removed any doubt in what Sebastian told him. As he was about to greet you back, Adelaide Oakes had touched his shoulder from behind to grab his attention. She then went on and on about how she fancied him, and took the ball as her chance to finally tell him how she felt. He had never been so overwhelmed with romantic attention in his life, it only fueled his confidence more. His words came out in a stutter to Adelaide to thank her but decline. It was difficult to turn someone down while grinning like a fool.

“I um - I'll leave you two to it.” He heard you say before he finished speaking with Adelaide. Your footsteps behind him had walked away so fast, he would have believed it if you were running. And ever since, for some reason you’ve been... oh. It hit him then. You must have assumed he was going to say yes to Adelaide. You couldn’t possibly be jealous, could you? If you were, he needed to find you and fix this immediately. But damn him if he wasn’t a bit thrilled at the idea.

He had his wand guide him to the first place he thought you could be in, the astronomy tower. It was late in the day, he was sure you’d be there. As he made his way up, he found his excitement at your jealousy swelling. You weren’t jealous because he was a Gaunt, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, going with someone else. No, you were jealous because he was Ominis, a boy you liked for who he was, going with someone else. Or so you thought.

When his wand brought him to the astronomy tower and sensed you were close, he felt a bit of pride that he knew you as well as he thought he did. But he steadied himself, remembering you were upset with him. Coming at you beaming probably wasn’t the best approach.

“Ominis? What brings you here?” Your voice was monotone, nowhere near as pleased to see him as you were earlier.

He was relieved you were willing to speak to him rather than run off. “I needed to talk to you. Figured you’d be up here.” He approached cautiously.

You furrowed your brows, wondering what he could possibly need you for. Oh you’d just die if he wanted to ask for advice on how to treat Adelaide well at the ball. You turned away from him and lazily looked through your telescope. “Probably best we talk tomorrow.”

“You’re upset with me.”

You peeked up at him briefly, knowing it wasn’t fair to be, then went back to your telescope. You exhaled, inwardly chiding yourself. Ominis doesn’t owe you anything. “I’m sorry, I’ve just... had a lot on my mind.”

His wand guided him to the railing you were near and he leaned himself against it. “I’m all ears.” Part of him wanted to clear everything up as soon as possible, but another, increasingly louder part of him wanted to hear you confess that you were jealous, confess that you didn’t want anyone else to have him but you. So, he dared to play coy a little longer.

“You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Try me.” The way he said it had taken you aback, as if he was telling you, not asking you, to talk to him.

“And what if I don’t want to tell you?” You looked back up at him, a bit of venom coming through.

He took a few steps towards your voice. I think I like this game. He knew he shouldn’t find your jealousy this exhilarating, but he did. He wanted it to absorb you until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

The look on his face stirred something fierce in you and you tried to take a quiet, calming breath. You hoped he wouldn’t hear you doing so, but he did, and it only added fuel to his fire.

“I don’t hear you walking away, so I think you do want to tell me.” He reached out for your robes and pulled at you to come closer to him.

You had been weak for Ominis Gaunt since 5th year, so you obliged. But you didn’t do so without internally screaming at yourself for being such a fool.

Despite being so close, you kept your hands to yourself, he noted. But he could sense your body tensing and he knew you were close to talking. He just needed to hold out a bit longer, push you just so in the right direction. “You’re angry with me, tell me why.” He knew why.

“I shouldn’t be angry with you.”

“Yet you are.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what I’ve done.”

“You... haven’t done anything.”

His grip moved from your robe to your waist, he could feel you shift at his touch, but you didn’t pull away. “I have, tell me.”

“You know, you shouldn’t be up here with me alone, touching me like you are. Wouldn’t want Adelaide or me getting the wrong idea, would you?” He could hear the bitterness in your voice, and it was sending him over the edge. You shoved his hand away and went to the railing, leaning forward and looking out. “I don’t think you mean to, Ominis. But you’re really messing with my head. Looking as happy as you were when Adelaide asked you to the ball, and now you’re here acting like you care for me.”

He followed your voice again and came up behind you. His hands found your shoulders and he comfortingly slid them down to your biceps. His touch still had the same, nerve-racking affect on you. You shrugged him off and turned to face him. He put both hands on the railing on either side of you, trapping you in. “I do care for you.”

As a friend. You wanted to finish for him. Him saying this to you knowing he was going to The Yule Ball with Adelaide hurt. Ominis was the last person who should be comforting you. “I need to go.” You nearly choked, heartbreak constricting your throat. But Ominis kept you blocked in, he wasn’t going to let you leave.

“Tell me why I’ve upset you.”

Being in this position with him had an inferno swirling in you. Being able to see his pale, blue eyes this close had any fight in you vanish. “I wanted... you to ask me to The Yule Ball today. I wanted you to go with me, not Adelaide.”

He leaned forward towards your neck and brushed his nose along your skin.

Your melancholy turned into something else at his touch, something more throbbing. You reached your hands up along his chest, felt his heartrate pick up along with yours. “I want you to be with me.” You confessed in a whisper.

He began to kiss at your neck and you fisted the fabric of his uniform to keep yourself upright. He kissed up your neck, along your jaw, feeling his way to find your lips. He got to the corner of your mouth and pulled back just slightly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I want you all to myself.”

He crashed his lips into yours. Your hands held tight to his shirt to keep him close. He took his hands off the railing to wrap his arms around your waist, his place against your mouth feeling all the more secure. You nipped at his bottom lip and he couldn’t help but let out a throaty “mmh.”

He often tried to imagine what it would feel like to kiss you, the taste of your lips, the sensation of your hands roaming him as pretty as you pleased. This moment had been better than anything he conjured up in his head. He had never envisioned how much hot need would be in it until he had you there in his arms.

You tried to push him away suddenly, but he kept at you, not yet having had his fill. “Wait -” You caved for a brief moment and kissed him back, then pulled away again. “What about -”

“I said no to Adelaide.” He went back to your lips, then to your neck to explain himself so you’d stop pulling away. “I was going to ask you. But you ran off.” He hoped that was enough to stop any further questions, because his mind was already onto more pressing matters. He had heard that sucking on someone’s neck would leave marks, he decided to try it on you then.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head. “You um -” You cleared your throat, “You still want to ask me?”

“I will, but let’s not talk right now.”

Sebastian:

“What has gotten into you today?” Sebastian caught you off guard, shutting the greenhouse door behind him. You were tending to the carnivorous plants for Professor Garlick, you being the only student she really entrusted with such duties.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, then brought your focus back to the plants. “I’m a little busy right now, Sebastian.”

He had never heard you speak to him with such acidity, you might as well have slapped him in the face. You had been in a sour mood with him all day. Of all the times for you to be upset with him, why did it have to be the day he had finally decided to confess his feelings and ask you to The Yule Ball? He strode to your side and bore his gaze into you, willing you to face him and explain yourself.

You didn’t give in and continued tending to the chomping cabbages. Sebastian was the last person you wanted to see. After everything the two of you had gone through, all the glimpses you gave each other, all the near kisses, how could it not mean the same for him as it did you? Was his overprotectiveness for you something brotherly rather than romantic? You felt so stupid having mixed the two. You had fallen so deeply in love with him through the years, and now you’ve come to find he doesn’t see you in that way. He made it very obvious how smitten he was when Grace Pinch-Smedley fawned over him, professing her love and asking him to the ball.

“At least tell me what's upset you so.” He said sternly, interrupting your tragic thoughts.

You knew you should wait until your anger dissipated before speaking with him, but in that moment you didn’t care. You set down your gardening tools and turned to face him.

“How about we talk about you first, Sebastian?”

He let out a frustrated exhale through his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. “What about me?”

“I saw you and Grace speaking this morning, seems you were quite pleased with yourself. Care to share?”

He quirked his brow, not sure where you were heading with this. He remembered Grace speaking with him, but he didn’t remember feeling ‘pleased with himself’. “You saw Grace and I, did you?”

“I did.” You turned back to the chomping cabbages then. “Seems she was doing more than just asking you to the ball.”

He inwardly cringed at the memory. He was flattered at her confession, sure. But the part where he had to reject her had really taken away anything pleasant about the moment. “She told me she had been... harboring feelings for me.” He got shifty thinking back on it, getting rejected after spilling your guts like that must be dreadful.

You took note of his body language, and rosy cheeks. It was salt in the wound and the scowl on your face deepened. “No need to be so bloody bashful about it, Sebastian.” You mumbled.

He stilled then. You thought he was ‘bashful’ thinking back on his interaction with Grace? The gears in his brain started turning.

In that moment, you figured this was your last chance to lay it all out there for him. Since Grace very blatantly told him she wanted more than just a date to the ball, best to tell him how you felt now before they were officially together.

You turned to him fully. “Sebastian, do you care for me?”

His heart began racing and he straightened. “Of course.”

“Like you care for Anne and Ominis?"

“I do.” He said with conviction.

“So, like a sibling?”

“I - Well, I -”

“Because I don’t care for you like a brother, Sebastian.” You took a step towards him.

He was entranced, listening close to everything you had to say. The air between you two grew thick and it clicked for him then. The possessiveness he usually felt over you was now what you were feeling over him. You were under the impression he accepted Grace’s feelings... and you can’t stand it. A rousing sensation shot through him. He wanted to see what more you would do with this newfound greediness for him.

“Perhaps you should have gotten to me before Grace did.” It was bold. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but seeing you act in the way he usually did was a turn of the tables he never knew he wanted to see. He was going to egg you on, get as much of this avaricious side out of you as he could before you devoured him like the plants in this room wanted to.

You reached out to him and began trifling with his tie. He stood perfectly still, afraid that if he moved you’d get discouraged and release him. “Are you telling me you would have been mine if I got to you first?”

Oh yes. “Suppose we’ll never know, considering you didn’t.” This wasn’t at all how he thought confessing his feelings to you would go. But this was a much more electrifying way to do so.

The two of you had unknowingly stepped closer to one another, pulled together like magnetic stones. Your hands were no longer fiddling with his tie, but rather holding it, ever so gently pulling him towards you. “So I’ve lost you, have I?”

Fight for me. Don’t let anyone else have me. “And if you have?” He wanted to find out what your lips tasted like more than he ever had before. He was so close, and eyed them oh so hungrily. But he tried to hold strong a bit longer, so he could know if you were feeling just as carnivorous for him as he always had for you.

The fire in your eyes almost had him on his knees.

Claim me. Claim me as I’ve claimed you.

Giving his tie a hard yank, you pulled him to you and caught his lips with yours. You didn’t waste any time, straightaway tasting his bottom lip with your tongue. Keeping an unyielding grip on his tie, you shot a hand up to his hair and held tight. He put his hands on your hips, and couldn’t stop himself from pulling at your shirt so it came untucked. His hands roamed around your lower back, under your shirt to feel your skin.

Your movements in this kiss were the result of years of pining. There was both an ache to take it slow, feeling everything you both possibly could, and an urgency to make up for lost time right then and there. Now that you finally had him... Wait wait wait, I don’t have him.

You tore yourself from him and walked away, tucking your shirt back in.

“Wha - What? Where are you going?” He was breathless and dizzy and disheveled from your kiss. Get back here.

“Go to Grace.”

He groaned. He should have known keeping up the Grace ruse would have some sort of consequence. But in the moment, he was so obsessive over the fact that you wanted to stake your claim on him, he couldn’t help himself. “I lied about Grace. I turned her down.”

You turned to face him, still keeping your distance across the greenhouse. “Why would you -”

“Because being near you makes me crazy, that’s why!” He shot a hand through his hair, more out of anguish than to fix the mess you made. “I’m mad for you. How have you not noticed? This... possessiveness you have over me today? I feel it for you all the time. So, I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I -” He let out a shaky breath, trying to put the words together. “Seeing you act how I have... I wanted to relish it a bit longer. Forgive me.”

You remained where you were, but he could see your features shift. “Enjoyed my suffering, did you?”

Trying to keep his composure, he nodded his head. Your sultry look had his blood heading somewhere it shouldn’t in the middle of the greenhouse.

He may have been slow catching onto your jealousy, but he was quick to catch that you wanted his lips back on yours. Ravenous himself, he strode up to you and pulled you back against him.

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emeritusemeritus · 26 days

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One, two, three? [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: one, two, three?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Non-specific.

Summary: Fred gets up to mischief pretending to be his twin.

Warnings: None? Slight deception, pranks, humour. Fred’s a menace. Sorry Cho, I needed a victim.

Word count: 1.3k

In honour of our April fool’s birthday kings, HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED AND GEORGE. Please accept this little prank-filled drabble as a gift.

"Hi, um George?" You heard a voice behind you say meekly, causing you and your companion to turn around in confusion.

You'd been in the library for most of the afternoon with Fred, studying for your end of term potions exam whilst he looked up ingredients for a new project him and George had been developing, some new potion that made the drinker glow like a candle. To your surprise, Fred was actually concentrating for the most part and had actually allowed you to get some valuable studying done without much interruption, though you could sense his concentration wavering and boredom taking over him as he got increasingly fidgety.

George had managed to get detention with Mcgonagall today before dinner, though Fred had managed to avoid the punishment entirely on account of being the first to flee. George had mentioned in passing that his charms partner would be meeting you all in the library after the last class of the day for them to work on their homework together and of course you thought nothing of it when Cho joined you in the library.

Charms this year had been a little different as you were sorted into classes of grouped abilities with some students able to take a short course for their OWLS from the year below, so that they could study another elective if they wished. Due to this, a few students from the year below had entered your class at the start of the year and you were no longer lumped with just the Slytherins, the short course students were mixed houses.

"Oh hey y/n," Cho said as you turned, offering you a shy little wave with her free hand as she clutched a handful of books to her chest. You'd never really talked much with Cho but she always seemed nice and friendly. You greeted her and began to correct her previous misstep when Fred leapt to his feet, pulling out a chair for her.

"Hi Cho, what are we working on today?" He said with a wicked glint in his eye, pretending to be George. You looked at him momentarily with a disbelieving look before rolling your eyes, knowing that he would deeply enjoy playing along as his twin to cause a little mischief.

"I thought we could start with the non verbal spells?" She says, taking a seat and spreading out an array of books, parchment and quills for the task.

You barely paid attention to them as they talked, though your attention was drawn in every so often when Fred would drop little hints that he might not be the right twin, though they went entirely over Cho's head. She had no clue that she was actually talking with Fred and you had to say that it did amuse you slightly, though not as much as it did Fred. Around half an hour had gone by, George still hadn't showed and you could tell that Fred was getting bored of the act and was getting close to actually doing the work which he had no intention of doing, so he decided he would feign needing to meet Fred.

He shot you a wink as he stood, subtly kicking his bag under the desk towards you and walked out, leaving you and Cho alone. You chatted for a little while, mainly asking her how Quidditch was going, before a familiar red head rejoined you.

He had taken off his school jumper, untucked his white shirt and you noticed that his hair has been tussled slightly with a little more of the short, front strands pushed back. It didn't fool you for a second but you were intrigued to see if it could pass with someone that didn't know them, like Cho.

"Cho right? Hey," Fred says with a smirk and a nod of his head before he slumped down onto the seat beside you where he'd occupied only minutes before. He stretched out his arm around your shoulders as he took a seat and had said a simple, "hey gorgeous," to you as he grinned ear to ear.

"Hi, Fred right?" She says sweetly, her eyes squinting a little as she looks at him, hey eyes flicking between the pair of you and his arm around your shoulders, deducing that it must be your boyfriend.

"Yeah, this is Fred," you confirm, your tone a little drier than usual as you pointedly looked at him. He squeezes your shoulders tighter in a mock warning before offering a warm smile to Cho.

"You're George's charms partner right? Have you seen him? I've been looking everywhere for him," he says with a smirk. You roll your eyes and shift out of his hold to hunch yourself back over your potions book, subtly shaking your head at his actions, knowing he was enjoying himself way too much. Cho however, nods enthusiastically before looking around slightly with her eyes as if searching for her charms partner.

"He actually just left, he was looking for you," she says shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear where it had fallen out of her headband.

"Really? Interesting," Fred says, leaning back in his chair. "I'll go find him." Fred leans forward and kisses you on the head before walking casually out of the library doors, leaving you alone with Cho once again.

"They spend a lot of time together don't they?" She says, breaking the somewhat comfortable silence and you have to hold back a laugh as you look up from your book.

"Yeah I've always said they're more like conjoined twins than identical," you joke, sending her a warm smile. You knew she was probably uncomfortable having never spent much time around you and the twins and so you tried your hardest to be nice to her, despite Fred's silly prank.

"Sorry about that," Fred says rushing back in, now wearing his school jumper once again, pretending to be George.

"Oh Fred’s just been, he was looking for you," Cho says as she looks at 'George', pushing the textbook over to him as he takes his seat.

"Really, so he's around?" 'George' says with a tone of surprise, suddenly looking around as if he'd just missed his twin.

"I'm gonna scout out the courtyard, he's supposed to be meeting me, bloody Fred," he says playfully, rising from his seat once again and walking back through the doors.

"Couldn't see him," Fred says, walking back in not two minutes later, once again without his shirt and with slightly more tussled hair.

"He went looking for you in the courtyard," Cho says, looking up briefly from where she was taking notes on a piece of parchment. If she was annoyed by the constant disruption, she didn’t show it.

He shrugs and takes a seat next to you, trying to slide you closer to him by scooting your chair up towards his as he smiles widely at you, beaming with pride that his little prank was working.

"Hi, sorry I'm so late," George says, the real George, as he rushes in, throwing his bag off his shoulder and placing it onto the table looking a little puffed. He takes off his robe, placing it down on the back of the chair and you immediately notice that he'd not wearing uniform, or rather he is but he has a thick wool jumper on over the top that's zipped right up to his throat, hair soaking wet from the rain.

Cho suddenly looks between them and then to you with a face of alarm, trying to process what was happening as she takes in his different appearance.

"Wait, there are three of you?!"

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tackytigerfic · 10 months

Text

Fledgling

Some scrap words I won't be using for another fic, repurposed for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Hatch. Anyway, this is another dads Drarry piece (i know i know). Newborn Albus and newborn Scorpius, tired fathers, both recently separated. Harry struggling a bit with life as a parent. No major warnings that I can think of but do please let me know if there's anything. Unbetaed

ETA: actually re CW there is mention of an unwanted/unexpected pregnancy. Pls do proceed with caution if that's a tricky topic as I don't delve into it with the nuance it deserves. As to my stance, i am firmly pro-choice and it's not the sort of topic i usually take lightly.

Harry hadn’t thought the sling thing through before he left the house, and now his whole back is aching and he keeps whacking people with the unwieldy changing bag that won’t stop slipping off his shoulder. Albus is weeping noisily, one side of his tiny face pressed against Harry’s t-shirt, his new-blue eyes shutting and opening in bewildered exhaustion. Looking down into the sling, Harry can only see the fluffy top of his head, the fuzz of eyelashes, the slack weight of his plump cheek, but he can feel the tear-wettened patch of fabric spreading. They're both exhausted, the heat of summer making Harry's back prickle with sweat under the straps of the sling.

Harry's at the farmers market off Diagon, trying to buy vegetables. He doesn’t actually want to eat a vegetable, or indeed anything that involves chopping or cooking or making any sort of effort at all. In fact, what Harry wants is to go home and lie alone, in total silence, on the sofa in the back parlour, where the air is always cooler, and drink a very cold beer, and eat nothing but Monster Munch and Dairy Milk for dinner.

However Harry has to buy, cook, and eat vegetables, not just because he has to set a good example for his children, but also because if he dies of scurvy then he’ll be no better than his parents were, having a kid they were too young for, then going off and getting themselves killed. Though at least Harry's boys would have the Weasleys, which means they’d be loved at least, which is more than Harry was, and now his eyes are prickling with self-pity and guilt, and Albus is crying so hard he’s hiccuping, and god, Harry needs some sleep. But he won’t get any, because Molly can only keep James for another twenty minutes, and Harry has to get his grocery shopping done, and then it’ll be bathtime and bedtime and another broken night, and so the cycle continues, a relentless loop that might feel like a time-turner is involved except that Harry somehow manages to find brand new things to feel absolutely grim about every single day.

He sighs, pokes at a flabby-looking aubergine, then remembers how much work he’d have to do to make it taste good and just grabs some carrots instead. His hands are already full, the changing bag swinging and banging against his hip. Albus’s little legs are squirming in rage now, his whole body in muscular rolling motion against Harry’s chest.

“Please, baby,” he whispers, kissing the damp little head. “Please just calm down.”

He reaches for a butternut squash, and the bag swings forward and drops into the crook of his elbow, hitting the vegetable stall. Somewhere below him, a point he can’t actually see over the lump of screaming baby, he hears the hollow thumping noise of something falling and hitting the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a cabbage trundling onto the footpath, then another and another. The man who works at the vegetable stall gets his wand out and starts Accio-ing the fallen cabbages, giving Harry an unimpressed look which he extends to the baby in the sling. Harry feels suddenly enraged, and he drops the carrots so he can bring his hand up in front of them, a protective shield against the horrible man’s disapproval, and now the other shoppers are staring too, a woman with a bored-looking teenager giving Harry’s strewn carrots a pointed look as she bends to pick them up off the ground.

Harry can’t bear it anymore, hating himself, hating the people shopping like their worlds haven’t come to a standstill like his has, hating the great fucking changing bag and the carrots and even, for one awful shameful moment, the crying baby, and he moves further down the street to where there’s a break in the stalls, a mercifully unoccupied bench, and a busker playing some sort of multi-horned instrument that is making enough noise to drown out Albus’s wailing. He sits, carefully, so Albus is higher on his chest with one plump cheek against Harry’s fast-beating heart, and closes his eyes.

“Here,” a voice says, and Harry opens his eyes to see a plume of green feathery leaves, a hand clutching… is it the bunch of carrots? And then he looks up, beyond weary now, and it’s Malfoy there, because of course it is. “I saw you dropped these.”

Malfoy sits down uninvited, just sags down onto the bench next to Harry and lets the bunch of carrots fall on the seat between them. Harry hasn’t seen much of him since school, though he knew Malfoy had got married, and he’d definitely seen something in the papers when the baby was born. He looks awful, Harry thinks, too pale even for him, with sickly blueish shadows under his eyes. His hair is long, curling round his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the heat. He’s wearing a shirt that has some sort of greyish white stain all down the front, and the points of his collar are soft and floppy in the heat, like a puppy’s ears.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Harry says.

“I just want some rest,” Malfoy says, and he stretches his legs out in front of him and tips his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes. His throat is one long bared line, and in the crisp afternoon light Harry can see the fine glint of stubble all along his jaw where he clearly hasn’t shaved in a while.

“This doesn’t quite seem like the right place for resting,” Harry says. “This one won’t shut up, for one.” He looks down at Albus, his throat tight, then back at Malfoy. “Sorry. For the noise, I mean. I’ve tried everything and he just won’t stop.”

“Oh.” Malfoy waves his hand vaguely in Harry’s direction, eyes still closed. “I can’t even hear him, really. It’s practically a holiday for me, hearing a baby crying that isn’t my own. Not my problem, for once. No, this one here is the reason I need a rest.” He opens his eyes as though it costs him effort, and jerks his head to the side. There’s a pram parked there, the old-fashioned silver chassis winking in the sun, gleaming hood drawn up to shade the baby inside. Harry can barely see through a haze of brightly coloured sun protection charms, anti-hex shields, and elaborate cushioning charms. The pram looks like something Harry had seen in old photos Petunia had, like a relic of some half-forgotten time, but Malfoy puts a hand out almost proudly and rests it on the handle, rocking the pram back and forth slightly.

“He’ll only sleep if the pram is moving,” he says, sounding grim. “And I’ve only just got him to doze off. If he wakes up now, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it.” He looks at Harry, eyes wide, and places a hand to his mouth as though he wants to snatch the words back.

“Give us a proper look, then,” Harry says, and Malfoy gently lifts the shielding charms for a moment as Harry leans over a little to peer over the edge of the pram to see the baby. He's small and pink and not at all pointy, just a soft squidgy-looking bundle under a light summer muslin, with an almost invisible sheen of hair the same silver as Malfoy’s on his little head.

“That’s Scorpius,” Malfoy says, and he’s grinning a little, gazing distractedly into the pram as though he can’t quite help himself. Harry feels abruptly and surprisingly fond towards him. He’s seen that expression on his own face in countless photos of him with the boys.

“He’s cute. Interesting name.”

Malfoy goes pink, which makes him look a bit more like his old self, Harry thinks.

“It’s a family tradition,” Malfoy says stiffly. “And I happen to like it. And anyway, you can’t exactly talk, naming your child Albus.”

“Hey, no,” Harry says. “I wasn’t being— I mean, sorry if I sounded sarcastic or something. I really do like it. There were three Harrys in my form, at my old school before Hogwarts. I would have loved something different. I always wanted a cool name like Rocket or… Trent or… McGuyver, or something. I’d have loved to be called Scorpius.”

“You’re making it worse,” Malfoy says, though his lips are twitching. “Trent? Honestly, Potter.”

Then, as if compelled by curiosity, he leans over towards Harry and gently eases down the side of the sling so that he can look in at Albus from the side. Harry wonders what the baby must look like, in this heat, having been crying for so long, but Malfoy’s eyes soften and he smiles into the sling like he’s forgotten Harry’s even there, and Harry feels that irrational glow of pride he gets whenever anyone admires his babies. He’s mine, he wants to say. I made him.

Albus, as though sensing he’s being looked at, takes in a huge gulp of air with a sweet little wheezing sound and then, miracle of miracle, falls silent.

Harry and Malfoy look at each other over the baby’s head.

“Oh my god,” Harry mouths, and Malfoy mouths back at him, pointing into the sling, “He’s asleep!”

Harry isn’t sure how long they sit there. He thinks he might doze off for a while, though he can’t be sure. When he opens his eyes, Malfoy is still there beside him, resting his head on the back of the bench, pushing the pram wheel idly with one foot so that the whole thing rocks gently back and forward. He must sense Harry moving, because he yawns hugely and then blinks at Harry, or maybe into the sun, which is now setting behind Harry. At some point, the street musician must have moved on, because everything has the quiet, winding-down hum of early evening.

“This idea might be utterly mad,” Malfoy observes in a whisper, since both babies are, miraculously, still asleep. “I don’t know, since I’m so sleep-deprived I think my sense of reason has been affected. But would you possibly like to do this again sometime?”

“What, present each other with root vegetables and then fall asleep next to each other on a public bench?” Harry asks, amused. “No one could ever say we don’t know how to have a good time, I suppose.”

“Are you lonely?” Malfoy asks abruptly. “You seem lonely. Is that okay to say? I was watching you, you know, trying to buy your vegetables, and you looked about as miserable as I feel, and guess what? I was glad. That’s why I came to talk to you. I don’t think I’d have got the courage up if you’d been just standing there in the sunshine all golden and dewy and— and healthy looking—” He waves a hand dismissively in Harry’s general direction, the gesture somehow taking in every exhausted cell of Harry’s body. "Which, by the way, you do. Which is bloody unfair. But you also looked absolutely bloody livid and like you were about to cry.”

“I was,” Harry admits, because if Malfoy is oversharing, he might as well too.

“And I was glad,” Malfoy finishes, with a vicious satisfaction, and sits back. “I would have assumed you’d be really good at this, like you are at everything. No, no, I don’t mean you’re not a good father, Potter, anyone can see you’re hopelessly devoted to your offspring. I just meant, you looked like you were struggling. That you weren’t enjoying yourself. It was… refreshing. Reassuring, in a way. Like I’m not the only one who’s not a natural at this.”

“Albus was an accident,” Harry blurts out, covering the baby's ears carefully with his hands, though he's so deep in sleep he doesn't even stir. “Ginny and I were already separated. She had taken the job in Wales. She didn’t even realise she was pregnant for months, because she was training so hard she thought that’s why she felt tired all the time. And when she told me, I was so happy. She was crying and crying, she hates crying, I don’t know if you know that about her, probably not. But she just couldn’t stop, these big tears sliding down her cheeks. She was completely in shock, and I didn’t care at all. I wanted him, so badly, straight away. I could barely believe I got to have him. It felt like everything I had ever wanted, and that was all that mattered to me at that moment. And now he’s here and it’s like I’m being punished for it. It’s so hard, Malfoy. I’m on my own most of the time. Ginny was meant to have them at weekends, but she’s so busy and I don’t really want them going all the way to Wales without me just yet. And Ginny can’t fly after a week of broken nights, it would be too dangerous. So it’s just me, most of the time, and I’m so bloody lonely. Some nights when I’m up with one of the boys I just stand at the window and look out, just to see if I can find another house with a light on, so I feel like I’m not the only person in the world.”

“Wow,” Malfoy says. “That is a lot to be carrying around with you. Emotionally speaking, I mean, though it looks as though you’re overburdened physically too.” He eyes the changing bag with distaste. “Honestly Potter, are you a wizard or not?” He swings a hand over the bag, and Harry sees the tip of his wand sliding into his hand before Malfoy does a complicated little shivery wand movement over the bag. Then he sets his wand tip to the shoulder strap of Harry’s sling and performs a mild sticking charm, giving the sleeping lump of Albus a little pat before he sits back again. “There, that should hold until you get home.”

“Home…” Harry feels a familiar lurch in his stomach, the knowledge that he has forgotten something crucial but can’t quite put a finger on it. “Oh my god, Malfoy. I was meant to be at the Burrow to collect James at five o’ clock. What time is it? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. If I’ve made Molly miss her Witches’ Institute meeting she will hex me sideways.”

Harry stands, Albus wriggling and grumbling at the sudden movement and then subsiding back into sleep. The sling feels secure, more comfortable around the tired muscles of Harry’s shoulders. He grabs for the changing bag, which he lifts easily with one hand, the dead weight of it now lightened.

“Wow, Malfoy. What was that charm you used on the bag? It’s actually manageable now.”

“It’s a variation on the Feather-Light charm. Same principle and same incantation but a slightly different wand movement. Makes the results a bit more stable.”

“Nice.” Harry slides the strap of the bag onto his arm. “You’ll have to show me. Next time?”

“Next time,” Malfoy said, then grins, a sudden and charming smile that shows his nice teeth and makes him look younger and somehow softer. He has a dimple, Harry notices, tucked right into the dip next to his lip, easy to miss unless you’re really looking.

“Great, I’ll owl you. And Malfoy— Thanks. For the bag, and listening to me, and… well, everything.”

“And for the carrots.” Malfoy picks up the bunch with a flourish, the delicate green fronds quivering at the movement as he hands them to Harry. “You mustn’t forget those.”

“Well, I think I’m going to get a takeaway,” Harry confesses. “But I shall make sure to put these carefully into the salad drawer of the fridge so that they can moulder away gently there for a few weeks.”

“As is right and proper,” Malfoy replies, very seriously, then the slight quiver of his lips turns to a grimace as a squawk arises from the pram.

“Once more unto the breach,” he says, already moving towards the pram, reaching in to where the blanket is rippling from tiny kicking legs. “I’ll see you soon, Potter.”

“Good luck,” Harry says, tempted to pat him on the back or shake his hand, but catching himself at the last minute and realising how odd it would be to just start touching Malfoy all of a sudden.

He sets off for the Leaky, hoping that that queue for the Floo won’t be too long. At his chest, Albus sleeps on, and Harry feels the tension leave his shoulders, somehow unburdened.

#Not to start going on and on about craft #but it's incredible how much i've learned about writing in the few years since I started creating fics #i feel much more in control of my process #and also find it easier to work and rework a piece #it's been so useful since i started writing original work #good for patches of writer's block too #as i can go back to older pieces and see how I can tweak and mould them into something closer to what i want them to be.#i mean it's a constant learning process right?#but it does feel like i *am* learning #which is very fun #anyway #drarry #drarry microfic #rowing and writing

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phantomgrimalkin · 2 months

Text

A friend asked me if I thought Barty Crouch Jr is the Sirius who was sorted into Slytherin - and I realized Barty is the opposite side of the coin of Sirius.

Barty was sorted into Slytherin at the start of the war - and Voldemort’s supporters had been growing for a decade. So I don’t think Crouch Sr wanted his son anywhere near that house.

The housemates Barty had were literally the people Crouch Sr despised and wanted to throw in prison. They were people that Barty Crouch Sr literally had hunted down as cruelly as possible. By the time Barty graduated, I promise you that at least some of the people he had known personally had been arrested or even killed by his father’s aurors. That has to be chilling for a kid.

We know that Crouch Sr despised the Dark Arts and came down hard on established families like the Lestranges.

I think that Arthur is a decent parallel to Crouch Sr - the Weasleys are also a Sacred 28 family that find blood purity politics despicable. I think that Arthur feels especially strongly about speaking out about families like the Malfoys because Arthur is pure blood and he hates being lumped in with Dark Art practicing bigots.

And that is very much the energy that I see from Crouch Sr. He has a deep need to decry and destroy Dark Arts and I think he felt disgusted by blood purism. While I don’t think Crouch Sr would ever brawl in a bookshop, I think Crouch Sr would love to take Malfoy down and see Lucius rot in jail with the rest of them.

Okay. Back to Sirius. (I do love you, Siri)

The two have so many parallels. This post is a good breakdown of how much of Sirius’s interpretation of Barty’s situation was likely projecting and what it says about his own family.

They both were raised in powerful families, had high expectations put on them, and in whatever way didn’t live up to them. They both had at least one cruel parent. And another parent who, at minimum, didn’t protect them. (It’s generally suspected Orion was also cruel - it is possible he was just absent)

They’re both smart and talented. I wish we could see more of Barty as Barty but what he did as Moody - holy fuck the boy is skilled. That’s after a decade of house arrest and imperius following years in Azkaban.

I doubt he was allowed a wand. I imagine he spent a lot of time just reading and it’s a skill to be able to turn reading into practical application.

Sirius is reportedly quite skilled as well.

They were both rejected by their families.

But on opposite sides.

Barty Crouch Sr is head of magical law enforcement. I think the Blacks are like the Malfoys - they didn’t follow the laws properly. They certainly had loads of dark artefacts. I imagine most of them were illegal. Crouch Sr and the Blacks were on opposite sides.

The Blacks also seemed to have a lot more ancestral politics and expectations. It’s generally assumed heirs and proper heterosexual pureblood were expected. Admittedly I don’t know if this was stated, but it’s a strong assumption. So Sirius was expected to marry for power and to improve the family name - love had no place there.

We don’t know, but I suspect Crouch Sr didn’t subscribe to this. He had no problem throwing his son in Azkaban even though it would mean the end of the Crouch line unless Sr had another son. Which there’s no evidence he tried to do. I think Barty was likely discouraged from dating until after he was well established in his career and warned that dalliances were distractions.

So Sirius would have been raised being groomed to take on a role on an illegal family and taught underhanded methods. Barty would have been raised being groomed to take on a position of political power and uphold the law with cruel, emotionless force.

I think they were both taught to see all interpersonal relationships as means to an end. You don’t befriend people because you like them and get on - you make alliances with people who can help you achieve your goals.

So neither of them were given healthy love and support growing up. Neither were shown how to form healthy emotional attachments even with friends. Both of them were likely trained to focus on relationships with others as a means to an end and had high expectations placed on them that had nothing to do with their individual wants and needs and desires.

And both of them were sorted into a house full of people their family found despicable and actively worked to destroy.

Although Crouch Sr worked a lot more effectively.

Barty is actually, honestly, a far more tragic version of Sirius.

He had no James. His father had far more power.

#harry potter #sirius black #marauders #bartemius crouch junior #bartemius crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty crouch sr #marauders era #marauder era

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rockingrobin69 · 2 years

Text

Ridiculous(ly perfect)

On the table, arranged by size: caramel (Draco’s favourite) in the small bowl, apple cinnamon (seasonal) in the medium-size, and salty (Harry’s favourite) in a ridiculously large bucket. All of it was, a little—ridiculous that is. Two blankets neatly folded, enough cushions to drown in. And Draco, in those god-awful slippers, answering the door in what had to be the softest pyjamas in the universe. Looking at Harry, looking like that, swallowing a lot.

“I thought—was informed that an official movie night is meant to be... Perhaps Weasley didn’t mean it quite the way I…”

Harry had to close his eyes. “It’s perfect. Looks like such a nice, erm, fabric. Your pyjamas. Comfortable.”

“Oh.” He stood there for a second, or a million, before, “I have another pair, a fresh one. Would you like to? I could get them!”

Leaving Harry here, with all the popcorn and two large bottles of coke (which Harry didn’t even drink. Also didn’t know how to tell Draco when he declared, proudly, that he ‘managed to obtain’ the most ‘popular muggle drink’ Harry probably ‘remembers from his childhood’). Not knowing how to contain this silly, exaggerated feeling in his chest, this lump in his throat.

He melted on the sofa, trying not to imagine having Draco sitting very close, cuddling up against him, the way he only did when he was distracted. Usually this happened in Harry’s sham of a flat, a long-day, after-work type thing with Draco’s berry cider and whatever film they managed to find. Never planned, never like this, like… well. Harry certainly doesn’t prepare so much for them.

(He just makes sure the pantry’s always stocked with cider, that’s all. And keeps his blue hoodie for Draco when he inevitably gets cold. Hardly any work. Nothing compared to any of this.)

Draco came back, with an even softer pair of pyjamas, if such a thing existed. “You don’t have to, really. Only if—I could change. No? You really want to? All right. Let me just set up the film then. It’s, erm, Weasley said you liked it. You can go change while I… oh.”

Harry didn’t realise how close he was, only when he got a good whiff of Draco’s cologne. Appley-sweet, entirely intoxicating. He forgot what he was going to say.

“Erm.”

There was something about it, almost overpowering, the pink in his cheeks. “H-Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re… staring.”

He blinked himself out of the trance, looking around for something, anything to save him. “I just. You look so—everything is—” he took a deep breath, begged his mind to work. “Thank you. For setting this up. For me.”

“You said you wanted a proper marathon,” Draco shrugged, apologetic. “I just thought… I wanted to… is this all right? What you had in mind?”

He took his hand, couldn’t help it. “No. It’s perfect.”

Ridiculous, all of it, yeah. And perfect. Harry sunk into it: a night just for him, soft-soft-soft pyjamas, and Draco’s smile, even softer.

(Day 7 of @flufftober [wow, been a whole week]! Find all previous ficlets here or on AO3!)

#flufftober2022 #day 7 #Harry Potter #drarry fic #500 words #prompt: movie marathon #Draco as the over-the-top well meaning knucklehead #(he just wants to take care of harry your honours)#soft (literal)#my favourite item of clothing is these pyjama bottoms i got a good six years ago #still soft countless washing cycles later #there's magic in this world friends i wear it often #rockingrobin'sflufftober #rockingrobin69

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softlystarstruck · 3 years

Text

to dream of you

written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “sleepy” | 863 words, rated G | thanks to @amortentiaboys for the lovely beta!

The first time Harry pads across the floor of their shared room and slides underneath the covers of Draco’s bed, Draco is half awake and quite sure he’s dreaming.

“Hmm?” he manages, and Harry rolls on his side to face Draco, his features murky in the darkness.

“I had another nightmare,” Harry whispers, and Draco slings his arm across Harry’s warm waist and sinks back into sleep.

They’re not quite friends, certainly not enemies. They’re roommates. Civil to each other.

They also wake up tangled in each other's limbs every morning, always in Draco’s bed.

“Do you think you need Dreamless Sleep?” Draco murmurs one night, smoothing Harry’s curls away from his sweaty forehead. He’s found Harry’s nightmares aren’t loud, nor violent; instead, he just shivers silently and wakes with tears streaming from his eyes. Draco isn’t quite sure if screaming would be better or worse.

“Took too much over the summer,” Harry replies, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t have to come into your bed if it bothers you.”

“It doesn't.” Draco rolls onto his back to face the ceiling, too. He doesn’t mention that Harry’s warmth keeps his own nightmares away.

The next night Harry stays in his own bed, a dark lump that Draco stares at stubbornly until he gives up with a hefty sigh.

“You’re not a bother,” he says, elbowing Harry towards the wall. He slides under the covers, immediately overwhelmed by the scent of Harry.

“I just…” Harry trails off, curling into himself, so Draco pulls Harry close to his chest and murmurs nonsense into dark curls until he feels Harry’s breathing slow.

“Draco,” someone says softly, then louder: “Draco.”

The dim Eighth Year common room comes into view as Draco rubs away the grittiness of his eyes. Harry’s right in front of him, blinking owlishly behind his glasses.

“Harry?” Draco rubs his eyes again, glancing around the common room. They rarely interact outside their own room, but here’s Harry, holding onto Draco’s shoulder even as Granger and Weasley watch with interest from over by the fireplace.

“You should get some real sleep.”

“But…” Draco shakes his head a bit, finally remembering the Potions notes scattered around him. “I need to…” He gestures vaguely.

“It’s late,” Harry says, still quietly concerned. “Let’s go to bed.”

When Draco falls into Harry’s bed without a second thought, tucking the covers around himself as Harry brushes his teeth in the bathroom, he wonders what they are. What this is. But then Harry’s there, tucking his face into Draco’s neck, and it almost doesn’t matter anymore.

Draco should’ve known he would fall for Harry. It’s nearly laughable, the way it sneaks up on him, hitting all at once on an ordinary Saturday morning, when Harry yawns widely and rolls over before stretching his arm out across Draco’s chest.

“Good morning,” Harry says, his voice honey-warm in the morning light, and Draco can’t breathe. Harry’s curls are mussed, his green eyes bright. How Harry wakes up so quickly each morning is a mystery to Draco, when he’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes halfway through breakfast.

“Draco?” Harry raises his head a bit, a crease of worry appearing between his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“I– I.” Draco wants to roll away from Harry’s warmth, to tuck himself up into it and never leave; instead, he simply freezes. “What is this?”

“Oh,” Harry says, his mouth twisting at the corners. “We can– if you’re uncomfortable we don’t have to keep doing this, I can sleep– alone–”

“No,” Draco interrupts softly, finally giving into himself and pressing his body up against Harry’s. The relief of it nudges his thoughts out of his mouth, unbidden. “No, I just don’t know– what happens after graduation? It’s not very far away but… I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore.”

Something stricken flashes across Harry’s face and then his lips are an inch away from Draco’s, warm breath skating across Draco’s cheek. “Let me kiss you,” Harry says, his voice rough. “I thought we had time– I thought I had time to convince you to feel the same– god, I– just this once. Please. Let me kiss you.”

There’s a buzzing in Draco’s ears, panic and relief and confusion jumbled together, so he does the only thing he can right now: he presses his lips against Harry’s. There’s a startled little sound that could’ve come from either of them, then Harry’s kissing Draco back as though he’s trying to memorize the way Draco moves. Draco lets himself be pressed into the mattress, covered by Harry’s desperation.

“Don’t kiss me just this once,” Draco says as soon as they break apart, and Harry inhales sharply.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Harry drops his head down on Draco’s shoulder. “I… really?”

“Mhm,” Draco says into Harry’s jaw. He can feel Harry’s bright smile, and everything feels terribly fragile, but good. It feels so good. Harry shifts in Draco’s arms, getting comfortable, his skin warm and a bit sweaty where it presses against Draco’s. The blanket rustles as Harry presses his lips into the crook of Draco’s neck, softly, again and again.

Draco can’t remember the last time he felt so awake.

#softly writing #drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fic #hpdm

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butterbeerblurbs · 2 years

Text

you’re all i ever want (even if i don’t ask) (f.w.)

💌: a small disagreement with fred turns into a misunderstanding (aka two idiots who should’ve talked it out instead of ignoring each other) 📝 word count: 1,658 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸fluffflufffluff ✨ 💬: tbh idk what or why this came to mind but i’m not mad at it! so here it is! >:)

they say that when you have doubts about something revolving someone you care about, the best thing to do is to hash it out. get everything off your chest, let it all come out and try to be as honest and understanding as possible. now, if you and fred had taken that advice into consideration, maybe your cold war wouldn’t have lasted for as long as it currently is (which is a week–feels like a bloody century).

it was something small. well, depends on how you look at it. the yule ball, it was coming up. you were excited for the longest time; it felt like a fairy tale, the kind of thing you sleep dreaming about and waking up smiling because it’s everyone’s moment to indulge in the moment of being young and silly in love. to dress up, be all giddy, dance under the twinkling lights and warm candles.

yet, something as trivial as fred not asking you to be his date and responding with well, wasn’t it a bit obvious you were gonna go with me since you’re my girlfriend? made you more upset than it should’ve.

on one hand, fred thought it was simply natural. the two of you had been dating for a good year and a half so it was a no-brainer to think you’d go with him. on the other, all you wanted was for him to ask even though you’d say yes regardless. it was the thought that counts, no? apparently not.

instead of talking it out, well... george had to knock fred over the head a couple of times to muster up the balls to apologise and angelina had to force you into a room with your favorite (but now rather dreadful) ginger head into an empty classroom for the two of you to either patch things up and it’s a plus to another happy couple attending the yule ball or to declare another round of war. as much as your friend group pretends to barf and gag over the overflowing display of affection because your gazes for each other oozes out with twinkles of soulmate dust, they’ll have to admit, not hearing fred greet you good morning, sunshine! and your response of hello there, handsome, felt out of place... because two people that were radiating the warmth too close to the sun suddenly blew out too fast, too cold.

that brings you to now, standing in front of fred weasley with his head hanging low a couple of seconds after he locks eyes with you after days of not being able to look at you. you weren’t too sure what was going through his mind and you could tell based on how he has his hands behind his back, him rocking on the balls of his feet gives it away he’s just as nervous as you are. you suck the inside of your cheek, biting down on the flesh ever so lightly when fred peeks up to see that you’re staring right at him, arms crossed, looking so adorable that–alright, freddie boy, calm down.

he swallows the lump in his throat, clearing it to ask: “so... have you thought about us?”

“almost everyday,” you respond quietly, eyes blinking down to the ground at your own admission, “it’s driving me mad.”

he sighs in relief, “m-me too. can we just please forget about this–”fred lets his voice die down when your eyes snap up to him in disbelief. such fire fuelling your irises as they penetrate through his skull and the look of distaste filling your features twists his insides. you uncross your arms down to your sides, shaking your head as you’re ready to turn around to leave. clearly whatever you said previously hasn’t sunken in and it... it was disappointing to say the least.

just as your hand touches the door handle, you feel arms wrapping around your waist, capturing both arms together to let your grip slip from the exit. a soft gasp leaves your lips as fred gently pulls you closer to him, his face pressed to the back of your neck with a sigh and–and you–it was–it... you missed this. you missed your fred. and you knew he didn’t mean to hurt you or this wasn’t meant to drag on longer than it should but... the two of you should’ve known how stubborn the two of you can get and it shows time and time again.

this, being one of those times.

fred exhales deeply as he squeezes you tight, feeling his heart lighten a little when he feels your hands shakily rubbing over his forearms around your waist. the silence weighs heavy on your shoulders but it lifts up when fred murmurs a soft i’m sorry... he clears his throat, his face moving from your neck to ask: “can... can i please try that again?”

your eyes gaze down to his arms around you, your own hands stroking his skin exposed from his sleeves riding up. you nod, “i’m listening.”

a couple heartbeats go by, then fred’s voice makes your heart securely land in his hands once more; as if they ever left. “i’m sorry. truly am. i... i didn’t give much thought in asking you to the yule ball because i assumed you’d go with me and when george told me that even though i know you’d always give me your kidney if i needed one, doesn’t mean i shouldn’t ask, you know?”

you didn’t realise you were crying until you turn around in his grip and fred gapes at the sight of tears rolling down your cheek. despite the fact you’re crying, you manage to glare at him and hit him in the chest (lightly, but fred still thinks you pack a punch when he winces). ignoring your blow, he uses a hand to cup your face to brush the tears away, the other still keeping you close to him.

“are you seriously cracking a joke right now?”

“it’s not a joke!” he defends himself (and you believe him, of course you do, this was fred weasley for crying out loud), “you said before and i quote: if it ever balls down to it i’d give you my kidney and–”fred can’t finish reciting your words once spoken before when a hand of yours slap over his mouth.

from parted lips, you feel fred’s lips seal together to press a kiss on your palm. he draws his arm from around your waist to peel your hand from his mouth, then turning it over to kiss your knuckles. “all i want to say is i’m sorry,” he lowers your hand in his, that handsome smile of his coming to view as the hopeful glint sparkles in his eyes when he knows all is resolved with the way you’re trying not to smile at him. “and will you do be the absolute honors by going to the yule ball with me? even when i’m a complete idiot to not ask, it’s all i ever want.”

fred gives your knuckles another soft kiss, murmuring over your skin, “you’re all i ever want.”

there’s a small pout on your face, along with the glistening of tears that lets fred know it’s okay. he tugs you into his arms when you quietly sob into his chest, allowing the emotions come to rise after the days of ignoring one another and acting like things were fine without one another but it was tiring. it was lonesome, so out of place and being in fred’s arms as he cradles the back of your head, the other curled around your waist as he rubs small circles around your hipbone makes you feel at home.

fred gives you as long as you need; which was only about a couple of minutes for you to recuperate. when your breathing evens out, fred lures you back so he can frame your face in his hands, stroking the tears away with a sheepish grin as he asks: “not gonna give me an answer?”

sniffing, you lap both of his hands on your face, managing a weak nod, “yes. even when you forget to ask me, yes.”

fred leans to press his forehead on yours, nuzzling his nose to yours, “brilliant.”

“...”

“but if you forget to ask again, i swear to godric fred weasley–”

“shhh,” fred shakes his head, using a thumb to press onto your lips, “no need to predict a future that won’t happen again.”

with the way fred smiles at you and his eyes warming up to yours like they never went cold, you know his promise is true. even if it’s a sweet ending today, you’re well-aware that mistakes like this can happen again but it’s never out of the ill-intent in fred’s heart. which makes you smile back at him, leaning up to kiss him again; allowing him to feel your smile on his lips because for some reason, it’s like he knows it too. that as long as the two of you were open and willing to be understanding, there’s nothing you two can’t overcome.

((”can we just please forget about this–”fred’s voice trails off softly and george groans from the other side of the closed door with his ear pressed to it, smacking his forehead. “you fucking idiot!” george hisses, along with angelina rolling her eyes, her ear pressed to the door as well, mirroring george, “that boy has a peanut for a brain.”

“but at least he uses that peanut of a brain thinking about y/n, y’know?”

angelina sighs. “better than nothing, i guess.”

(...)

the door flings open and the two of them fumble down to the ground. fred snorts at the sight of angelina and his brother sprawled out, red-handed.

“well, i can’t be mad at the reasons why i’ve got my girl back.”

george kicks fred’s foot to his best ability, making you chuckle in the process.

“better cherish it, you git!”))

#fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfics #hp fanfiction

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h-cx · 2 years

Text

George Weasley X reader

Fluff!!

Warnings: Little bits of swearing

I’m actually so tired so this probably isn’t very coherent, i’ll come and fix it up at some point <3

I threw myself on my bed after another day of watching Angelina hopelessly flirt with Fred, it was really starting to get to me. It started off with her just shamelessly laughing at one of his jokes, her always having her hands in his hair or always having her arm around him. She really doesn't get the message when Fred's trying to shake her off too either, he constantly gave her the hard shoulder, ignoring her slight touches to his arms or her looks to him from under her lashes. She knew he wasn't available, but she kept on with her not so subtle flirting.

It wasn't fair, I'd liked Fred since the first time i met him, my 2nd year at Hogwarts when I had temporarily replaced Angelina as a chaser after she had an accident on the pitch. I'd been friends with Ron, Harry and Hermione since first year, so it wasn't unusual for us all to be at the burrow the week before school started so we could all get our supplies together. You can imagine how I felt when arriving at the burrow the week before this school year to find Draco Malfoy's older sister hanging onto Fred's arm like a lost puppy.

"Come on Y/n, it's not that bad." I heard Hermione's voice cut across the silence from the other side of the room. "It's clear that he doesn't like her, if he did he wouldn't be snogging that Malfoy's older sister?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks Hermione that makes me feel loads better."

Hermione scoffed and threw a pillow at me. "Stop sulking, the yule balls coming up and you can't just wait around hoping that he'll ask you, tomorrow's the hogsmeade trip so we'll go up and look for dresses for you ok? Maybe we can get you stop moping around about it if we get you a nice dress and make you look like a bad bitch. Anyway I don't know why you're sulking over him, when there's rumors that Diggory's going to ask you." She whispered the last bit but it was still loud enough to hear.

Diggory likes Cho, everyone knows that, and I know Fred would never go for someone two years younger than him, I just wish he would look at me the way he looks at Malfoy. With that thought I shut the curtains on my 4-poster and got comfy, from the other side I heard Hermione sigh as she did the same. I closed my eyes and slipped off into dreams of wishful thinking.

Hermione dragged me into the 4th dress shop of the day, she sat me down on a poof as she had a look round at the mass of dresses.

"Is there anything I could do for you dears?" A rather elderly woman came out of beaded doorway in the corner of the room.

Hermione looked her happily." The Yule Balls coming up soon, I was hoping that you could help find a dress for my friend here?" She gestured towards me.

The woman looked me sternly up and down an after looking at me for a few more seconds before speaking "I have just the thing." The woman walked through the beaded door and I sent Hermione a confused look which she returned.

The woman came back with a black lump of cloth in her hand, she gave it to me and pointed towards the dressing room as both her and Hermione looked at me expectantly. I sighed and went into the cramped room that looked like it was used more as a broom closet than a changing room. I slipped on the dress that fit comfortably on my body.

I stepped out of the cupboard, Hermione gasped and the Lady just simply looked at me triumphantly.

The dress was gorgeous, it was all black, the bottom of it was a long flowy skirt that fell into small bundles around my feet. The top of it had a white underlayer with a black sheen lace with flower patterns covering it, it was long sleeve but the material wasn't so restrictive as to make me turn into a pool of sweat the second I even make it into the hall. The neckline sat as a very low cut v-line allowing a canal that slightly showed the sides of my boobs. Wearing a bra with this would be a pain in the ass, but it was going to be worth it. Hermione looked at me. "Perfect." I sent her a massive smile which she returned.

"So you still haven't told me who you're going with" I started, we had just gotten to The Three Broomsticks and both of us where casually sipping on our butterbeer

Hermione bashfully looked down at the floor before looking around to see if anyone was listening, she leaned into me and whispered in my ear.

"Krum."

"Krum?!" I whisper-yelled back to her, she giggled and went back to sipping on her drink.

“How? What? When?” I stumbled with my words in disbelief.

I suddenly felt like I was being watched, I looked up to where I felt it from, and from the corner of the room I noticed two bunches of red hair, it was Fred and George. The second I looked over there George seemed to look over at something quickly. 'Weird' I thought, 'why would George be looking at me?'

"Oh god here we go. I’ll tell you everything later I promise, but look behind you" I heard Hermione sigh to herself, I moved my sight away from the twins to the direction that Hermione was looking. I locked eyes with the first triwizard Hogwarts champion.

‘Please don't come over here please don't come over here please don't come over here please don't come over here’ I started to repeat in my head, and to my dismay Cedric started to walk over, as he did I noticed a girl that I couldn't recognize sat at one of the tables next to me's face drop.

"Hey Y/N" Cedric smiled down at me.

"Hey Cedric, how are you?" I smiled back at him, I felt like I was being watched again.

"Hey Y/N I'll be back in a second I need to go do something." Hermione said whilst collecting her stuff and putting on her coat, I glared at her and she winked at me before walking off and exiting the pub.

"It looks like it's just the two of us now then?" Cedric grinned whilst sitting in Hermione's place.

"Yeah it looks like that."

We sat silently together until Cedric started again," So you bought your dress I see?" He gestured towards the bags that sat by my feet.

"Yes I have, it only took me 50 tries to find the perfect one." I joked and he laughed.

"What does it look like?" He tilt his head to the side slightly.

"That, Diggory, is a secret." Cedric blushed slightly at the use of his last name.

"You seemed to have finished your drink, do you want another one?" He asked.

"Yes please Cedric." He smiled, took our glasses, and got up to head toward to counter.

I looked around the room again only to see both of the twins staring at me, I furrowed my brows and waved at them. Awkwardly George started to wave back with Fred laughing at him for whatever reason. I averted my gaze away from them and snuck a glance at that girl from earlier only to be surprised to find she was nowhere to be found.

'Well I'd be damned' I thought 'the bitch can evaporate.'

Soon enough Cedric came back over with two fresh butter-beers in his hands, he out one down for him and the other for me.

"Thank you," I smiled at him making sure to bat my eyelids a few times. "What do I owe you?"

Without missing a beat he replied," Maybe a date to the Yule ball?"

Cedric looked at me expectantly, i could see the expectation in his eyes.

"If you insist." I grinned up at him.

He smiled ear to ear, "I'll get you at the stairs? Oh and hurry when you do because remember, we have to do the walk in." Cedric placed a kiss to my forehead before walking off.

'The dumbass forgot his drink, oh well, more for me I guess.'

My eyes once again found the twins, Fred's eyebrows were furrowed, almost in disappointment and George looked at me, seemingly upset. A pang went off in my chest, why the fuck am I feeling guilty? I did nothing wrong.

'Nope remember we are getting over Fred.' I sighed and put my head down. I downed my butter-beer and collected my stuff up to go and meet Hermione.

"Come on Y/N you can't get cold feet now! You have to go." Hermione dragged me. I huffed and let her lead me down to the top of the steps.

“I’ll go first so you can pluck up your courage.” Hermione held my hands tightly before letting go and making her way to the top of the steps.

I nodded. "Good luck!! Don't trip. You look gorgeous, go kill em'." She wished me the same and started to descend the stairs, I could hear people lose their breath seeing her, I mean damn right she's beautiful.

Once I knew she had gone with Krum I made my way out there. The second I had I wished I hadn't everyone was looking at me. At the bottom of the stairs I saw Cedric, his face bright red and his breath seemingly caught in his throat.

"Come on Diggory breathe if you don't soon you'll pass out."

"You can't blame me when you look as ethereal as Aphrodite herself." He winked at me, I giggled. Cedric smirked and held out his arm and, gladly, I took it. “That dress is gorgeous, i mean all of you is but, damn. Everyone’s looking at just how gorgeous you look.”

I blushed at Cedric’s words and looked around as we cued up for the first dance. As I guessed Fred had come with Malfoy's older sister, I looked around for George to see who he came with only to find him staring at me mouth agape, his date -a girl i didn’t recognise i assumed was in his year- looked up at him jealously, I winked at him and his face went as red as a tomato, I took my attention back and put it onto the fact that we had started to move towards the hall.

As soon as the music had started the time felt like it was flying, cedric wasn't as bad of a dancer then I had thought he was before and for what felt like forever he was twirling me around and I was trying not to step on his feet, though soon enough it seemed that the hall was half empty and I was off getting drinks.

"You know," A voice started from behind me. "You do look quite gorgeous tonight." I turned around to find Fred leaned up on the table.

I blushed, "Thank you Fred, you don't look to bad yourself." He chuckled and walked off.

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? DID I HEAR HIM RIGHT? WAS HE TALKING TO ME? WHY NOW? The voices in my head started to race in panic but somehow I still managed to take the drinks to Cedric, who just so happened to be snogging the face off Cho when I got there, Knew it.

I cleared my throat and they jumped apart.

"Refreshments" I handed them both a drink and walked away. I noticed Harry and Ron sat alone, staring at everyone else who was dancing, so I decided to go join them.

"So we all out here lonely hmm." Harry sent me a nod and a small smile whilst Ron looked ready to explode.

"Did you know?" Ron asked angrily?

"What?"

"About Hermione and Krum?"

"Well time to go then." Harry hid his grin with his hand, and with that I walked out of the great hall, deciding to not get involved with Ron whilst he was drunk on the atmosphere and jealousy. I decided I needed a bit of fresh air, the great hall had become stuffy and it was difficult to breathe in the heat, so I decided to head out.

I crossed the courtyard, headed out the gate and traveled half way down the hill. Eventually, I got to a flat piece of grass that looked comfy enough and laid myself down on the damp greenery. I finally let out a sigh and looked up at the stars. It was completely peaceful, the cold air gently caressing my face and cooling the heat that had spread across my cheeks in the warm hall, until about two minutes later I felt a presence settle down beside me, also looking at the stars. I didn't have the energy or the interest to see who it was, all I cared about was right now they were quite and, so far, they where. After another 5-7 minutes I finally decided to see who it was, and to my surprise, it was George. He seemed to be equally as fixated on the stars. Now it may have been the punch talking but my head was uncomfortable and he looked comfy, so without another thought I rested my head on his chest.

George seemed to have tensed at the contact but he soon eased, he moved his arm to round my back and rested it on my waist. For a while we stayed like that.

For a while. George got up and I groaned in dissatisfaction at the loss of heat and a pillow. I heard the song change in the castle and George stretched out his hand. I now knew what he was doing, and I wanted to play along. So I took it.

George pulled me in closer to him so our faces where near centimetres apart, he slowly swayed us to the lyrics. I moved my head to bury it in his chest and he rested his chin on my head. I focused on his heartbeat's pattern as it rhythmically drummed as we made small circles on the lawn.

Soon the song ended but we still stayed like that, savouring each others heat and scent to memory. Finally he took my chin in his index finger and thumb to move my face up to his. I stared into his deep brown eyes as he stared into my E/C ones. He traced his thumb over my lips and leaned down, soon enough our lips met, fitting together perfectly like jigsaw pieces, each piece made for the other. We both eventually split apart for air much to our individual dismays. We locked eyes and both of us started to giggle.

"So maybe you'll let me take you to hogsmeade?" I grinned practically ear to ear.

"Definitely." He grinned just as wide back.

“You know I’ve been watching you, not in a creepy stalker way” I raised my eyebrow at his words and he rolled his eyes, “I was going to ask you when you where in the Three broomsticks but Diggory got to you before I could.”

“Well your with me now and he’s with who he wants to be with” George shot me a confused look.

“Cho?” He asked and i nodded.

He took my hand in his large one and we started to make our way back up to the castle.

"So why did you end up coming with that tosspot Diggory anyway?" George asked.

"No Georgie the question is why didn't you get to me before Diggory?" He chuckled.

"Georgie... that's new, I like it."

"Shut up."

"Yes ma'am" We stepped back into the hall. “Now will you let me dance with you properly?”

The large black balloon popped and a pink dust exploded out creating a small cloud.

"It's a girl!" Molly cried as she came over to hug me and George. I beamed up at him and he looked down at me with the same look. George took me into his arms and squeezed me tightly.

"Um excuse me sir have you forgotten I'm pregnant?" He quickly let go and looked down at me.

"Well if I can't do that then I'll do this." He started too lean down but I quickly pulled away.

"Stop it you'll traumatise Fred." He chuckled and pulled me into his side. We both watched our 3 year old son run around the garden playing tag with Teddy.

"How did I get so lucky?" I looked up at my husband who had a peaceful look resting on his face.

"God knows Georgie." I replied.

He chuckled through his nose."Mmmh Georgie."

"Shut up." He kissed my forehead and squeezed my arm. We really are very lucky, and i’m very very lucky to not have chosen the wrong twin.

#harry potter #george wealsey x reader #george weasley #hogwarts #x reader #fluff #george weasley x fem #george weasley x y/n #harry potter x reader

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kohanayaki · 3 years

Text

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 1

Old habits die hard— and so do feelings, apparently. Relive moments high and low from your life with the Marauders and co. as you tell your godson, Harry, about all the mischief you got up to back in your school days. Takes place mainly in the Marauders era but also has content congruent with the Order of the Phoenix timeline, with some cannon divergence, of course~

- Main pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Severus Snape x Reader, James Potter x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, slight Regulus Black x Reader, and a bunch of friendships! Gender neutral pronouns :)

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

____________________________________________________________

Ch 1 .:Memories And First Meetings:.

12 Grimmauld Place was cold.

Not in the temperature sense of the word, especially in the heat of London summer, but something about it felt distant. Perhaps it was the cookie cutter exterior, dreadfully drab, although you knew its true nature was anything but. Despite its grandeur, the interior was as ornate as it was dull and unsaturated, like a black and white photograph in all its monochromatic glory. Maybe it was the fact that you knew what had happened here in the past, or the fact that you knew who was waiting here for you in the present.

You felt the strange sensation of stepping through the thick blanket of protection charms surrounding the house, as if your body were moving through molasses for a fraction of a second. The moment you were fully inside, you began to hear the hushed bits of a conversation echoing through the entrance hall from the dining room whose door was slightly ajar. The words became clearer as you neared the door.

“Harry's not ready! Have you gone completely mad?”

You found yourself grinning at the first voice, Molly Weasley's stern tone unmistakable.

“He's not a child, Molly.”

You froze as you heard the second one; you'd know it anywhere.

A heavy wave of emotion surged through you as you got near enough to the entrance to see the face of Sirius Black through the gap in the door. His time in Azkaban had taken a toll on him, you could tell. Heavy bags hung from his face, his cheeks hollow; although his gray eyes still held that spark in them. His hair was longer, somehow even more wild and unruly than before, but it suited him.

“Well he's not an adult either! He's not James.”

You caught a flash of ginger as Molly crossed the room, using her wand to aggressively clear away the plates on the table as she made her point.

“I know he isn't, but he can handle himself,” Sirius said, “and I'll be there to protect him.”

“How touching, Black. Perhaps the boy will grow up to be a felon just like his godfather.”

Your stomach dropped at the third voice. Shit.

Your presence remained unannounced, but as you peaked your head around the corner of the door frame you were met with Severus' stoic face, an imperceptible crease of distaste in his brow as he regarded Sirius. As your view widened you saw that Lupin sat to his left, a human wall between the two former foes.

You stilled at the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle your irrationally rioting nerves. It's not as if you didn't know they would be there, but it had been so long since you'd seen any of them. So much has changed. . .

“You stay out of this, Snivelus. I don't care what Dumbledore has to say about your supposed reformation, but I know better.”

“Don't you have to go play fetch elsewhere?”

“Oh come on, you two,” Remus sighed.

Well, maybe not much has changed after all.

“Still resorting to playground bickering, are we?”

Several heads snapped in your direction at your words, and you were met with various reactions. Molly's face immediately split into a smile and she rushed around to table to greet you.

“(Y/n), dear! So nice to see you again,” she pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug and you couldn't help but join in her laughter.

“It's good to be back,” you admitted, “Charlie says hello, by the way.”

“Oh, I'm going to give give that boy a talking to,” Molly huffed, “you aren't his owl, dear. The least he could do is write home and say so himself.”

“Romanian mountain ranges keep a wizard busy,” you grinned, “He says he tries to keep in touch.”

“Sending home a bag of petrified dragon scales with a note that says 'look at this!!' is hardly keeping in touch,” she retorted, fussing about with your jacket's collar that had become wrinkled from her embrace.

Even from across the table you could feel Sirius' eyes on you, grateful that you had Molly's whirlwind greeting as a scapegoat for your flushed face.

“(Y/n). . .” he said softly, getting up from his seat.

“Hey,” you smiled, fighting the lump in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. He was so warm, still wearing that damn leather jacket he'd somehow been reunited with after his imprisonment.

“What are you doing here? They told me you were out working in America,” Sirius said, eyes twinkling as he held you at arm's length.

“Well, I suppose I'm sort of working everywhere these days,” you said. As his words registered in your brain you turned to Molly with narrowed eyes. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she said coyly.

You shook your head, turning back to Sirius.

“I'm so sorry, Molly said I could stay here so I thought she already ran it by you—”

“No, no, of course you can stay!” he said enthusiastically, “I'm glad you're here.”

He seemed gentler than he was before, certainly more mellow than in his youth, but that energy that was so quintessentially him remained buzzing beneath his skin, and Merlin, you'd missed it.

After realizing how long the two of you had spent practically holding each other you coughed awkwardly, slowly drifting apart. As you looked around the table your eyes caught Severus' and you thought your heart stopped for a moment. To the untrained eye he probably seemed just as uninterested as ever, but the look of shock in his eyes was so blatantly apparent to you that it threw you off guard. You managed to cast a small smile in his direction, but his expression remained unchanged while yours dropped. You felt your stomach twist up in knots as you thought about what had happened the last time you saw each other.

Lupin looked between the pair of you before getting up from his own seat and coming to your rescue. He extended his arms with a kind smile, and you happily shifted your attention to him.

“It's about time London had its best auror back in town,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Moony,” you said playfully, hugging him tight, “It's good to see you too.”

“Are you hungry?” Molly asked, pulling a chair out for you.

“Oh no, I had something on the way here,” you said, taking a seat, “thank you, though.”

It felt surreal to be back here, where it all started. The faces were different—some new, some missing—but the same determined feeling remained.

“Now, where were we,” Sirius said, his confidence returning to his shoulders as he addressed the table.

“We were just talking about how Harry isn't ready to be tangled up in all this,” Molly said sternly.

“I think he should decide that for himself,” Sirius said adamantly.

“Well of course the boy would say he wants to fight, he's—”

“Listening in right now,” you pointed out, jutting your head in the direction of the open door where Harry stood, half obscured by the shadow of the stairway.

The boy flushed, backing away slightly as he was caught. But his eyes lit up as they landed on you, and you felt a tug at your heart as you saw your best friend in their bright green hues.

“(Y/n), you're back,” he said in disbelief.

“And here to stay for a bit, apparently,” you said with a smile.

Molly looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh.

“You know what, we should stop for the night anyways,” she said with a wave of her hand, “We've kept the children up long enough with our chatter, and (Y/n) ought to get some rest as well. Off to bed, the lot of you.”

Some of the other adults exchanged some knowing smiles as she shooed them out of the room. People slowly trickled out through the doorway, goodbyes exchanged, and before long it was just you and your godson left.

You had been lucky enough to meet Harry at the end of his third year, and he'd broken the news about Sirius' innocence to you. You so badly wanted to be there for Harry sooner, but between your strained relationship with the Ministry and cleaning up the mess with MACUSA in the States, you always seemed to be called away from the boy. You wanted nothing more than to take him away from that horrid house—you knew how nasty Petunia could be firsthand. Nonetheless, he seemed to be doing well, and you were happy that you'd grown closer over the last few years even if you couldn't be there in person all the time.

“I've got another little souvenir for you, by the way,” you said, having migrated to the living room.

Harry seemed to perk up at that. Since your visits had been so sparse, you began to make it a tradition to bring him back something magical from whatever part of the world you'd been working in.

“You mentioned you were struggling in Potions the last time we spoke,” you said, rummaging through your bag, eventually producing a small, gold-rimmed vial full of a deep maroon liquid. Small black clouds seemed to tumble in a miniature cyclone inside the glass.

“Dragon's breath essence,” you grinned, “nicked it off of Charlie before I left Romania. Put a few drops of this in your salamander blood the next time you brew a Wiggenweld potion and you're set to pass with flying colors.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, eyes wide, “that's on our O.W.L.S. this year.”

“I know,” you said cheekily, “you didn't hear it from me. Personally, I think an Outstanding in Potions as a requirement to become an auror is utter rubbish. Don't get me wrong, it's important to know your way around a cauldron, but to hold someone back who excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms just because they can't cook up a sleeping draught? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me. And I've heard Severus is hard enough on you guys as it is.”

Harry seemed surprised at your casual address of his professor but shook it off quickly.

“But you're ace at Potions, and it seems like you really like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well I—” you faltered a bit, “I learned from the best. . .”

“Professor Slughorn, you mean?” Harry questioned.

Your eyes widened at that.

“Yeah,” you lied, recovering fast, “Well, Slughorn was a great teacher but terrible at throwing parties. He had this thing called the Slug Club and the dinners were just awful. Your mother was the first of us to join and she ended up roping me into it, and before we knew it we were all standing around in these ridiculous outfits taking swigs of the firewhiskey your dad snuck in just to get through the night.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, and you could see Harry living vicariously through the emotions on your face. You were grateful for this moment; this was the longest you'd actually gotten to sit down and talk together in a long time.

“Were you always friends?” Harry asked, “with my parents, I mean.”

You had to laugh at that question.

“With your mum, yes. Your father, well, not exactly. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1971 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body swayed gently with the movement of the Hogwarts Express as you walked up and down the isles, looking for someplace to sit. Most of the carriages were packed tight with large groups made up of upperclassmen not exactly looking to expand their circle.

As you approached the back of the train a mostly empty car caught your eye, occupied only by two children your age, or at least that's what you guessed from their black ties and basic robes that marked them as unsorted first-years like yourself.

One of them was a brooding looking boy with messy, shoulder length black hair and shockingly pale skin, leaning against the wall of the train and halfway through a book that seemed well beyond his years. Sitting across from him was a pretty red-headed girl who was admiring the rapidly passing scenery through the window.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, sliding the screen door open.

The boy's brow furrowed, clearly about refuse when the young girl beat him to it.

“Of course not!” she beamed, her smile infectious. You didn't miss the sharp look she shot over to the boy who simply rolled his eyes in response. After you muttered a small 'thanks' she scooted over closer to the window so you could sit next to her.

“My name is Lily,” she said, extending a hand, “Lily Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, “I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

The boy quirked a brow at your last name, his expression shifting to something unreadable as he blatantly studied you over the spine of his book. After letting this go on for some time, you glanced over at Lily.

“Does he speak?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” the boy said coldly.

Lily sent a disappointed look his way and his heart fell slightly, but he didn't need to be friends with anyone else, and he certainly didn't want other people becoming friends with Lily either. An irrational thought, he knew, but it was how his stubborn little brain worked at the time. They didn't need anyone but each other. Wasn't that enough?

In any case, he expected his behavior would be enough to scare you off (it usually worked on other people), but to his complete and utter surprise, you began to laugh. It started off as a light giggle, soon growing into full on laughter. He stared at you in open confusion as you were nearly brought to tears from your fit.

“You're funny,” you stated honestly, managing to speak through your chortles.

The boy was taken completely aback by your candor, actually at a loss for words. Lily joined in the laughter at your simple remark.

“So you do talk, I guess you must have a name too, then,” you said teasingly.

He blinked once. Twice.

“. . . Severus Snape.”

“That's a cool name.”

The heat that crept onto the boy's face surprised no one more than himself, and he buried himself in his book quickly to hide it. Another surprisingly frank statement from you, and not one he'd ever heard before.

If he thought you were full of surprises then, he had no idea what was coming to him.

_____________________________________________________________

The minute the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, it was immediately intrigued.

“Now here's an odd one,” it chuckled, “loyal, compassionate, empathetic, and yet a razor wit. A calculating, ambitious mind, and yet a relentless sense of adventure. All this, and with your bloodline to take into account as well. Your family has quite the history here, (L/n).”

Hushed whispers fell across the Great Hall among the older students and even some of the faculty at the hat's words, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Though, I sense a different sort of mentality in you,” the hat continued, “you desire to challenge the old ways,” it paused for some time before going on, “do you truly have no preference, child?”

You were surprised at the question. You knew your family's reputation— it had been ingrained in you from a young age— but that didn't sway you, nor did it scare you. When you really thought about what house you wanted to be in, you truly couldn't think of an answer. It wouldn't change who you were, after all. Whether you donned red, yellow, blue, or green, you stood firmly in the knowledge that you would always be (Y/n) (L/n). Having made up your mind, you shook your head at the hat's question, and although its face was obscured from your view, you could almost sense its grin as it knew you were telling the truth.

“Well then,” it chuckled, “It is truly rare that I get an opportunity such as this. Let's make it interesting, then, shall we? Better be. . . Slytherin!”

Snape sat, slack-jawed, as you bounded over to the applauding Slytherin table and plopped down next to him. You rested your chin atop your folded hands, looking largely unbothered, a glint in your (e/c) eyes. He chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Full of surprises indeed.

___________________________________________________________

Your first encounter with James Potter was of a different sort.

It was the very beginning of your third year when you'd first met him properly. You had a few classes together, and Lily would rant about him constantly pestering her; occasionally you'd see the Gryffindor, along with another unfamiliar boy in his house, sprinting through the corridors, Professor McGonagall not far behind and demanding them to stop. But other than that, you'd never really interacted with him.

Ever since you'd met on the train you and Lily started to hang out more and more, with Snape “begrudgingly” tagging along. The Slytherin had been slow to warm up to you, but you were relentlessly kind and infuriatingly persistent, and eventually he found himself enjoying your little quips and comparatively sunny disposition. By the end of your first year, the three of you were nearly inseparable, and your bond only strengthened throughout your second. But third year is when things started changing.

Snape sat in the shade among the thick, overgrown roots of the old oak tree by the Black Lake, nose deep in an advanced Potions textbook he'd swiped from a fifth year as he waited for you and Lily to return from Transfiguration, the only class you didn't have together. This became your usual spot, with Lily sitting in the grass beside him and you on the branch above him, legs swinging as you absentmindedly sketched in your notebook. A comfortable silence would settle between you, something you'd all grown to enjoy; there was no need for constant conversation, it was enough sometimes to just enjoy each others' presence.

The silence he was reveling in alone, however, was promptly interrupted as rowdy laughter reached Snape's ears. Sure enough, a few figures emerged from the curve of the hill, revealing none other than James Potter, flanked by the curly haired boy he'd been seen running around with earlier along with two other Gryffindors: a short-statured boy with dirty blonde hair and another, taller and leaner, with long scars that ran along his face.

Snape didn't pay them much mind until he realized that they were heading straight for the tree— straight for him. Snape had noticed right away how the Potter boy had tried to befriend Lily as soon as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was safe to say he was less than fond of him despite having never really spoken to him before.

“You've got to be joking,” James snickered as he walked up to the tree, looking Snape up and down, “This is the guy Evans has been ditching us to see?”

Severus' eyes narrowed. So now he had a reason not to like him.

“Get lost,” he said, turning back to his book.

“What, you think you're too good to talk to us, huh?” James scoffed at him, clearly miffed.

As if on cue, the curly haired boy snatched the book out of Snape's hands, holding it out of his reach as he fumbled to get it back.

“Toss it, Sirius!” James called out. The boy, who he now knew as Sirius, threw the textbook like a frisbee, and Potter caught it easily.

As Snape angrily rose from his seat to get it back, the two boys continued to throw it between themselves so he couldn't grab it. Fed up, the Slytherin drew his wand but was quickly outmatched.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape's wand flew out of his hands and straight into Sirius', who held it above his head. Just as the black haired boy jumped up for it, another spell flew towards him, this time from James.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Snape grit his teeth, staring helplessly at his wand as it hovered higher and higher out of his reach.

“James, come on, I think that's enough,” the taller boy near the back said.

“Don't be a bore, Remus, we're just having some fun.”

“I-I think he's right, guys.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

While his gaze was trained on his wand a harsh shove threw Snape to the ground, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

“No way, is he really crying?” James taunted.

“He is,” Sirius goaded on, “just look at him snivel.”

“You're right, maybe we should call him Snivelus, it suits him better.”

“Nice one, James.”

Snape winced as he was harshly pulled to his feet by James who sneered at him.

“Come on then, Snivelous. What are you gonna do?”

“Relashio!”

James' eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself repulsed back by some invisible force, his grip on Snape's robes forced to loosen as he was flung backwards. You stared the shocked Gryffindors down, wand at the ready for another spell as you ran to stand between Severus and them.

“Accio!” another voice called out, Snape's book and wand whizzing past their faces and into Lily's hands.

James staggered to his feet, trying to look unbothered by the fact that he'd just been knocked down, and by a spell that he hadn't even heard of yet.

“Look at that, boys,” he said, feigning confidence, “guess Snivelus needs a couple of girls to come to his rescue. You should ditch this loser, Evans.”

Before Lily could lash back, you stepped between them.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

You felt your forehead twitch, itching to smack that smug grin off his face.

It was Sirius who spoke next, recognition filling his gaze.

“Wait, you're the (L/n) kid, aren't you? Well that's just perfect, you two freaks can go study the Unforgivable Curses together.”

That struck a nerve in you.

“You don't know anything,” you said, not lowering your wand, “now get out of here before I knock you down too.”

“Aw, I don't know, Sirius, they're kind of cute all flustered like this,” James smirked.

You felt anger flare up in your chest, and it was Lily's turn to step in for you.

“Leave us alone, James,” she ordered.

When none of them moved you exhaled sharply, taking another step forward.

“Or I can just turn you into a flobberworm instead,” you said, “might be more fitting.”

Sirius laughed off your threat, but you could have sworn you saw a twinge of concern in his eyes as he looked over to the rest of his friends for backup.

“Let's just go, James. Come on,” the one named Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason.

The bespectacled boy frowned, shoving his wand back in his robes.

“Fine,” he said, “they aren't worth it anyways.”

He turned promptly on his heels, Sirius right behind him and Peter scampering after. Remus stayed behind for a moment, regarding you three.

“I'm sorry about them,” he said, “really.”

Your brow creased in suspicion, but you nodded, not quite smiling but offering up a neutral expression at least before he turned to catch up with the rest of his group.

“You were kidding about (L/n) being cute, right?” Sirius said as they headed back to the common room. When he was met with silence instead of a clear 'of course I was' he nearly had a stroke.

“Are you kidding, James?” Sirius said incredulously, “They're a Slytherin! They're just another dark arts dabbler who doesn't care about anything but their blood status.”

James only shrugged.

“Normally I'd agree, but they seem different,” he said. When he turned to see Sirius' unwavering expression he sighed, “I was just saying that to get a rise out of 'em. Don't worry, this won't be the last time we mess with them and Snivelus.”

Meanwhile, you were still out sitting by the tree, brushing the grass out of Severus' hair.

“That was amazing, (Y/n),” Lily said, wide-eyed, “How did you manage to learn that spell? And you already learned the worm-morphing jinx too?”

“Sev isn't the only one who's been learning ahead,” you said, “but that worm thing was a total bluff.”

“I didn't need your help,” Snape muttered.

You blinked down at him, shaking your head and unable to fight the smirk that crept onto your face.

“Sure you didn't,” you huffed, helping him up to his feet despite his protests, “don't be so dramatic, we won't tell anyone if that's what you're so worried about. Now come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. If Wilkes hogs all the Yorkshire puddings I'm blaming you entirely.”

Severus said nothing, only taking his book and wand back from Lily before you three walked back to the castle arm in arm, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It seems like so long ago,” you said, reminiscing, “Although I suppose it was, but I don't want to think about that too hard— I'll start to feel old, Merlin forbid.”

Harry's eyes were full of disbelief at your story.

“So you, my mum, and. . . Snape were friends?”

“Believe it or not,” you grinned, “unlikely trio as we were, it just sort of worked somehow.”

Until it didn't, you thought grimly, but forced the thought aside. You could tell by how quiet Harry had gotten that something was bothering him.

“My dad really did that?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened and you turned to fully face him.

“He was dumb and immature at the time,” you said, “we all were. There's not much else to be when you're thirteen. Each of us made plenty of mistakes, too many to count. And your mum. . . she was good for him. He always told me that she made him want to be a better person. People can change. In my opinion, there are few things someone can do that makes them truly irredeemable, and your father never came close to doing any of those things.”

You thought it better to mention that Snape probably didn't feel the same way.

“In any case, we should be getting to bed,” you said, getting up from the couch, “if you ever want to hear any other stories about your parents, I've got plenty of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smile brightening his whole face, “yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

As Harry walked off to his room you sighed, making your way as quietly as you could up the creaky stairs. Just as you were about to retreat into your own guest room, your eyes snagged on the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairwell.

You stalled in front of it for a moment, wondering if you were out of your mind or not. When you had unapologetically settled on 'yes', you moved to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. You practically leaped back at the proximity as you were met with Sirius standing in the doorway, stormy eyes wide. He'd shed his leather jacket for the night, leaving him in a dark maroon button up with the top few undone. Your senses were draped with the heady scent of his cologne, and you found yourself grasping at words to say.

When Sirius got over his initial shock he laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his curls out of habit.

“I was about to see if you were awake,” he admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

Read chapter 2 here !

#harry potter #the marauders #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #regulus black x reader #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #regulus black #harry potter x reader #marauders era #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #multi chapter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

Best friends Brother - G.W

Part 1 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2

George Weasley x Fem Reader

About: The Reader is falling for her best mates older brother, she confines in Ron who is already afraid of losing his best friend to the brothers he’s so pressured to be like.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, mention of food and eating, but of angst, George punching a creep.

Walking away from Hagrid’s hut towards the castle, thoughts about the more quiet Weasley twin filled your hazy head - you were planning on shooting your shot, but first you needed some advice and the only person who could do that right now is your best friend Ron - currently chewing your ear off about Hermione and the house elves.

“She doesn’t know when to stop does she? All the S.P.E.W nonsense, if she brings it up one more time-”

“Hey, do you think George likes anyone?” you asked as cool as possible, trying to contain your nervousness and excitement.

Although you and George had only spoken few words to one another, he was all you could think about, all you ever thought about, day in day out. You would share sweet glances and looks across the common room in the evening, the beautiful amber glare coming from the flames projecting onto George’s face, making him look like an angel.

As much as you liked him, you were terrified that he wouldn’t feel the same, that he only saw you as his little brothers best friend - you hated it.

Ron slowed down from his brisk walk and he continued to stare at the ground “George? As in.. my brother?”

“yeah” you smiled shyly, swallowing hard.

Ron could feel his heart flutter, the idea of another person - his best friend - favouring one of his legendary twin brothers over him made him sick to his stomach, he couldn’t lose anyone else, he wouldn’t let it.

He pondered his thoughts, perhaps you were asking for someone else, someone Ron didn’t care about - the desperation in his stomach kept churning to find out.

“I don’t know” he replied in a huff “we don’t really talk much, why you asking anyway?”

You went quiet, suddenly finding interest in the scenery as the two of you edged closer to the castle.

“uh, no reason” you lied, running your hand through your hair.

For all of Ron’s flaws, he could tell when his best friend was lying - he never failed calling you out for it in the past, you learnt not to play any card games with him - especially when galleons were on the table.

The two of you entered the loud castle, pushing past students in the hall, making your way to the Gryffindor common room.

“you like him, don’t you?” Ron muttered under his breath, making sure everyone else around you couldn’t hear.

You sighed and made eye contact with Ron, his facial expression even more sour than when he puked up slugs in first year.

You walked up the stairs and held on to the rail, looking around for the Fat Lady “I suppose I do, I was thinking of asking him to-”

Ron could feel the sweat form in his palms and under his arms, images of you and George being together all the time instead of him flashed before him.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you’re two years younger than him, you haven’t spoken more than ten words to each other.”

Your heart pained for a moment, your spirits crushing like the ingredients in one of Snape’s potions.

“I just don’t think he’ll like you that much, I don’t want you to get hurt.” he finished, the two of you finally reaching the portrait.

“I guess so” you mumbled “you know him better than I do.”

Over the next few days you couldn’t stomach being around George, each time you looked into his gorgeous eyes and seeing him smile, caused your heart pain, a lump forming in your throat, and hot tears filling your eyes.

At first George didn’t notice but when he would wave and smile - only to be ignored, he couldn’t help but overthink; wondering if he had done something wrong.

It wasn’t just George who you ignored, you kept away from your best friend Ron too - Ron felt like shit but you were away from George and that gave him enough of a clear conscience to sleep at night.

You couldn’t sleep, you missed your best friend even when he hurt your feelings, you also felt hopeless, the only person you ever showed an interest in wouldn’t even give you a chance.

“What’s been up with Y/N lately? George asked his younger brother, buttering his toast, causing Ron to almost choke on his.

“What you on about?”

George rolled his eyes and swallowed his food, “unbelievable you are, she’s been avoiding you like the plague and she won’t even look at me.”

“So, did you make up your mind yet?”

You swore silently under your breath, recognising the voice who called out to you - an attractive and charming Hufflepuff student in George’s year with short black hair kept asking you over and over to go on a date with him in Hogsmeade, each time you said no had failed to satisfy his desire.

“Uh” you were trying to figure out the best way to tell him to fuck off, but then again, what did you have to lose? “yeah, I’ll be there” you faked a smile.

Ron watched in the distance and felt relieved, from his perspective, the possibility of you and George seemed incredibly slim to none. He walked over towards you as soon as the lad split, a smile creeping up on his face.

“Y/N, alright?” he smiled, his hands in his pockets.

You stared at him, yes you were hurt, but you missed him - he could do much worse to cause a much bigger fall out between the two of you.

“I suppose” you sighed “walk with me to Transfiguration class?”

Ron smiled “can do”

“and took your bloody shirt in!” you scolded him, bumping into him playfully.

As much as you enjoyed visiting Hogsmeade, you couldn’t help but want to go back home and climb back into your warm bed, hiding away from the world - but your habit of trying to see the best in people lead you here - waiting outside Honey Dukes for your date to arrive.

“Look at you!” he called out, walking over and kissing your hand “ready for the best day of your life?” he grinned.

Best day of my life? with you? I should’ve stayed in bed.

“Sure” you replied, plastering a fake smile on your face.

The best day of your life wasn’t too bad, you had someone new to talk to, to try and get your mind off things - but your heart couldn’t help but yearn for George. You looked around the shops thinking of the products he liked, disliked, and what he bought for Ron at Christmas.

Your date had more to blab about himself than get to know you, he held your hand and bought you a much needed Butterbeer - but he talked so much that he didn’t even get round to drinking his own. The more he had to say, the more he tried to impress you, the more you disliked him, making you fall for George even more.

Finally breaking out from the busy and overwhelming pub and out into the cold, your date stood in front of you with a strange expression on his face.

“So?” he shrugged

“so, what?” you stared at him, your patience wearing thin.

The shared laughter between George and Ron came to a halt when George spotted you with his classmate, he knitted his brows together.

“Why’s Y/N around that plonker?” he asked his younger brother.

Ron looked at you then back to George “she’s on a date”

George shook his head “he’s an absolute creep”

The two of them stared, the student took a hold of your hand and tried to pull you in for a kiss, you pulled away and glared at him, trying to not make a scene.

“Fucking pervert!” George hissed, storming over towards the two of you “Hey!”

George clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared and his glaring gaze settled on on the lad, he bunched his right hand into a fist and swung, everything went in slow motion as George punched him in the face.

You were speechless, you didn’t know what to say, all you could do was stare and watch the fight unfold.

“Stay away from her or my foot will rip you a new one!” George threatened him, he turned to you, his facial expression instantly turning soft.

“th-thank you”

“you don’t need to thank me love, are you alright?” George searching your eyes with his, full of care and concern.

Your heart fluttered, his voice, him speaking to you sounded like the most fascinating birds chirping, and his caring face caused fireworks in your stomach to erupt into the sky.

You wanted to take your chance, ask him out and start over but before you could do any of that, let alone reply, Ron hurried over and interrupted; putting you back in your place and making you remember how his brother felt about you.

“Proper shiner he’ll have in the morning” Ron laughed “sort your knuckles out George, if anyone sees they’ll send a letter home.”

The fluttering in your heart died down, the chirping of the birds instantly turning into the most dreadful squawks, and the fireworks in your stomach burning out, starving the embers before they could relight.

“Thanks again” you murmured quietly, flashing George one last smile before walking away, wanting to retreat to your bed and hide away.

George had to admit, he felt quite hurt that you went back to ignoring him after he had your back the other week - he knew that you didn’t owe him anything, not even an explanation - but he couldn’t understand why even after making up with Ron, you still refused to look at him.

Sitting on the sofa in the common room in your pyjamas, you flicked through your Quidditch magazine and blinked over and over whilst you looked across the page, sleep trying to pull you in.

“Georgie, I’ve already said-”

“Shhh!”

Jolting awake, you looked behind you and stared at the twins, long roles of parchment in one hand and a map in the other, you yawned and rubbed your eyes, closing your magazine.

“It’s okay boys, I’m going to bed anyway.” you yawned again, slowly getting off the sofa.

Fred and George shared a look, the older twin nodding his head towards you “go on then, mate, I’ll be upstairs.”

Fred walked past you, he whispered a “goodnight!” and went off to his dorm, leaving you alone with the person you wanted more than anyone in the world.

George pursed his lips, standing around awkwardly before approaching you “Y/N, can we talk?” he asked softly.

You nodded slowly, the nerves piping up in your tummy.

“What’s up?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, love” he said softly “have I done something wrong?”

This was your moment, not to ask him out - but to tell him the truth.

You pushed your stray hairs out of your face and sighed, the lad of your dreams standing beside you, looking down on you.

“I have feelings for you George” you admitted, your mouth going dry “and that’s why I have to stay away from you, because I know you’re never going to feel the same.”

George went quiet, the embers from the fire spreading and making it set alight, the amber tones coming from the flames resting on his face. He smiled for a moment and licked his lips, looking into your eyes.

“Tomorrow night” he whispered softly in your ear “where we first met”

Tag list: @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl

452 notes · View notes

ickle-ronniekins · 3 years

Text

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

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#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #george weasley imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

889 notes · View notes

fangirlishing · 3 years

Text

just for a laugh

fred weasley x fem!reader/oc extract from my fic just for a laugh

word count: 4k

content warning: 18+ ONLY; nsfw smut; unprotected sex; kissing; dom/sub vibe but they’re also switches; praise kink; begging; teasing/a little derogatory fun; nipple play; penetration; its their first time <3; fingering; blowjob; this is just pure filth.

I pulled Fred down into me, showing him that I was here for him. With this action cementing my permission, he wasted no time in easily picking me up by my waist. I jumped on instinct, coiling my legs around his toned torso. Our lips remained tangled in a mess of emotions as Fred slowly walked us over to Percy’s bed.

He practically threw me down into the plush mattress and I released a nervous giggle as I bounced lightly upon my landing. Fred, however, wasted no time joking around as he crawled on top of me and brought our lips together again.

In this new position, his thigh pressed greedily into my core, shocking me back into a state of delirious pleasure. Laughter wiped from my face to be replaced with thundering desire.

I tried to control the urges that were building up inside of me but, as his hands snaked under my shirt, I knew it was a futile goal. I moaned pleasurably, the sound muffled by his mouth which openly kissed mine.

A filthy smirk coated his lips as he trailed his fingers further up my chest. My breath hitched slightly as his calloused touch inched close to my breasts and my body reacted on instinct, rolling upwards into his strong hands with pleasure. My body and mind working together in tandem as both craved more from him.

His lips detached smoothly from mine as he whispered close to my ear, “you wanna take this off for me?” His hot breath set my neck ablaze and I almost let a moan spring free at such intimacy.

My eyes were wide but maintained my feverish desire to please him as they became darkened with a lust deep enough to match his. Without thinking, I pulled the pyjama shirt over my head and chucked it across the room.

For the first time, Fred looked upon my naked torso. I writhed a little at his analytical gaze, even his eyes on me was enough to send me toppling under waves of pleasure. On some level, he knew I'd left myself naked for him. I'd hardly admit it to his face, but, his joking seduction at dinner had coerced me into leaving myself completely naked underneath my pyjamas as I hoped, a little romantically, that he might finally act upon the tension building between us for weeks.

“Good girl,” he hummed filthily, drawing me up by my neck to reconnect our lips as a frenzied reward.

As our lips entangled, his hands returned to my bare skin which glistened for him under the moonlight peeking through the dark we were engrossed within. I began to whine upon his lips as his fingers purposefully avoided the places he knew I needed him most, thrusting my chest into his touch to show my impatience.

With such a display, he bit my lip painfully, dragging it out teasingly as his sultry eyes met mine before letting my lip snap back into place.

“Do you need something, darling?” He asked innocently, but his eyes challenged me as they smirked whilst looking upon the lustful cracks his taunting fingers caused to spread across my skin.

I whined softly, hoping no one could hear me as pleading begs fell from my lips almost as if magically coaxed out by Fred. I wouldn't put it past him but I knew I was under my own spell, enchanted by the red-headed treat towering over me.

He cast a wordless charm around the room before he spoke again, “you want me that badly?” He snickered, eyes still focused on assessing my body as if it was a half unwrapped gift ready for his final, jarring tears to whisk away the wrapping that contained me.

All I could muster was a nod as his fingers tantalisingly stroked down my sides, “dirty girl,” he chuckled teasingly in my ear before placing his open lips on the hidden hickeys that dotted my neck and chest, courteously of our moments of previous frenzied pleasure at Hogwarts.

He bit a few of them, laughing more as he watched me jolt with pleasure. It felt wrong to hear Fred talk to me in such a way - like this was all just some fantasy I’d cooked up in my dreams but, as I felt his tongue drag across my skin, I knew how real this was and I could no longer deny the pleasure that shuddered up my spine.

My hand slid into his hair instinctively, gripping it softly as he travelled his way down my body. I relished at how close we were, I could almost feel his heartbeat racing alongside mine as his strong beater figure pressed against my perky, bare chest.

“How much have you imagined this, darling?” He quipped, drawing himself back up to drown me in another of his captivating kisses as I whined in his mouth.

“Too much,” I gasped, opening my eyes to watch him smirk down at me, “probably every night.”

He moved close to my mouth again, hovering over it as he whispered, “what do we do in your head?” His voice screamed control but it wavered as he, too, struggled with his pleasures.

I felt it grow below, undulating into my still clothed skin to remind me that I was not alone in this longing. We had indulged ourselves too quickly for Fred's liking and, so, he drew us out longer with such questions. Perhaps he wanted to avoid the conversation we were due for as long as possible but, with his hardness pulsing into my thigh, rubbing slightly, I didn't care.

I flushed excessively in the dark room, distracted by my racing thoughts. He chuckled throatily in my ear before kissing my neck once more. “Is it that dirty, love? So bad you can’t even tell me? I promise it’ll stay between us,” he pressed a soft kiss upon my lips, staring me down as he regained control, knowing that I was fully encased under him.

“Its…” my thoughts were interrupted as he tweaked one of my nipples teasingly, I glared down his innocent disguise as I continued, “it’s embarrassing.”

He laughed again, kissing the centre of my chest, right between my breasts which heaved with desire, “that’s cute, love. How ‘bout you tell me one thing we’ve done in your head and I’ll tell you something I’ve thought about in return?”

“You-you’ve-?” I stammered, causing him to smile more.

“Of course, but I won’t say anything until you speak up.”

A lump formed in my throat as I sifted through all the fantasies my brain had conjured throughout my infatuation with Fred. Some were innocent - like going on picnics or wading through a pond and splashing each other with water whilst we laughed - but some were disgustingly perverse. Some I could hardly voice to him because I knew they would grant him much too power over my body and mind.

“One time I-“ I began, clearing my throat before I darted my eyes away from him as embarrassment roared through my veins, “I imagined you rewarding me for doing well on an essay,” I mumbled, turning my face fully away from him and shutting my eyes so I didn’t have to watch his provocative gaze as I lay my mind bare alongside my body for him.

His mouth came to hover next to my ear, “and how exactly did I reward you?” A sly kiss was placed just behind my ear which curled my toes and fluttered my breath.

I whimpered, unable to utter the words to him.

“Alright, darling,” I could hear him smile softly, leaving behind our game for a moment, he continued, “no pressure, I promise,” his hands rest comfortably along my sides, “how can I make you feel better, you look like you’re about to combust.”

He altered his position slightly, no longer hovering over me and trapping me under his presence. His muscled thigh remained in place, pressing on my anguished core, but he allowed himself to sit up, releasing me from the invisible chains his dominance wracked over me.

“Tell me about what you’ve imagined,” I whispered, drawing my hands up his chest to grip softly at the loose fabric of his shirt, slowly pulling him back down over me to reinforce my comfort with his controlling presence. To show him I needed him there just as much as he needed me.

“Hard to pick just one, love,” he uttered causing me to let out a chuckle that sent a wave of relaxation hurtling through me.

“I suppose there is one fantasy I keep revisiting,” he trailed off and I looked upon him with anticipation and he was more than willing to satisfy my cravings, “you’re studying hard in the library and I whisk you away to the restricted section and give you a much-needed break.”

My breath hitched slightly, “what do we do on this break?” I asked innocently as Fred’s fingers trailed down my stomach absentmindedly.

“Do you want to have a guess, darling? Or should I just tell you?”

His hands rest at the waistband to my pyjama bottoms as I gasped, allowing two words, “tell me,” to fall from my lips in a breathy respite.

Dragging his fingers across the band he hummed, “I lie you down on one of the tables,” he lifted my waistband, “and I tell you that I want you to do one thing,” I felt his fingers hover over my dripping slit, teasing me both subconsciously and physically as I squirmed slightly. I tried to ignore the surprised look of pleasure that fleetingly appeared on his face when he discovered no trace of underwear on me.

“Wh-what did you tell me?” I asked, anticipation getting the better of me as his fingers worked fire into my veins.

“I wanted you to beg to cum for me,” he stated simply, plunging a finger inside of me to coax out a desperate moan from my throat.

He was drunk on the power he wielded over me, looking down at my lustful expression and relishing in knowing that he was the one causing it. His cocky attitude taunted me, smirking upon me while I uttered profanities as I delved deeper into my pleasure, my brain conjuring up images of being bent over that library table and how Fred, I knew, would feast upon my body.

He coiled his thrusting finger inside of me, pushing against my pleasure point and dragging me further into a state of ecstasy. Delirious from the pleasure, I began to grind along with him as I craved more of his touch. More of him, whatever he decided to give me I would lap up like a dog. With this movement from me, he slid his finger out, denying me the pleasure I had become captivated under.

He began to stroke a set of his fingers up and down my slick entrance, breathing a laugh when I jolted as his fingers struck my bundle of nerves.

You’re so desperate for this, aren’t you?” He whispered into my ear and I pathetically whimpered a reply before crying out in shock as he suddenly slammed three fingers inside of me, chuckling in my ear at my loud response which he knew he'd get once he left me distracted with his slippery, seductive words. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he bit my ear playfully as he thrust faster, drawing more sounds of desperation from me.

His wicked eyes met mine and I knew exactly what I wanted him to know, it was something I’d whispered to myself late at night when giving myself a release and, admittedly, something I wanted to say to him.

“I wanna cum for you, Freddie,” I whined, gasping as his fingers plunged far deeper inside of me, engulfing me in pleasure as a response to the filth my lips divulged.

He hummed musically, “you’re perfect,” his lips softly slid over mine, passionately reaching into my senses as his fingers continued to drive me closer to my edge.

“Freddie,” I gasped through the kiss, heavily breathing before his lips returned to mine, “I need you now… Will you- I mean, would you want to-?” I cut myself off, feeling awkwardly vulnerable.

He detached from me only to gaze upon me with a genuine smile, “of course, only if you’re sure,” he pecked my lips again, reassuring me before we went too far.

I nodded, eyes glistening with uncontrolled affection. At this moment, I didn’t care how far we went and what that meant for us - I felt an animalistic urge surge deep within me that craved him in his entirety, no matter the consequences.

His fingers left me with a swift moment and I felt an emptiness I knew would soon be satisfied as Fred threw his sweater across the room. My hands ran over his muscled back, pulling him down for another kiss as a hungry, lustful ball settled uncomfortably in my stomach at the sight of him, it begged for its obscene desires to be quenched. He detached again to focus on slipping his pyjama pants off and I followed suit, leaving us both vulnerably naked for the first time.

I looked upon his hard member that had teased me thus far, my breath catching as reality settled upon my shoulders. Of course, I was a little fearful for my first time with Fred, but, as I met his kind eyes, I knew it was all going to be okay. That it wasn't going to be like the sex I once knew.

“You ready?” He asked, his soft tone relaxing my breathing.

“Merlin, yes,” I breathed and he chuckled over my lips, passionately kissing me once again. His open mouth moved leisurely over mine, short gasps interrupting our entanglement once he began touching himself for the first time since we’d begun. He'd held out so long to focus on my pleasure and, as I watched him succumb, it only enhanced my drive.

“Godric, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard,” he groaned, wincing with satisfaction as he stroked himself languidly.

“Let me,” I whispered, spitting into my hand and bringing it to stroke alongside him.

I watched as his hand fell lack, his eyes rolling back into his head as I continued my slackened strokes. He gave himself over to the pleasure, staggered breath holding back his desire to loudly groan as he fell under my seductive spell.

“Freddie?” I whispered, earning a dazed, mumbled acknowledgement as if he was both here and not, “get on your back for me.”

He obeyed immediately and without question, running a hand over his face as his mouth hung open in silent exertion.

Smirking, I brought my face closer to his length. My lips kissed his tip softly, evoking a drawn-out sizzled moan to fall loosely from his mouth. I slowly tested the waters, letting the salty taste of him coat my tongue before I plunged his hardness to the back of my throat. His gasping groan finally freed itself from his restrained voice as his fingers clutched my hair, guiding me up and down.

I pushed myself as far as I could go for his pleasure, the feeling of him hitting the back of my throat only stirring me on to be the best he’d ever had.

His breathing became more ragged as he submerged himself under my control, his grip relinquishing as he relished in the feeling of my tongue swirling around him, wanking him off with my lips.

“Love,” he strained through his teeth and I detached my lips, leaving a trail of spit attaching me to his member, “as much as I want my cum to drip from your lips, I’d like to be inside you much more.”

A smile spread across my face, “where would you like me then, Weasley?” A brave power had fallen upon me when I had him under my control but, now, I felt it would slip away from me once Fred's skilled mouth centred on me.

Taking control he wrapped his arms around my waist, flipping us over fluidly before he ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his face quickly. He dragged his thumb over my lips, a lingering touch to show how much he missed them upon him, before dipping his lips toward me. I readied myself to receive another of his long, emotive kisses but found his lips resting next to my ear to whisper a vulgar command, “you better get ready to beg.”

Without warning, he plunged himself into me. Our shared groans filled the air as we finally satisfied our deepest cravings. He rested one hand on my waist and the other reached over me to grip the headboard tightly.

Fred restrained from moving for a few moments to give us time to get used to the new feeling of each other, pulsing in unison from the sheer shock. I yelped once he began to move, causing him to pause a moment before I beckoned him to continue as I assured him it wasn't pain but pleasure that was rocking through my body.

He began to sloppily thrust inside of me, our inexperience shining bright but neither of us cared as we became wrapped in a euphoric cocoon. With every jolt of himself inside of me, he moaned at the sensation and I covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming as I relished in the feeling of finally being full by someone I cared deeply for.

“Let me hear you,” Fred panted in my ear, moving both his hands to now rest on my waist to draw me further down onto him, sliding me up and down over and over.

I uncovered my mouth, “fucking he-ll, Fred,” I quipped, stammering as he quickened his pace. I allowed my body to fall under his control, my breasts bouncing as the mattress squeaked underneath us.

He felt so right inside of me and my body became consumed under his pleasurable grasp. His hands squeezed tighter and tighter around my waist, guiding my movements as he slid into me. For every impulsive, too-tight squeeze he littered across my body came the soft brushes of his fingers to ease the small spikes of pain he’d unintentionally brought upon me.

Soon, this pain turned to pleasure as he wrecked my warm core. His length charged hard and fast inside of me, so much so that I could barely keep up. I lost myself in his strokes, whimpering soft moans as my slack body allowed him to have his way with me. The soft slaps of our skin violently intersecting spread throughout the room and it started to drive me insane with animalistic pleasure.

Consumed by thoughts of him and a yearning for his length that slammed so hastily inside of me, my thoughts became hazy as they obsessed over Fred.

His name became a chant, dripping from my lips easier than breathing. I wanted him to hear my complete desire for him more than anything else. What had begun as a whisper, almost like a silent prayer, became a lewd, rhythmic reminder of who was giving me the pleasure I’d craved for so long. Longer than he knew.

Every time his name fell from my lips, his breathing staggered almost with disbelief that this was real - that he was hearing such vulgarity fall from the mouth of someone who, for many years, had been so reserved and shy.

It urged him on, too, the knowledge that my entire being had become fully dominated by him in body and soul, and caused him to show his appreciation for my devotion by slamming hard into me.

“Fu-uck,” he stammered, more profanities falling from his lips as our joint pleasure built more and more.

Lost under his control and the steady, rhythmic pumps of his cock inside of me left me little room to think of anything else. My entire being ached for him - craved his pleasure, wanted to show him how desperate I was. How desperate he made me.

My wet mouth came to absentmindedly swirl around my fingers, my lips hungrily coated in saliva. Moaning Fred’s name again, my fingers left my lips and quickly trailed down to my clit, beginning to steadily play with it to overwhelm myself with greater pleasure.

I perked for a moment at the new sensation but I quickly submitted as I felt intense waves of sensuality jolt through me. My stomach fluttered as, with Fred working in unison with my own fingers, I became overwhelmed with carnality and it transformed the ball in my lower stomach into a burning hot pit which grew with each flick I gratified myself with.

Fred’s breathing, matching mine, became staggered now as he filthily pumped himself into me, “I-Merlin, I’m close, love,” he groaned, straining as he held himself back from the edge we both climbed towards.

“I-I wanna feel you, Freddie,” I begged, “deep inside, I wanna feel you there.”

He smirked, his spare hand stroking down my neck to my chest and, for an agonising minute, all I wanted him to do was wrap his fingers around my throat and squeeze.

“Keep going,” he begged, pinching my erect nipple, grimacing as he held himself back from spilling too quickly over the edge.

I hissed as he pinched me hard before I whispered airy begs for his cum to fill the empty, burning chasm inside of me.

I almost choked on my breath as he slammed hard and slow into me, dragging it out further as he chuckled to himself; but it was obvious the thread he hung onto was loose and weakened under our intense passion.

He gritted his teeth with every elongated stroke as he held himself back, I hardly knew how he was handling this, “you’re so worked up all over me, such a little whore,” the venomous words dripped from his tongue easily as if he'd said them about me before in his fantasies.

Slamming into me again, he chuckled at my whimpers, “such an innocent little girl coming awfully undone - would you like to show me how you cum for me? I can tell you’ve done it for me before... I even heard you a couple of those times.”

I unlatched my eyes from his gaze, embarrassed at admitting what he already knew. Shying away from the desperation I craved, needed, in this moment.

His lips dropped, whispering seductively to me, “beg for it, darling. Beg for me.”

My wild, innocent eyes met his hedonistic, darkened ones and I knew then that I was dangerously enraptured under his spell.

It all came to a head, the feeling of being so full driving me so wild that it caused the heat spewing inside of me to bubble over. I didn't care if it made me weak, I wanted him to know that this weakness was all because of him.

I shamelessly began to beg, words falling from my lips quicker than I could control them, “I-I want you to show me what I do to you, wanna feel full of you. Please, Freddie,” I strained harder now, “please I need you. I-I-I,” I could barely hold myself back as his length slid so fluidly inside of me.

He angrily slammed himself as quick as he could inside of me and my eyes rolled back into my head as he pounded quickly.

“Such a good girl, fuck! Scream my name, love… scream it as you cum,” he stammered, finally releasing himself inside of me as pleasure undulated between us.

Overwhelmed with how this new sensation felt, I followed suit as I shrieked his name, my walls pulsating around his length which remained buried inside me as we both came down from our highs.

He remained inside of me as we both attempted to regulate our breathing. It was silent between us, only our ragged breaths and the sweet cream leaking from me remained as a memory of what had just happened.

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #imagine #smut #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagine #harry potter #harry potter fic #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fangirlishing #fangirlishing smut #fangirlishing fred #weasley #harry potter smut

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greetings-and-salutations · 3 years

Text

“There’s Two of You! That Makes So Much More Sense.”

Fred Weasley x oc

(soulmate au) Part 5

(Gif not mine)

Requested? No

Summary: Fred Weasley’s been searching for his soulmate for what feels like ages. What happens when he finally finds out she’s been right next to him this whole time; Or rather, seated right next to his twin in potions?

soulmate au: On your 15th birthday the first words your soulmate will say to you appear as a tattoo on your wrist.

Warnings: cringey writing from my teens; Jealous Fred; some purposefully messed up ages; Seamus Finnigan being Seamus Finnigan

Paring: Fred Weasley x Harper Bell (OC)

Harper

“Is it true?” Harper glared up at whoever it was that had interrupted The peaceful nap she had been taking on the couch in the common room. Her homework was sprawled out in front of her, leading her to believe that it had been what she was doing when she passed out.

“Yes, people do think you’re gay for each other.” Harper responded, grumpily. Dean and Seamus rolled their eyes as they popped down on the couch beside her. They had their bags with them, so she assumed they had just gotten back from class. That reminded Harper that Fred would probably be back from his own class soon. Butterflies flitted around in her stomach at the thought.

“Haha. Very funny. You know what we’re talking about.” Seamus said. Harper decided to play dumb.

“Do I?” She asked, noticing the small herd of students slowly filling up the room. She reached for her school stuff, knowing she wouldn’t be doing anymore homework tonight now that classes were over.

“Don’t play dumb with us, Harp. It’s all over school.” Dean said. Harper’s cheeks flushed a little at that. Sure, they hadn’t exactly been discreet about everything, walking through the halls hand in hand and all, but she didn’t think people would get “soulmates” from that so soon.

“Look, Dean! She’s blushing!” Harper’s face got even redder as he yelled out for anyone in the common room to hear. She decided she’d rather not have this conversation right now and grabbed her things, deciding to hide in her dorm until Dean and Seamus get bored and went to bed themselves.

“Stop her!”

“Quick, Dean, grab her leg!”

“I can’t! Just tackle her!”

That was all Harper heard before she was on the ground, a big lump of boy sitting on her stomach.

“What the he*l?” She cried out, trying desperately to shove him off but to no avail. That is, until another voice joined the ruckus.

Fred

After what had felt like the longest class of Fred’s life, he and George had finally returned to the common room only to find some sort of fight going down. At least that’s where it looked like from where Fred was standing. He was about to laugh at the poor sod Seamus Finnigan was on top of, when he noticed the unmistakable face of his soulmate. His blood practically boiled at the sight, but he wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. He didn’t wanna risk her getting mad at him.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” He asked, making his way purposefully through the crowd and stopping in front of Seamus who was now looking up at him, like a deer in headlights. Harper was still trying to shove him off, her face showing signs of annoyance, but not necessarily anger.

“Um... I was... um...” Seamus didn’t seem to know what to say. Fred didn’t wanna admit it, but he was kind of enjoying watching the younger boy squirm. Though he wasn’t too keen on the squirming happening on top of his soulmate.

“Freddie? Can you be a dear and GET HIM OFF ME!” Harper cried out, her annoyance escalating by the second. Fred didn’t need to be told twice and grabbed Seamus by the back of his shirt and tossed him aside before helping Harper to her feet.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asked. His question was aimed at Seamus, though his attention kept flitting down to Harper, his arm wrapping around her waist almost instinctively.

“Well... you see... I... um... we... well...” Seamus stuttered out, still not seeming to have an answer. Fred was right. He did enjoy watching Seamus squirm more from this position.

“Seamus and Dean we’re picking on me.” Harper spoke up with a pout. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was just messing with Seamus. Fred could do that too.

“Is that so?” Fred cracked his knuckles threateningly. He could see Seamus gulp from where he was standing about three feet away. “You want me to take care of it, love?” He asked, looking down at Harper. He could tell she was trying not to laugh.

“No! I mean-um I’m sorry...Harp-Harper. We were just-I mean-I was just messing around and-“ It seemed as if Harper couldn’t last another second of the poor boys babbling and burst into laughter. Fred just watched his soulmate’s happy expression with a fond smile. “Oh, it was a- you were just...right.” Seamus said, realizing that they were just joking with him.

“So does this mean you two are...?” Dean finally spoke up from where he’d been watching the exchange. Harper and Fred turned pink and looked at each other questioningly.

“Well... we-um...” Harper started, but thankfully Fred picked up where she left off.

“Sorry, mate. Looks like Harp’s spoken for.” He said, not really answering the boys question, but also not not answering it. Harper appreciated it.

“Don’t apologize to me. Seamus here’s the one with a fat crush on her.” Dean joked causing Harper to roll her eyes. The Finnigan boy did, in fact, not have a “fat crush” on her, contrary to the never ending teasing Dean directed towards him and herself. It was just a long-standing inside joke. But, of course, Fred didn’t know that.

“Is that so?” The redhead asked, jealously practically oozing from him as his grip around Harper’s waist tightened. Seamus’s eyes widened in terror.

“Freddie, calm down...” Harper whispered though, this time, he didn’t acknowledge her, his eyes set on her Irish friend.

“No! I would never have a crush on Harper. Not that she’s not pretty, or anything! She’s very pretty! Just not my type... not that she’s not... you’re type, or whatever. But like she’s not mine... and I don’t like her. I mean, not like that. She’s great, but like... yeah.” Fred raised his eyebrows in question. Harper cringed as Seamus began sweating nervously.

“You done digging yourself a deeper hole?” He asked, ignoring Harper tugging on his sleeve, trying to get him to stop.

“Yes, sir! I mean- you’re not a sir. I mean-“ Fred smirked a little at the authority the word made him feel like he had.

“No, go back to sir. I quite liked it.” Harper physically facepalmed at this.

“Okay, we get it. Seamus is annoying, Fred’s a git, and I’m tired of this conversation. Can we go?” Harper asked, tugging on Fred’s sleeve once more, though this time he turned to look at her.

“Alright.” She smiled up at him and Fred felt the same aching in his heart. She had no idea how cute she was.

As she began making her way towards the portrait hole, Fred turned back to the two younger boys in front of him.

“For the record, I was just messing with you.” He said with his signature smirk. Seamus sighed in relief, but Fred wasn’t done. “But if you do try and make a move on my girl, It’ll be the last thing you ever do. Got me?” Seamus nodded quickly, prompting Fred to turn around, pleased with the boys reaction.

“I got you, mate.” Seamus called out towards his back as he followed Harper out the door.

“That’s sir to you, young man!”

part 6?

Tag lists open!!!

Tags: @electriclcvewp @fredsandlokiswhore

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #weasley twins soulmate au #weasley twins #weasley twins fanfic #Fred Weasley soulmate au #fred weasley series #george weasley #lee jordan #soulmate au #harry potter fanfiction #weasley family #series #oc #oc x canon #katie bell #seamus finnigan #dean thomas #i wrote this ages ago

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

one more night (g.w.)

prompt: after a bad breakup, george comes back to y/n’s flat to pick up some leftover things he missed. one of these missing things was a proper goodbye.

pairings: george weasley x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ sexual content MDI (break up sex, soft sex, unprotected sex), super angsty, language, emotional break up, crying

word count: 3.7k

author’s note: something about break up sex really does it for me. like...it’s so hot and for why? anyway, here’s wonderwall. flashbacks are conveyed through italics.

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdric @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart-blog @starlightweasley @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @vogueweasley

The small cardboard box that sat next to the door was completely pathetic, sitting there in shame. The cardboard could barely hold the boxes contents, wanting to burst at its seams as it held every shred of George Weasley that was in your flat. You wanted your flat to be a George Weasley free space, but a part of you wanted to keep the magic of your relationship alive. He couldn’t miss his quidditch jumper from Hogwarts, could he? It had been years since you graduated, he wouldn’t remember that you had it, right? So, his jumper hung proudly in your closet like the status of your relationship hadn’t changed.

As you leaned against your kitchen island, sipping quietly from your coffee mug, you stared at the cardboard box, hoping that the intensity of your gaze would make the box combust into flames. But it stayed still. Unaffected. George’s things teemed out of the box, miscellaneous shirts and jumpers and trinkets piled high. You caught yourself smiling as you shook it off, reminding yourself of the status of your relationship, cringing as you did so.

The night of your break up played on a constant loop, like a movie trailer. When you woke up, it was the first thing on your mind. When your head hit the pillow, it was the last thing you thought of when you closed your eyes. It was a sick cycle.

“I can’t change my work schedule to fit yours, George. I’ve done it in the past so often and I can’t anymore. I’m finally on my own two feet and I need to keep the ball rolling,” you explain to George as you sit at his kitchen table as George paces the living room, back and forth, pulling at his red roots, trying to formulate a response. “Admit it, George. We can’t m-”

“Don’t you say what you’re going to say, (Y/N). Don’t you bloody dare,” he speaks as you sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. You didn’t want to have this conversation with George, but it was unavoidable at this point. You had just gotten a job as a full-time Healer, working in St. Mungo’s, your dream job. But the busy work schedule that you had was failing to align with George’s schedule working the joke shoppe that just seemed to do better and better every day. “We can work this out. We can’t just give up at the first sign of hardship,” George laughs as you give him a knowing look. You had been trying to make it work for a month, but things simply weren’t working. When you did see him, it would be for two hours and the two of you would be so exhausted that you would talk for five minutes before going to bed. “(Y/N), I don’t want to be the one to suggest this, but I can support us. The both of us. The joke shoppe is doing so well and with the booming business, I have enough money for me to sell this flat and we can buy a home together. Start a family. What we’ve always wanted to do!”

You rise from your chair at the thought of quitting your job. Something you had worked years and years towards and George dared to bring up the suggestion of you quitting a month and a half in. “I am not quitting,” you say very sternly, making George sigh, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. “I have worked my ass off to get where I am right now and I’m not going to sacrifice that for the sake of our relationship!” you exclaim.

But that was wrong of you to say; it just put wood on the fire. “So how far would you go for our relationship?” George challenges, folding his arms across his chest as you gulp. “Because Godric knows everything I have done for the sake of us.”

And he was right. George shifted employees and his own work schedule so he could have an extra hour with you some nights. He would close the shops on holiday weekends, which was prime for sales, so he could take you on romantic getaways. George told you to move in with him when you struggled to find a flat of your own. He helped get you through Healer school. George put you before him in the relationship and you knew that. You felt guilty now. You shouldn’t have said what you did.

“I didn’t mean it like that, George,” you sigh, admitting defeat as George scoffs. “I meant that I can’t give up my dream. Just when I finally got it. And I don’t want you to give up yours. It’s not fair for the both of us,” you try to tell him as he shakes his head, knowing the direction the conversation has turned and he doesn’t like it one bit. So much so that you can see his eyes become glassy as he turns his head away from you so you didn’t have to watch him break down. “George, I love you. The life you have given us has been nothing short of wonderful.”

“Stop it, please,” he manages to croak out, turning towards you, his chocolate brown eyes pooling with hot tears. The sight makes your heart shatter as you suck in a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. Tears were impending. “I don’t want to let you go. I can’t let you go. Not like this,” George holds your face in his hands, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs, gazing into your eyes with so much love he could burst. You let go of a shaky sigh as you lean into his touch and close your eyes, savoring the way his large hands held your face with such ease. “I’m not letting you go, (Y/N). I’m going to love you forever and ever and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You open your eyes and give George a sad smile as he sniffles. You reach up and press your lips to his, your kiss mixing with both of your salty tears. This love that you possessed for each other was greater than anything you have ever known. But the universe was trying to tell you that this wasn’t working. For the both of you to live the lives you always dreamed out you had to let the other go. No matter how hard it was going to be.

The two of you pull away from your sweet kiss before you speak, “I’m never going to stop loving you, George. Nothing will change that. But for now, we need to let go. For both of our sake’s.”

The memory is interrupted by the buzzer going off in your flat. “Shit,” you huff as you scurry over to the intercom. You buzzed him in as you writhed your hands in anticipation, pacing your living room floor. Your eyes dart to the box. Should you move it? Keep it close to the door? If you keep it next to the door does it say you want him out for good? What if you put it on the table? Is that more of a welcome in? Should you let him come in?

Too many thoughts clouded your mind before a gentle knock sounded on the door. Your heart froze and you stopped in the living room. “Bloody hell,” you breathe out as you look at yourself in the mirror, checking your hair and smiling to see if anything was in your teeth. “It’s just goodbye, (Y/N). Just goodbye,” you tell yourself before you walk over to the door, undoing the latches and locks.

When you swing it open, George stands there, fresh from a shower it looks like. His hair is slightly damp, hanging on his head rather than spiked up and slicked back like it usually was. Like you loved it. A gray t-shirt hung on his body, clinging on his arms, the front tucked into dark wash jeans. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he huffs with a small smile. “Work was crazy and I had to take a shower before I came over. I hope you don’t mind,” he speaks.

You gulp, trying not to blurt out how good he looked right now, the scent of his cologne making your body tingle as if it was some sick love potion. “Not at all,” you manage to say instead, thankfully. “Uh,” you tremble before looking down on the other side of the door to the box that taunted you. Picking it up from the floor, you extend it out to him. “This should be everything.”

George takes it from your arms and huffs, “Great.” He holds it in one of his arms with ease, his biceps flexing under his gray shirt as you watch, eyes hungry. This was some kind of sick joke, wasn’t it? With his other hand, he rummages through the piles, making sure he had everything. “Uh, my quidditch jumper is not in here?” he asks, but it was more of a matter of fact.

Damn it. You had been caught. You had to come up with something, quickly. “Oh! Yeah! I forgot!” you try to act surprised. “It’s, uh, I washed it. Yeah, um, it’s in my room,” you close your eyes and shake your head. “One minute. You can come in if you want,” you open the door wider as George smiles and makes his way in your flat as if it were his first time here when in reality, he did have his own set of keys. You shut the door and watch him awkwardly stand into the living room, watching you. “Alright then.”

You scurry into your bedroom and push open your closet door, shuffling through the hangers, finding George’s quidditch jumper proudly hanging in the back in it’s crimson and gold glory. Plucking it from the hanger, you sigh in defeat. So much for that endeavor. You flip around to run back into the kitchen where George was waiting, but you were startled to see that he had followed you into your bedroom. “Oh,” you jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles. “I didn’t know if I should have followed you or...” he trails off, awkwardly as you gulp and nod your head. “Seems like you found it.”

“Yeah, here it is,” you hand it to him, trying to savor the feeling of the knit material in your fingertips. It would be the last time you felt that material for a while. “Sorry about this mix up,” you tuck your hands into your sweatpants pockets, rocking back and forth on your heels.

George smiles and shakes his head, “No need to apologize. Honest mistake,” he speaks as you nod your head with an awkward chuckle. Yeah, honest mistake... “I’ll, uh, I’ll head out then, yeah?” he asks with raised brows.

You nod, “Sure. Yeah. Yeah.”

The two of you start to make your way out of your room, but George stops in his tracks when something catches his eye. You stop and follow his line of sight that landed on a framed picture of the two of you from one of your first holidays together. In the photograph, George held up the camera at the two of you, his arm wrapped around you tightly as you leaned into his chest, cuddling into his tall figure. The both of you were mid-laughter, the beautiful beach behind you, the sun fading the back. George smiled softly at the photo as you watched his face shift, your heart fluttering at his reaction. “That was a good holiday, wasn’t it?” he chuckles, walking towards your dresser where the frame stood proudly. It had been two weeks since the break up, but you didn’t bother taking any photos out of the frames yet. You couldn’t bare it. That would mean George was gone for good.

You smile softly and walk next to him as he gazes at the photograph, all the memories resurfacing of the beautiful beach and the small cabana George had gotten for the two of you with the graduation money he had saved up. “It was,” you recall. “It was like a dream, honestly. We were so young back then,” you say in disbelief. It was true. You were both just eighteen in that picture and now here you were, twenty two, post-break up. The two of you had grown up so much since that holiday. You wish you could jump through the picture and tell your younger self to relish in every moment you had with George because each moment was beautiful.

George laughs, “We look so young. Merlin...” The two of you chuckle at the photo. “We were so happy,” he sighs before looking at you. You don’t dare peel your eyes from the photograph, knowing that if you look at him right now, you’d melt and give into him. “Look at me please,” he speaks just above a whisper.

Shaking your head, you speak, “I can’t, Georgie. I can’t bear it.”

His heart flutters at your nickname for him. “I want to take a look at your eyes. A good look. One last time and I promise I’ll go.” George reaches out and touches your hand gently, as if you were made of glass and the slightest touch would break you. “(Y/N).”

With a gulp and mustering up all your courage, you turn your gaze to his and your heart melts at the sight. If a look could speak. His eyes were so sad, but filled with so much longing and love and adoration. The face you loved so much, full of so much tenderness, staring down at you. He made you feel like you were the only person who mattered. Because to George, you were.

The two of you are just looking at each other, absorbing each other’s features as much as possible before one of you dares to speak up. Slowly, George reaches up and cups your face, like you were so used to. “George,” you sigh out breathlessly as you lean into his touch, tears welling up in your eyes. You can’t believe you had to let him go. “I just want to be happy again. With you.”

George gives you a sad smile, “I do too, angel. More than anything. It’s my only wish. Even if it’s just for another day.”

His words make the wheels start churning in your head as you lick your lips before saying, “Then let us have one more day. One more night together. I don’t care if it’s temporary. I just want one last memory with you, Georgie.”

George’s eyes search yours as you desperately hold onto him, needing him, wanting him, yearning for him. George brings your face to his, connecting your lips in a kiss that was unlike any other kiss you’ve ever had. It made the hair on your neck stand up. Your arms wrap around his neck as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The kiss is full of urgency and desire, as if you didn’t take each other right now, there wouldn’t be another opportunity for this.

You break apart from the kiss to pull George’s shirt over his head as he does the same to you only to reconnect your kiss. His lips move against yours, hungrily, passionately as you moan gently into his mouth. George grabs your thighs and hoists you up as you wrap your legs around his torso as he walks over to the bed, laying you down gently, kissing your lips, neck, and collarbones. His lips leave trails of wet kisses as you run your finger through his still damp hair, tugging on it gently. “Please, George, please,” you whine as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He pulls himself away from your chest to kiss your lips again. “Anything you want, angel. Say the word and I’m all yours,” he tells you, brushing your hair gently. You grab his face and pull him down to connect your lips again, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you arch your back, pushing your chest into his. His tongue massages yours as his hands unclasp your bra, throwing it to the floor.

“I want you to make love to me,” you mumble against his mouth as George smiles softly, his heart fluttering. “I want you to make love to me, Georgie. I want to remember this night for the rest of my life.”

“Anything, angel. Anything you want,” he repeats himself as you both breathily laugh, reconnecting your lips, stripping the other of their remaining clothes. Soon enough, the two of you are naked and George breathes out, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You connect your lips again before you place kisses along George’s jawline as he hovers over you, lining himself up to your entrance, pulling your legs farther open as you wrap them around his torso. George runs the tip of his hard dick up your wet pussy as you bite down on your lip with a sharp inhale. “Please, baby, please,” you beg him which only makes George obey you, pushing his whole length into your aching core as you both moan out in satisfaction. He fills you up in a way that is so familiar and delightful as you dig your nails into his biceps. “Shit,” you moan out as George starts to move, thrusting in and out of you slowly.

“Fucking hell,” George groans out. “You feel fucking incredible,” he breathes out, his hips moving smoothly against yours, pumping his hard cock in and out as your walls tighten around him. “You like that, baby?”

With a whimper, you moan out, “I love it, baby. Keep going, don’t stop. I love the way you fuck me. Fuck, George.” George continues to thrust in and out, picking up his pace, going in deeper as your eyes flutter shut. Your nails dig deeper into his shoulder as you groan, “Right there, baby, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Your praise makes George push your legs open wider so he can push impossibly deeper into you, before hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder, making the both of you cry out in euphoria. “Shit, I love the way you feel wrapped around me. Say my name, baby,” George groans.

“Oh, George, fuck, baby,” you moan out louder, head tossed back against your sheets as George buries his face in your neck as you hold onto him. He pounds into you deeper as you are panting in a state of nirvana. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you dig your nails into George’s flesh as he presses love bites into your neck.

He looks at you and speaks, “Look at me, angel. I want you to cum looking into my eyes, baby.” You peel your eyes open and look into his brown eyes, dark with a mixture of lust and love. “I love you, angel.”

As he continues to thrust, you feel the familiar knotting feeling in your stomach as your jaw drops. “I love you,” you breathe out, looking deep into George’s eyes. “I love you so much, baby. I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, I love you,” George repeats as you reach your climax, crying out his name in pleasure, head rolling back as you clutch the sheets, coming all over his dick. Shortly after, George finishes, moaning out your name, the both of you a symphony of moans and heavy breathing.

The two of you come down from your highs as he pulls out and lays on the bed next to you, chests heavy with the rise and fall of incoming and outgoing breaths. You run your fingers through your hair before rolling onto your side to face George who stares at the ceiling. A small smile is on your lips as you place a hand on George’s chest. He turn his gaze to you and a toothy grin is on your face as you giggle, George pulling you close to him with a breathy chuckle. He places a kiss to your temple. The two of you cuddle next to each other, naked underneath your sheets, happy to be resting in each other’s arms.

That is until George speaks, “You didn’t really wash my jumper did you? You were trying to keep it in hopes I didn’t notice, weren’t you?” You can hear the smile in his voice as you roll your eyes. “You were!”

You sit up, “I was not!”

George laughs, “You cheeky little thing! You were trying to steal my clothes from me after we broke up!”

The two of you are in a fit of laughs, laying next to each other, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin next to each other. You rest your head on George’s chest as he rubs your back. “I wish we could be this happy all the time,” you confess as George sighs, wishing the same thing. But the two of you knew that this wasn’t working anymore. The break up was for the best.

“I do too, my love,” he agrees. “But I don’t want to focus on what we wish could happen. Let’s just enjoy tonight while we have it, okay?” he speaks as you nod, cuddling further into his touch. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Minutes later, the two of you had fallen asleep, entangled in each others arms, the last words on your lips being confessions of love.

The morning comes as quickly as you fell asleep. You stretch your arms out and pat the area of the bed next to you, searching for George. But you quickly realize that your George wasn’t there.

In his place was a piece of parchment that had scribbled onto it, I didn’t want to leave before you woke up, but work calls sadly. Thank you for last night. It was the best night of my life. I love you, (Y/N). I always have and I always will. That will never change. You are my angel. Love always, Your George. P.S. You can keep the jumper. It looked better on you anyway.

A few feet away from the note was the jumper on the edge of the bed, laid out in it’s glory as a small smile made its way onto your face. You reach over and pull the jumper onto your naked body, inhaling the fabric that smelt so much of George, making your heart flutter. “Maybe someday,” you whisper. “Maybe someday, my love.”

#Fred and George #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #george weasley #george weasley x #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey x fem #george weasley x fem #george weasley x fem! reader #george weasley x fem reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut #harry imagine #george weasley smut

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Happiness, I’m sorry you’ve been on hold.

Request: Could you do a one shot of Fred Weasley after the war, where he doesn’t die and actually falls in love with a muggle. And he tells her about wizards and meets his family? Thank you!

A/N: So this is now the longest thing I have ever written. My aim for this was to make it equal parts angst and equal parts fluff because I think Fred deserves all the fluff. Thank you so much for requesting this! I hope I have done it justice! Please read the warnings before reading this fic should anything trigger - you come first, not fic reading. Also, if anyone can name the TV shows I mention in this, you get a gold star! Title from Volbeat - For Evigt. I hope you all enjoy, I know it’s long!!

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of war, depression, insomnia, PTSD, swearing, food, but THERE IS SO MUCH FLUFF - SO MUCH (as well as a bit of steaminess).

Word count: 13.3k

The voices have blurred into a senseless mess; Fred can only just make out the deep timbre of adult males and the high pitched shouts of students. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know that spells are being thrown left, right, and centre.

He does his fair share of fighting; hurling jinx after jinx at any Death Eater he comes upon.

The corridor he runs down is moaning and groaning as if ready to collapse, but Fred continues, his breath coming in pants. His eyes run over the bodies of students and teachers; his heart beginning the painful mourning process then and there.

Someone shouts; he doesn’t know who.

Something creaks; he doesn’t know what.

A brilliant flash of light bounces in front of his eyes, and he feels himself blown away just as the wall beside him starts to collapse.

Whether from shock or from injury, his vision fades to black.

Fred wakes with a start; heart racing, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, hands gripping the bedsheets in a vice-tight hold.

With his eyes closed, he takes a deep breath before he begins to go through his exercise. An exercise he repeats nightly.

Aloud he says their names like a mantra: “Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny.”

He does this over and over again until his heart rate calms, and his hands can release the bedsheets.

Fred checks the clock; 3am. He nods, sighing. Three hours sleep.

Fred supposes he should be thankful. After all, it’s three hours more than he got the night before.

He leaves his bed, dragging his feet to the kitchen where with a flick of his wand, the kettle begins to boil, and teabag drops itself into his favourite mug – his only mug.

The Second Wizard War had been over for almost a year now, and for the most part, life had returned to normal. Routines were picked back up and time had simply started to move on.

But Fred felt stuck.

He couldn’t shake the nightmares; keeping the house up with his screams. He couldn’t face opening the shop up despite George’s best attempts at pleading.

He didn’t have it in him to laugh.

He felt broken; as if something vital within him snapped in two the day he avoided the winged clutches of death.

Settling on the couch with his now steeping mug of tea, Fred resigns himself to the fact that he won’t be getting anymore sleep tonight.

The TV plays lowly in the background, a rerun of an old British sitcom set in a prison playing. Fred pays it little to no attention; instead, looking around the small flat he’s called home for the last eight months of his life. The walls are sparsely decorated; a few photos hung up but nothing that screams his personality. His cupboards remain filled just enough for one person, as does his fridge. It’s a flat fit for a hermit; Fred thinks that’s what he’s become.

He decided to leave home two months after the end of the war. When he started to notice the dark circles underneath his mother’s eyes and realised that he was the cause of them – his nightmares and his screams.

Molly cried when he left; worried sick over how he would look after himself and cope. Fred reassured her and made a promise to send letters twice a week – a promise he has yet to break.

George was understandably angry with his twin’s decision, but he knew that deep down that Fred needed to go to heal so he can laugh in the shop once again.

With a tight hug from his parents and siblings alike, Fred began his new life in muggle society.

A frantic knock at his door has Fred spilling his tea and falling out of his reminiscing. Jumping up from the couch, his hand grabs his wand, ready to defend himself should he need to.

His breath comes in quick pants as a result of the adrenaline and panic coursing through his system. The only people who know where he lives are his family with the added bonus of Harry, Hermione and Lee Jordan; no-one else had his address.

The frantic knocking continues; becoming quicker if it was at all possible. Fred swallows past the lump in his throat as he unlocks his door, wrenching it open in a swift movement, ready to confront whatever was on the other side.

Fred wasn’t prepared for it to be you.

You stand in front of his flat with a wild look on your face; equal parts terror and panic. Your hand is still raised in a fist, ready to rain down on the faded red of his door. You only just stop yourself from pounding your fist into his chest.

“Can I help you?” Fred greets.

“I’m so sorry, I know how late it is, but I need your help.”

Fred raises an eyebrow, “What with?”

You toe his welcome mat sheepishly, pointing towards your flat next door to his. “There’s a massive spider in my bathroom and I’m too scared to kill it myself.”

“You’re knocking down my door at this time in the morning for a spider?” Fred asks incredulously.

You glare at him, “This isn’t just any spider, okay? It’s massive; I can practically see its kneecaps!” You huff, placing your hands on your hips, “Will you please help me?”

Fred leans against the doorframe, a smirk gracing his lips, “What’s in it for me?”

You purse your lips; eyes glancing between the red-headed man vexing you and the door to your flat where you know the spider is waiting to make a mockery of you. You sigh, deciding the former is the lesser evil than the latter, “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“You’ll buy me breakfast for killing a spider?”

You nod rapidly, “Yes, I’ll buy you breakfast, and I’ll even fork out extra for hash browns, just please kill the spider.”

Fred pauses; pretending to think it over in order to annoy you that little bit more. It had been a while since he had taken the time to vex someone; he had to admit he was rather enjoying getting on your nerves.

“Well?” You press, tapping your foot on his welcome mat, “Will you help me or not?”

Fred pushes himself off the doorframe, keeping his wand concealed in his shirt sleeve. He bows at the waist with a cocky smile on his lips, “Lead the way, my lady.”

You roll your eyes at the man; not remembering a time when a man had gotten on your nerves to this extent. You lead him into your flat; his eyes wandering over the heavily decorated walls and the over-filled bookshelves. You pause outside the door to your bathroom, biting your lip as you face the red-haired man, “I last saw it in the sink. It could have moved now.”

Fred nods, “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Do you have a boot or something I could use?”

You turn away from him, heading back to the entryway where he saw piles upon piles of shoes. “I don’t have a boot,” you start, “but I do have a pair of trainers.”

“They’ll work,” Fred reassures, taking them from your hands.

You throw him a thumbs-up before retreating a few paces into your living room. You haul yourself onto the couch, much to Fred’s amusement, as if the spider is going to come running out of the bathroom to exact its revenge on you for throwing your pot of face cream at it before you sprinted out of your flat.

“Good luck,” You state as Fred opens the door to your bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Fred runs his eyes around your bathroom, looking for the eight-legged arachnid that’s caused this much trouble at this time in the morning. He finds it in no time; still stuck in your sink, unable to make its way up the smooth porcelain sides.

It doesn’t take Fred long to dispose of the spider; trapping it with a spell and flinging it out of the window. For extra measure, and to not alert you to his magic, he slams the trainer down on the tiled floor of your bathroom. Fred even goes so far as to scrunch up some tissue in his hand to make it look as if he had gotten the spider.

If he can avoid it, Fred won’t kill another living creature. In the short span of his life, Fred had seen too much death, and he knows he doesn’t want to be witness to anymore.

Upon opening the door, Fred finds you stood in the exact same place but with a rolled up magazine in your hand. He wants to laugh at the sight, but he can’t dredge up the will to do so. Instead, he holds up the scrunched up tissue and your trainer, declaring, “It’s gone. I got rid of it.”

You jump down from the couch, pottering over to him. The rolled up magazine still in your hand, “It’s in there?”

Fred nods, a little white lie won’t hurt you and he doubts the spider would return. “Do you have somewhere I can put this?” he asks, waving the tissue around.

“Of course, the kitchen is over here.” You lead him to the small kitchenette where he disposes of the empty tissue. You take your trainer off him and Fred claps his hands together as if he’s completed a job well done.

“Right,” He starts, “If you don’t need me for anything else…”

Your eyes widen as if suddenly aware what time it is and how long you’ve kept him, “Of course!” you cry, “I didn’t realise the time, you’ll want to be getting back to sleep. Thank you for all your help…” you trail off, realising you don’t know his name.

“Fred. My name is Fred.”

“Fred,” You smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“I’m glad I could help, (Y/N),” Fred says, making his way to your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”

You frown, “Breakfast?”

“You owe me? For killing the spider, remember?”

You hold your hand to your forehead, “Yes! I remember. How does meeting at half past nine sound? I want to get some sleep before I meet you again.”

“Half nine it is. I’ll see you then.” Fred says as goodbye, shutting your front door behind him and making his way back to the couch that had been calling his name since he left it.

The TV has moved on now; showing another rerun of an old sitcom – this one about two brothers hustling their way through life in a borough of London. Fred rather likes this show, having gotten hooked his first month in muggle life. He turns the volume up, taking a sip of his now cold tea.

Fred tries to pay attention to scene currently playing; the brother’s elderly uncle unscrewing the fastenings to a very expensive chandelier they’ve been hired to clean. Little do they know they’ve got their wires crossed and disaster is about to strike.

Fred pays little attention to this, but rather than return to the wallowing he found himself in earlier, he lets himself think of breakfast tomorrow.

His eyes begin to flutter shut; the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. He slumps down onto the couch, reaching for the blanket he keeps draped across the back of it for this very reason, and he throws it across himself. He takes one last look at the television to see that the brothers had been underneath the wrong chandelier their elderly uncle was loosening, and he falls asleep with the thought of breakfast running through his mind.

------------------

Fred is ready too early; he knows he is.

He also thinks he’s overdressed but he doesn’t let himself think too much into that issue.

Another nightmare had awoken him an hour after he fell back asleep in front of the TV. Fred wasn’t too resigned though; four hours sleep in one night was the most he had gotten in a while. He was going to count this as a win.

For a while, he remained on the couch, flicking through the channels hoping to find something other than telly shopping. He skipped over the news channels, not needing to hear anything about muggle society that could potentially send him further into his spiral. He ran a hand over his face as he turned off the TV; he had moved away from home to start getting better; to start the healing process yet he felt as if he was only making things worse.

Before he could let himself dwell further on that subject, he hauled himself into the shower. Taking extra time to scrub at his hair and body; making himself look presentable for breakfast with you.

Fred took extra care in picking out his clothes. Once dressed, he did feel overdressed for the occasion, but as he sits on the couch, watching the hands on his analogue clock tick by slowly, he’s more bothered by the fact that he’s ready over an hour early.

He sighs as he watches the second hand make another circuit around the clock; one less minute to go, he thinks wryly to himself.

If his mother could see him now, Molly Weasley would proceed to smack him with a tea-towel before offering her advice on the matter. Thoughts of his mother has Fred overwhelmed with a strong sense of missing her. He misses his mother more than he misses anyone; how she would always have food on the table and tea ready to drink, how she would push back his hair from his forehead so she could kiss him there. She would do that a lot when the nightmares were very bad; she would sit with him on the couch where he had exiled himself after waking George up too many times – she would run her hands through his hair in a comforting manner, kissing his forehead as his eyes would start to droop. Molly would only let herself rest once her beloved son was sleeping somewhat peacefully.

Fred thinks of this memory as he digs around his flat for some spare parchment and a self-inking quill. He had already sent his two letters for the week, but Molly would be delighted to receive a third unexpectedly.

Quill scratches on parchment for some time. Fred inquires after the wellness of his siblings – did Charlie pull his finger out and ask out Evie? How was Ron and Hermione? How was Dad? Would he like any more of the muggle sweets he’s become so fond of?

Fred asks the inane questions before asking about George. Fred knows that George loves him; they’re twins, they’re closer than any other sibling would hope to be. George knew Fred’s moods like the back of his hand and he only wants the best for his brother. Which is why Fred struggles with the guilt at leaving George to cope with the joke shop alone. George has reassured him that it’s okay, that he needs to take time and the shop will always be here when he’s ready to come back.

But it still doesn’t lessen the guilt that sits in his stomach like a lead balloon.

Black ink covers his hand by the he’s finished his letter; finishing his letter with the news of breakfast with someone he could see being a good friend. That would be enough to quash his mother’s worries that he doesn’t leave his flat enough. He seals the envelope with wax, making a mental note to go to a wizarding post office after breakfast so he can send it off in express time to his mother.

Cracking his knuckles – a nasty habit he picked up at Hogwarts – Fred checks the time to see that it’s almost half past nine. He slips on his denim jacket, tucking his letter into an inside pocket, patting it to reassure himself it’s there.

As he’s locking up the door, he sees you exiting your flat. Fred realises that when you aren’t dressed in mismatched pyjamas with a terrified look on your face, you’re rather beautiful.

You hurry over to him; your bag bouncing against your hip as you come to a stop in front of him. “Good Morning,” you greet.

“Good Morning. How did you sleep? Any more spiders?”

You direct your gaze to the floor, feeling somewhat sheepish in the light of day, “I know I said it last night, but thank you again. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if you hadn’t have got it.”

Fred smiles softly, “I didn’t mind. Besides, I get breakfast out of it.”

You perk up, “That you do! Off we go then.”

You lead him out of the building, continuing on the main road before turning left and then a right. Fred follows you all the way; making small attempts at idle conversation which you gladly take up, chatting to him about anything and everything as you lead him down a side street to where a small café sits.

The bell above the door chimes happily as you enter the building, holding the door open for Fred to duck in first.

You lead him to a table by the window that’s big enough for two. He pulls out your chair for you, letting you sit first before shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. Fred may have been a little shit through his childhood and adolescence, but he had listened to his mother when she explained the etiquette for dining with a lady whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Menus are handed to the both of you by a waitress who looks to be wanting to be anywhere but here right now. Fred sympathises with her a little; remembering the early starts for the shop. They order their food in no time; you ordering a latte and Fred ordering a Yorkshire Tea to go with your Full English’s with extra hash browns.

You grin at him from across the table, “Thanks for agreeing to this.”

“Thanks for offering.”

“Did you get back to sleep okay after I woke you up?” You asks, face lined with worry.

Fred nods, clearing his throat, “I nodded back off, yeah.”

You sigh with relief, “That’s good, I’m glad.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept very well in my spider-free flat, yes.”

You fall silent as your drinks are placed in front of you with a promise that your food would be with you shortly. Fred smiles at the waitress in thanks as she leaves.

He turns his attention back to you, “How long have you lived in the building? I’m sure I would have seen you before.”

You wave a hand nonchalantly, “Not very long, I moved in a couple of months ago. How long have you lived there?”

Fred sips at his tea, adding a dash of sugar and milk before answering, “Around eight months now.”

You nod at his answer, taking a drink of your latte. The caffeine was needed; the adrenaline from the spider incident had taken a while to leave your body, leaving you tossing and turning in your bed and providing you more opportunity to think about the red-headed neighbour you had just met.

“I’m going to propose an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I say we play twenty-one questions and get to know each other.”

“Get to know each other?”

You blink at him, “Yes. We’re neighbours and we’re having breakfast. What else should we talk about? The weather?”

Fred glances out the window at your words, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Well the weather is particularly lovely for London.”

You hush him, “That’s not very neighbourly of you.”

“Perhaps I’m not very neighbourly,” Fred taunts.

You gasp dramatically, “I refuse to believe that. If you weren’t neighbourly, you would have shut the door in my face last night.”

Fred raises an eyebrow, “Would you have started to knock again if I did?”

You purse your lips, repressing a smile, “Maybe.”

“Then I simply helped to lessen the noise.”

You scoff, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“You don’t have to.”

You glare at him, “Fred, stop being an arsehole and let me get to know you.”

Fred barks out a laugh, covering his mouth at the volume of the noise, “Well, when you put it like that. What do you want to know?”

You beam at him, and Fred can’t help but smile back. “How old are you?” you ask.

“I’m 22.”

“Are you at university?”

Fred shakes his head, “I thought I was supposed to ask the next question.”

You level him with a look, “Answer this one and then you can ask the next one.”

“Alright, but you can’t go jumping in with another question before I’ve asked mine. No, I’m not at university,” You open your mouth to interrupt but close it when you remember Fred’s words. He smiles at you, “How old are you?”

“You can’t repeat questions!”

“Why not?” Fred asks, affronted, “It’s only fair I know your age too!”

“Fine,” you mutter, “I’m 22 as well. 23 in a month.”

Fred nods, waiting patiently for your next question. You open your mouth, the words ready on the tip of your tongue but the waitress returns with your breakfast. The very smell of it has Fred’s stomach rumbling; he hadn’t a cooked breakfast like this since he left the Burrow. He digs in with renewed vigour; repressing a moan at the taste of the fried bread.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

Fred nods, unable to reply due to the mouthful of food he’s chewing.

You nod in understanding, swallowing your mouthful before saying, “I found this place in my final year of university; I needed somewhere that reminded me of my mum’s breakfasts. Her breakfasts will always be number one, but this comes pretty close.”

Fred pauses with a forkful of scrambled egg halfway to his mouth, “That’s what I miss most about home – my mum and her cooking.”

“Are you not from London originally?” You asks around a mouthful of bacon.

Fred shakes his head, “Devon originally. A tiny village in the county; it’s more of a hamlet really.”

Your eyes widen; eyebrows flying into your hairline, “Devon? That’s a while away. How often do you get to see your family?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” Fred says, drinking his tea.

For a moment, it’s silent between the two of you. The scraping of cutlery on plates being the only sound. Fred thinks of his family as he eats his breakfast; wondering what their plans are for the day – whether they’d be gnome hunting or playing quidditch or simply helping Molly with her vegetable garden. His heart hurts as he thinks of them; overcome with the absence of them from his life. It makes him shiver as he reaches for another drink of tea.

Fred breaks the comfortable silence, “What about you? Where are you from originally?”

“Lancashire originally but I moved to the south when I was young – it’s why my accent is so odd.”

Fred frown; he hadn’t noticed anything odd about your accent, thinking the way that you pronounced your vowels was similar to the way young Neville Longbottom does his, but yours are cut shorter.

“Tell me,” He starts, “Do you see your family as often as you’d like?”

“You’re going to repeat my every question, aren’t you?”

Fred grins, “Maybe… Maybe not. You’ll have to stick around to find out. Now, do you see your family as often as you’d like?”

You shake your head, “Not really. My parents like to travel a lot; a cruise here, a two week holiday there, a road trip across America through the summer. I don’t blame them though; they worked hard for the time they have now. I just wish they’d drop in more.”

“Are you rich?” Fred asks before he can stop himself. He cringes as the words leave his mouth.

You chuckle at the awkward expression on his face, “I’m not. My parents are. I’m a humble student working towards their master’s degree. My father created his company in printing greeting cards; he sold it off a few years back for a lot of money and they’ve been enjoying themselves since.”

“You’re a master’s student?” Fred asks; his knowledge on muggle degrees somewhat limited to what Hermione had told him.

You nod, scraping up the last forkful of food on your plate. “Yeah, I’m getting my master’s in Library Science.”

“What do you hope to do after that?”

“Work in a library or well, continue to work in a library, I already work at my university one. I’d love to work in an archives one day though, cataloguing pieces of history.”

Fred nods, enraptured by your words. He didn’t realise how much choice there was for muggles and their education. The wizarding world was somewhat limited to how witches and wizards could harness their talents; Fred and George were practically pariahs for choosing to dedicate their lives to pranks and happiness. He had always assumed the muggle world worked in the same way, but here you were, proving him wrong.

Knives and forks are crossed on plates when you ask, “You aren’t a university student, so you must have a job. What do you do for a living, Fred?”

Fred decides a kernel of truth wouldn’t do too much harm, “I own a joke shop with my twin brother.”

You laugh, clapping your hands together, “That’s incredible! Is the shop here in London?”

Fred nods, “It is. My twin brother is running it for the time being.”

“Can we go see it?”

Fred freezes; he hadn’t anticipated this. He glances down at the watch wrapped around his wrist then back up at you, not missing the glint of mischief in your eyes. “Perhaps another time?” he suggest, “I have some errands I need to run today that I can’t avoid.”

You lean back in your chair, feeling somewhat sad but you shake it off. “Of course, but I’ll hold you to that Fred. I won’t rest until I see your shop.”

Fred grins, “I have a feeling you’ll stick to your word.”

You move to reply but are interrupted by the waitress coming by to collect your plates and ask if you want anything else. She leaves the bill behind when her question is declined. Fred reaches for his wallet, but you stop him by snatching the bill.

“I made you a promise last night. Breakfast for your excellent services.”

Fred rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “I feel bad letting you pay.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” You tease, “No, I said I would buy you breakfast so I’m buying you breakfast. You can buy it next time.”

“So there’s going to be a next time?”

You shrug, biting your lip. “Sure – you might need my services for something. A blocked pipe or a blow fuse.”

Fred stands, pulling on his denim jacket, patting his inside pocket to find that his letter is still there.

You walk back to the main road together; waving goodbye to him as you head towards your university and he to a side street where he can apparate to the nearest wizarding post office. Fred hands his letter over to the clerk, paying a few extra knuts for express delivery.

Fred takes his time walking back to his flat; enjoying the spring day that was blooming around him. He felt lighter as he walked; as if he didn’t need to put as much effort into putting one foot in front of the other. He put it down to you and your presence; there was something about you that evoked all sorts of emotions from him. There was something about you that made him want to see you again.

However, he knew by tonight, the familiar fog will have settled over him – dulling the light of everything around him. He knew that he would still struggle to sleep; being lucky enough to get even an hour in before being pulled to consciousness kicking and screaming his way out of the same nightmare.

-----------------

His time over the next month is split three ways. He spends a third of it on his couch; watching old reruns of sitcoms – his new favourite being set in second muggle war and follows the Home Guard; Fred finds himself whistling the theme song more often than he’d like to admit. He uses his time on the couch to write his letters to Molly who was thrilled at the aspect of Fred making a friend; she wrote question after question about wanting to know their star sign to their hair colour. Fred smiles fondly; a smile reserved only for his mother – one that got even bigger when a second owl arrived with a small note with another question. Through all of her excited questioning, Molly forgot one crucial detail – what was their name?

He spends the second third of his time running. Fred had always been sporty; had always had an athletic build that helped him gain his spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Beater with George on the team too. However, there are few places in muggle London where he can play the sport freely, so he gets it into his head to pretend to train for a match. Fred begins to run; every morning and every evening. Two runs a day, seven days a week. The runs on an evening tire out his body so he has more of a chance of falling into bed with the hopeless prayer of a dreamless sleep uttered from his lips. However, the runs on a morning are more frantic as he runs off the excess adrenaline and panic running through his system as a result of the night terror his mind unleashed upon him, dragging him from sleep less than two hours after his eyes closed.

Then Fred spends the final third of his time with you. In your flat or walking around Hyde Park or visiting your university.

Fred finds himself spending more and more time with you; he starts to crave your company. And he feels ridiculous for feeling that way because he’s only known you for over a month and he should be using this time to start the healing process.

But he’s already told his mother about you; and who isn’t to say that he can’t work on healing from the trauma of the war with you by his side being a warm, comforting presence?

Fred sits on his couch at nearing two in the morning; questioning his entire existence and reasoning for moving to muggle society when he realises that whilst it’s only been just over a month, if he wants to start healing with you by his side, he needs to be entirely honest with you.

He needs to confess.

----------------

Fred inhales a deep breath before knocking on your door. He shuffles from side to side, nerves rioting in his stomach. In less than a minute, you’ve wrenched open your door, smiling widely as you take in Fred standing before you.

“Freddie! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He holds his hands behind his back as he rocks back onto his heels, “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Your eyes run over his face; taking in the dark circles underneath his eyes. He had told you about his insomnia soon after the friendship began; it worried you, but Fred had reassured you that he had it controlled. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Fred nods, “That, and I really need to talk to you.”

“No problem. Let me just get my shoes on.”

Fred smiles as he watches you toe on the slip on trainers he had come to know as Vans. You told him just last week about your obsession with them; unable to resist buying a new pair each time you passed the shop.

You grab your jacket from the hook, pulling it on as you lock the door behind you, bumping into Fred as you step out into the hallway.

Fred leads you out of the building, turning the usual left that heads in the direction of the park. You struggle to keep up with his long strides; calling out for him to slow down a little so you can at least walk side by side. He smiles at you as you catch up to him; apologising for his speed, he is just anxious.

The walk to the park is walked in silence. Fred’s mind occupied with how he’s going to tell you the most important thing about himself and how you’re going to react when you find out that a lot of your friendship was built on a lie.

The park settles on the horizon too soon and his heart is in his mouth. Fred used to be a confident guy; happily getting involved in scheme after scheme that would bring chaos and laughter to the corridors of Hogwarts, but he had lost that part of him in the battle. He wondered if he would ever be that guy again.

You bump his shoulder, “We’re at the park, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred settles on a nearby bench; fiddling with his fingers, “I need to tell you something but I’m not sure how to say it.”

“That’s fine. Why don’t you tell me why we’re in the park?”

Fred sighs, “It’s so you have the freedom and the choice to leave after I tell you what I’ve been keeping from you.”

Your heart starts to pound in your chest; panic rising slowly in your gut. “What have you been keeping from me that’s so bad that I would need to walk away from you?”

Fred turns in his spot, staring into your eyes, “Do you promise to hear me out and not interrupt?”

“Fred, you’re worrying me. What’s the matter?”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise! Now what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been lying to you… about so much.”

The air is knocked out of you, “I’m going to need more than that, Fred,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Do you remember when we first had breakfast? And I told you about the joke shop I own with my twin?”

“Yes… so what did you lie about? The joke shop or the twin?”

“Neither. I just lied about why you couldn’t see it.”

“Why?” You ask; your tone incredulous.

“Because I’m a wizard, and the joke shop I own with my twin – who is also a wizard – is a magical joke shops selling pranks and potions to witches and wizards attending Hogwarts.”

You stand from the bench, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself, wondering when the TV cameras are going to show up, “That isn’t funny, Fred.”

“I’m not joking, (Y/N). I’m not lying to you now.”

“How do I know? What’s Hogwarts? Who is your twin? What’s the name of your shop? Why aren’t you there?”

Fred had prepared himself for the barrage of questions he knew would inevitably fall from your mouth; curiosity being your besetting sin. He hadn’t prepared himself for the look of betrayal and hurt that crosses over face as you continue to stare at him. Fred feels his already broken heart break some more at the sight of it.

He runs a hand over his face, “(Y/N), love, please sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Everything?” You question, “I want to know it all.”

Fred crosses over his heart, “I promise. Now please sit down.”

You sit next to him; a few inches away as if the small distance will help to protect the heart that you had already started to give to the broken red-headed man.

You remain silent as Fred sorts out his words; you can see the cogs in his mind working as he figures out how to explain an entire society that you hadn’t known existed until less than a minute ago.

Finally he releases a breath and begins.

“Witches and wizards have always been around, but after famous witch hunts such as Salem, Pendle, and Samlesbury, we had to go into hiding to protect our numbers. From the age of eleven, we go to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is a school in the highlands of Scotland dedicated to teaching young witches and wizards the art of magic as well as how to control it. My twin is called George; we’re identical and sometimes, our own mother struggles to tell us apart,” Fred breaks off with a short laugh, thinking of Molly with fondness.

“He’s my rock, he’s my best friend. We bought the joke shop when we were eighteen – it’s called Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and it’s found in Diagon Alley. For your sake, it’s found near Charing Cross Road.”

Fred pauses once again, readying himself to explain his absence from the shop and his presence in your life. “I’m not there because I moved away. In our society, there was a dark wizard who started a war for purposes beyond me. I just know that when I was 21 I was running through the corridors of the school I used to attend fighting for my life and watching people I knew die. I almost died myself when a wall was blown apart; luckily, someone spelled me out of the way. I’ll be forever grateful to them for that.

“After the war, I couldn’t cope. I was doing more harm than good by being with my family – my insomnia stems from nightmares of the war so I left. I left them and moved here where I’ve started to heal from my experiences and where I met you after you started to bang on my door. I wanted to tell you sooner; my mother told me to in her letters, but I was enjoying my time with you, and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. It means a lot to me.”

Fred falls silent with a smile aimed at you. Your mouth hangs open from his words; unsure on whether to take them for the truth they sounded like or to question him to find the holes in his story.

But he looks so vulnerable; the smile is watery, and his eyes are lined with tears. You realise that it’s taken a lot for him to confess this to you, but that it had been weighing on his mind for some time.

You don’t say anything immediately. Instead, you draw his head to your shoulder, and he lets out the sob he’s been holding in since he started to talk about his past. You wrap your arms around him tightly; holding him together as he lets himself fall to pieces in your arms. You’re in public, and this is a scene but the both of you don’t care. You hold him to you until his sobs begin to quieten into sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” Fred murmurs, pulling away from you as he wipes his eyes.

“Never apologise for crying.”

He sniffles, “Do you believe me?”

You nod, “I do. I don’t think anyone could have made up what you just said. I don’t think there’s enough imagination in the world for it. But there’s one thing I want to know.”

Fred watches you warily, “What is it?”

You grip his hand tightly, “Are you healing, Fred? Are you coping?”

Fred’s shoulders slump as the tension leaves his body; he had tensed at your words, worried at what you might say. He stares into your eyes as he answers, “I am. I was struggling at first, but I think I’m starting to heal.”

“Can I help? How can I help?”

Fred pats your hand, “Continue doing what you’re doing, it’s enough.”

And it is. Fred finds it easier to breathe in your presence as if the weight of the world is no longer on his shoulders like he were Atlas. Instead, he finds it easier to focus on other things such as plans for the day or listening to you talk about your latest assignment. He doesn’t feel his mind drift off as much when he’s around you; which is a good thing, he thinks.

You smile at him, still holding onto his hand, “I can do that.”

You both fall into quiet; eyes now focused on the expanse of the park. Fred watches a young mother push her young son the swings, hearing his delighted laughter, whilst your eyes land on the teenage couple making out underneath a tree; you move your eyes away quickly, focusing instead, on the ducks swimming in the pond.

You break the silence, “Fred?”

He hums in answer.

“Would you cast a spell for me?” You ask tentatively, “If that’s okay!”

Fred smiles softly; letting go of your hand to reach for the dogwood wand he keeps hidden up his sleeve. With flare he hasn’t shown since opening the store, he pulls the wand out. He rolls the wand over his fingers, “Wizards can practice magic outside of school from the age of seventeen; I can show you a spell.”

“Really?” You ask, bouncing in your place.

“Are you ready?”

“Hold on, let me think for a minute… YES.” You shout, stamping your feet in the grass.

Fred grins; his eyes crinkling in the corners from the size of his smile. He checks for witnesses before holding his wand up whispering the incantation ‘Lumos’. The tip of his wand begins to glow with a pale light which in the falling darkness of the day only helps him see the beauty in your features.

You gasp at the sight of the light emanating from Fred’s wand, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. “I can’t believe it,” you sigh, “All this time I asked you to change lightbulbs and you could create light with a single word.”

“You’re not scared or freaked out?” He asks, unable to stop himself. The small voice in the back of his head needed to know whether you were going to leave him.

You shake your head, still watching the pale white light. With a single whisper of ‘Nox’, Fred turns out the light and slides his wand back into his sleeve. You turn your attention back to Fred, “I’m not scared or freaked out. I’m just in awe of you and this entire society that’s survived in secret. I feel like I’m privy to a secret organisation.”

“You’re in awe of me?” Fred asks; those being the only words he focused on in your entire sentence after confirming you weren’t scared of him.

“Absolutely. You can conjure magic, Fred! Actual magic! It’s incredible,” Your hands frame his face, keeping his eyes on you as you lean close and whisper, “You are incredible.”

He covers your hands with his; wondering when he’d become so soft. “Thank you,” he replies.

You pull away too soon; Fred’s hands dropping to his side, feeling suddenly cold at the loss of contact.

Standing from the bench, you hold your hand out for Fred to take. “Come on, magic man. It’s time we went home.”

“Magic man?” He asks, amused. He takes your offered hand, pulling himself up from the park bench.

“It’s my new nickname for you, do you like?”

“Magic man… magic man,” Fred repeats, testing the name out on his tongue, “I suppose I do.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll call you anything else.”

The walk back to the flat is quicker than the walk to the park. Fred’s steps lighter now than they were earlier. Chased by the turning on of street lights, you reach your building and lead him into your flat, offering him a warm drink as he takes a seat on your cream coloured couch.

Fred takes the hot mug of tea from you as you sit down next to him. He takes a shy sip, careful not to burn his tongue. It’s perfect, as it always is. You always know the right amount of sugar and milk to add.

“Thank you for telling me that today, I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“It wasn’t, but it got easier when you didn’t walk away. I was so worried that you were going to.”

“I don’t think I’d have forgiven myself if I had.”

Teas are drank after that, and Fred whispers goodnight to you before kissing your cheek in a rare moment of tenderness. He lets himself out of your flat, making the short walk back to his where he throws himself on the couch and lets himself wonder when exactly he had started to fall in love with you.

-----------------

Two more months follow, and Fred knows that he’s now arse over tea kettle in love you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, that you like to shove under legs when laid on the couch together, so he yelps at their temperature.

Two more months follow, and Fred feels like he’s maybe able to start living his life again, but in small doses. He writes to his mother more who’s delighted by the tales he tells of you and your growing relationship; he could never keep anything from Molly – her face too trusting and her manner too warm. All Molly is concerned about in her letters is whether Fred is happy, and for the first time in over a year, Fred can reply saying he thinks he could be.

Molly won’t ever tell Fred this, but she cried at that letter, feeling her heart burst with happiness for the son she had always worried about.

Time passes, and Fred spends more and more time with you. Breakfast dates, lunch dates, movie marathons on the couch – he does it all with you. You even go so far as to make him decorate his flat more; pictures of his family now line the walls as well as the picture of him and George on the opening day of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

That’s when he knows he needs to go back to Diagon Alley, and he’s taking you with him.

-----------------

At nine am on the dot, Fred knocks on your door until you open it. You glare at the red-headed man, demanding to know his presence at your door when he only left at four am after binging the entire Godfather trilogy without realising how long the films are.

Fred beams at your state, “Go get dressed, I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Why?” You ask, puzzled.

“I’m taking you to Diagon Alley and my joke shop.”

You stagger back a couple of steps, “Really? Are you sure? Are you ready?”

Fred’s grin moulds into something softer at your concern. “I am, and I want you to come with me.”

A slow smile breaks across your face, “Give me ten minutes and we can go!”

You rush into your room; pulling open the doors to your wardrobe and raking through to find any sort of clothes you’d wear to visit a magical shop, and possibly meet the twin brother of the man you’d fallen in love with.

Minutes later, you exit your room, pulling a brush through your hair to make yourself look more presentable. Gratefully, you take the cup of coffee from Fred’s hand before rushing into your bathroom to brush your teeth and spritz yourself in your favourite perfume – jasmine, lavender and citrus.

You drain the dregs of your coffee as you leave the bathroom. Dropping the pale pink mug in the sink, you turn to find Fred leaning against your kitchen counter with an amused and entertained look on his face.

“Someone’s excited, I see.” He teases.

You pout, “It’s not every day I get to go see magical London, magic man.”

Fred claps his hands, laughing quietly. “Come on then, let’s get you to Diagon Alley.”

--------------

Diagon Alley is nestled behind Charing Cross Road; it’s the largest area of wizarding London and is completely hidden from the muggle world.

Fred has been visiting Diagon Alley for as long as he can remember; flooing there with his mother and Bill, Charlie and Percy to collect their things for the latest school year. As a child, he loved visiting Florean Fortescue’s when the budget permitted it; getting a single scoop cone with rainbow sprinkles.

As he enters the Leaky Cauldron, leading you in by the hand, Fred is a mix of fear and excitement making him act jittery as he approaches the familiar face of Tom, the barman.

“Fred Weasley? Is that you?” Tom asks, a large smile on his face, “I haven’t seen you in over a year! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, Tom. How have you been?”

“Never better – you know me.”

Fred smiles, nodding. “I’m heading out back, is that okay?”

“Anything for a Weasley. Does this have something to do with the muggle hiding behind your back?”

You reveal yourself from where you’ve hidden yourself behind Fred. Keeping a tight hold on his hand, you smile shyly at the barman, “I’m (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tom smiles politely, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Tom turns his attention back to Fred, “You know what to do.”

Fred parts ways with barman he had grown up knowing, pulling you to the back door which opens into a small courtyard.

“Fred, love, it’s a dead end.”

“Are you sure?” Fred asks with a smirk, reaching for his wand. “Want to see some proper magic?”

“Always, magic man.”

He grins at the use of your nickname for him before tapping his wand on the bricks blocking your way. You cry out as the bricks begin to move; shifting to the side to reveal an entryway to a cobbled street lined with shop after shop all varying in colours.

Letting go of Fred’s hand, you take your first step into the wizarding world; already in love with every aspect of it, just as you’re in love with every aspect of the man making his way to your side.

“What do you think?” He asks, breathless at the sight of the place he hasn’t seen in a year.

“This is unlike any other place I’ve seen.” You hold your hand out for Fred to grab, “Show me around?”

“With pleasure,” Fred replies, wrapping your hand in his, tangling your fingers.

Fred takes you on a tour of the Alley; stopping outside Ollivander’s and getting out his wand to explain the importance of the place, turning his wand around to show you what he means. He tells you the story of Harry Potter; of what his wand meant, being the twin of the wand that had killed his parents. Your heart breaks for the boy you had never met; had never even heard of until today – you ask after him, how is he now? Fred reassures you; after all, he’s fine, Harry’s dating his younger sister much to Fred’s chagrin.

He takes you into Florean Fortescue’s, buying you ice cream for breakfast as any adult should have. Your eyes widen at the taste of the Butterbeer ice cream; butterscotch and buttercream icing bursting on your tongue. Fred smiles at your expression, licking his way through his own ice cream – strawberries and cream for nostalgia’s sake.

Sitting down at a small table, you tap your ice creams to each other in a toast. “Where are we going next?” You ask, catching a drip of the melting ice cream with your tongue – not missing the way Fred’s eyes track the movement.

“I thought we could visit my shop.”

“Your shop?” You ask in disbelief, “Are you sure?”

Fred nods, catching a drip on his own ice cream. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes also track the movement of his mouth. “Yes, I’m sure.” He looks away, ashamed, “I’ve left George alone too long.”

You reach for his hand across the table, “I’m sure he understands, Fred.”

“I know he does, but it doesn’t stop the guilt.”

You rub your thumb across the back of his hand in a comforting motion, “Are you sure you’re okay to go? We can always come back another day.”

“You’d come back with me?”

You grin, “Of course, this is the best ice cream I’ve ever had. I’m here for you, magic man – who else is going to kill the spiders in my bathroom?”

Fred relaxes, “You’re the best, you know that right?”

You take another lick of your ice cream, “I do know that. Do you want to stay and see your brother, or do you want to go? I’m happy with either, but you’re going to have to give me time to get more ice cream.”

Fred laughs at your words, “It is good ice cream,” he takes a lick of his, “No, let’s go. I need to see him; I need to apologise.”

“Alright then. We’ll finish here and then we’ll go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes… at last.”

He nods, remaining silent. The ice creams are finished in silence; questioning looks sent to each other across the table. Your feelings for Fred often overwhelmed you with their strength; never imagining that knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning could ever lead to something like this. In the short time you had known the man, you had fallen head over heels for him and also had your entire worldview altered by finding out about the existence of magic.

He’d quite literally turned your world upside down, and the only thing that ran through your mind through it all was: I hope he feels the same.

Soon though, faces are wiped on napkins and hands are back to hold each other’s as Fred leads you from the ice cream parlour to where the orange top hat stands out against the darkly coloured shops.

In a last minute attempt to delay the inevitable, Fred pulls you over to the pet shop. You coo over the animals; pointing to the Puffskein with questions burning on your tongue. Fred answers them all happily, delighted to delay walking into the shop and brother he’s neglected for so long.

After a few more minutes, you step away from the shop window citing the temptation being too great and you may end up smuggling the Puffskeins to the muggle world.

“That was a fantastic distraction, magic man.”

“Wasn’t it?” He admits, blushing at having been caught out but not wanting to lie to you, “It worked like a treat.”

You chuckle, “It really did. They remind me of clouds do the Puffskeins; neon, furry clouds.”

Fred snorts, “An excellent description.”

The joke shop now looms in front of the two of you; the bright orange and purple of the paintwork almost luminous in the morning light. Fred stops in the middle of the pavement; feet stuck to the floor, unable to carry him forward. He’s avoided this for so long, but he finally feels ready to insert himself back into the life of pranks, jokes, and happiness.

Your grip on his hand tightens, “I’m here, magic man. I’m not going anywhere.”

His nod is the only sign you get to know that he’s heard your words.

Taking a deep breath, Fred begins to put one foot in front of the other; a hand outstretched for the door handle to the shop, giving it a light push. The bell above the door rings, signalling his entrance into the shop but also his entrance into his old life.

The shop is quiet; it being still too early in the day to get masses and masses of shoppers. Their busy season is the three weeks in August before terms starts where students come to buy their school books but to also stock up on items of mischief.

A near identical man to Fred stands up straighter from his position behind the counter. He starts to open his mouth, to welcome the new customers to the shop but when he looks up, the words never leave his mouth.

He simply freezes in place.

His eyes flicker between the two of you quickly, before running over the man stood next to you. Looking for what, you don’t know.

In between one blink of an eye and the next, he’s thrown himself across the counter, sprinting to where Fred stands in the entryway.

No words are spoken; he just holds Fred’s face in his hands before pulling him in for a hug that’s been long overdue.

You step away from their reunion, letting your eyes roam over the shop. They need this moment alone; you don’t need to invade by watching them. You wander a little; fingers running over displays. You frown when you see you an area lit up in pink titled ‘Love Potion’.

You pick up one of the little bottles shaped like a heart; the bright pink liquid inside jostling as you examine it.

“Careful,” A voice sounds behind you, “It’s a powerful potion.”

Turning you find Fred’s twin, George watching you with inquisitive eyes. “What does it do?” You ask, fiddling with the stopper.

“It mimics the effects of love and obsession. If you smell it, you smell the person you love.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Truly?”

George nods, “Truly. We sell crates full of the stuff nearing Valentine’s Day.”

Releasing the stopper from the neck of the bottle, you take a delicate sniff. Peonies, rain, and Yorkshire tea come filtering through. The very smells you’ve become to associate with the man who had never really been your neighbour but has always been something more.

Replacing the stopper, you drop the potion into George’s waiting hand. He pockets it before turning back to face his twin.

“What did you smell?” Fred asks as you settle back next to him.

You shrug, “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

George grins at the two of you, “Is this the famous (Y/N) from your letters to mum?”

You nudge Fred with your elbow, beaming, “You write to your mum about me, magic man?”

“Hold on – magic man?” George asks, eyes glancing at both Fred and you.

You nod, “It’s my nickname for him.”

George chuckles, “It’s brilliant. I may have to use it myself.”

Fred blushes at his brother’s use of your nickname for him. He doesn’t say it, but it doesn’t sound right coming from anyone else’s mouth but yours.

“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, (Y/N). Mum already loves you. I’m George.” George introduces, holding a hand out to you.

You shake his hand twice before dropping it, “It’s very nice to meet you too, George. Fred has told me so much.”

“He has?”

You nod, “He’s told me all about the pranks you played at Hogwarts and why you set up this shop – which I think is wonderful by the way – I feel like I already know you.”

George shifts his gaze to his twin, “I don’t know why but I didn’t think you’d talk about me.”

Fred gapes, “Of course I talk about you. You’re my twin brother, you’re practically half of me.”

George shrugs, “You only send letters to mum… I just assumed.”

Fred steps forward, placing his hands on George’s shoulders, “Mum made me promise to write, I couldn’t break that. I wanted to write to you so much, George, but the guilt I felt as just leaving you and the shop was too much and then more time passed. I’ve been an awful brother; can you forgive me?”

George laughs, tears falling freely down his face. “There’s nothing to forgive now that I know why.”

Fred hauls George into a hug; neither afraid to show their emotions through this reunion. Fred had been so worried before this; thinking his brother might turn him away at the door, but now holding him in his arms, he’s just happy to have his twin by his side once more.

They pull away with a sob; George clapping Fred on the back. “Will you be returning to work, Freddie?”

Fred’s eyes land on you; where you’ve stood silently through the whole exchange, just happy to see the two brothers reunite. His eyes search your face for something, and he finds it in your smile. “Yeah, George. I think I might do.”

George glances between you and Fred as if seeing the connection there. He keeps his mouth shut but smiles at the fact that his twin has found someone to share his life with.

You spend a couple more hours in the shop; pottering freely as Fred and George discuss the state of the business and when Fred would like to start work again. Pride runs through your veins as you listen to them from the upper floor; Fred has achieved so much in such a short space of time and you couldn’t be more prouder of him.

You also couldn’t be more in love with him. He handles himself with such grace; standing taller, smiling more. The more time you spent with him, the more you could feel yourself falling for him. Nights alone in your flat had you thinking of what it would be like to be laid in bed next to him – would he cuddle? Would he let you lay your head on his chest? Or would he prefer to spoon? You had spent so many nights thinking of these questions, trying to think of answers.

“(Y/N)?” Fred calls from the lower floor, “Are you ready to go?”

“Already?” You ask, descending the staircase.

Fred nods, “I’ll come back tomorrow and talk more to George about what I need to do. It’s time we got some lunch, however.”

Your stomach grumbles at his words, “You’ve got great timing it seems, magic man.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly, “No. I just know you too well.”

You smile at him before turning to George to say goodbye. George smiles at you, saying, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other very soon,” with a wink at Fred.

The tips of Fred’s ears burn red as he claps his twin on the shoulder, promising he’ll call in tomorrow. “Tell mum you’ve seen me, will you? I know she worries,” Fred calls on his way out.

“Already on it!” are George’s final words before the door closes.

----------------------

Sitting at a corner table in The Leaky Cauldron, Fred continues to ride on the high from seeing his twin brother after a year apart. He’s positively ravenous; the nerves before having dampened his appetite. He takes it upon himself to order for the both you; checking that you don’t mind. You wave him away, stating that you wouldn’t even know where to begin with ordering.

Tom hands Fred your drinks after ordering, letting him know it’d be around ten minutes before food was with you. Fred thanks the barman, picking up the drinks to return you.

“I’m really proud of you, Fred.” You state, taking a sip of the sweet Butterbeer.

“You are?” He asks bashfully.

“I am. It took a lot of bravery to do what you did today.”

Fred blushes, but doesn’t drop his eyes from yours. “I think I’m going to be brave one last time.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” He states, reaching for your hand, “I’ve only known you for less than six months but in that time you’ve helped me find who I was before the war. You’ve helped me find the laughter that was missing. What I’m trying to say is, is that I’ve fallen in love with you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Fred,” You sniffle, “I love you too.”

“You do?”

You nod, “I really do. I love every last bit of you.

Fred sags in his chair; holding onto your hand tighter, “I was so worried you wouldn’t love me back.”

“No chance of that, magic man.”

The smile that breaks across his face is simply breathtaking, and you thank your lucky stars that the man you’ve fallen in love with, loves you back, just as much.

Tom fetches your food over then, settling two plates onto table. It smells divine and without letting go of Fred’s hand, you pick up your fork and dig in.

The meal is eaten in silence; happy looks and secret smiles exchanged over the steaming plates of food. Fred’s thumb rubs over the back of your hand; the motion now having another meaning alongside ‘I’m here’. Elation bubbles within you, flooding your veins. The love you feel for this man is entirely encompassing, filling your very pores, combining with your genetic makeup.

For as delicious as the meal is, the both of you barely taste it. Plates are empty in no time, and Fred leaves Tom a tip on the table. He pulls you up with him, dragging you to the door and back to muggle London.

It feels like a fever dream; stepping back into the reality you’ve known all your life until you met the red-headed man stood next to you.

Fred tugs you into him; his arm wrapping around your waist. He drops your hand in favour of caressing your cheek. His brown eyes sparkle with love and joy as he dips his head, pausing just before he touches his lips to yours, waiting for permission. You grant him in the form of pushing your mouth to his.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in close, feeling all of him pressed against all you. He tastes of the butterscotch from the dregs of his Butterbeer and you hum against his mouth – it’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating; you could lose yourself entirely in him and you wouldn’t mind a bit. Your hand runs through his hair, tugging lightly. Your toes curl at the sound of the low moan from the back of his throat.

From the outside, this looks like a simple passionate embrace between a young couple. They don’t know how long this kiss has been in the making; how many time you’ve wondered exactly what Fred would taste like, and now you have that knowledge, it’s not something you’ll be parting with soon.

Eventually, you pull away from him, coming back to the surface for breath but Fred doesn’t let you go. He holds onto you tightly, pressing kiss after kiss to your face making you giggle at his affectionate side.

He lets you go for a single instant to pull you into the side street beside The Leaky Cauldron. He wraps you tightly into his side, savouring the feel of you lined next to him.

“This is going to make you dizzy,” is his only warning before he apparates back to your flat.

----------------

Though confessions have been uttered, Fred takes his time to learn your body.

Kissing you slowly; peeling your clothes off your body with the air of someone who has all the time in the world – and he does. He takes his time to memorise every inch of your body; every dip, every curve, every freckle. He commits it all to memory though the both of you know that you’ll be doing this for a very long time. He whispers words of worship into your skin; your body was a cathedral and he was going to worship at your feet.

You take your time with him; running your hand through the hair on his chest before trailing it lower, watching how the muscles in his toned stomach jump at your touch. A simple touch, and it drives him wild.

He draws you in for a kiss; flipping the both of you so you’re underneath him. He braces himself above and you spend the rest of the night, and most of the morning, learning the noises that can be evoked from a kiss in the right place.

-----------------

It surprised Fred that it takes his mother almost a month to send him a letter demanding that she finally get to meet the person who had stolen her son’s heart.

Fred reads the letter beside you at the breakfast table; chuckling at his mother’s words over his morning cup of tea. He hands you the letter once he’s finished reading, watching your face for every emotion as well as letting his gaze drop to the small purple bruises at the base of your neck, laid there by his mouth.

You hold a hand up to your mouth, repressing the smile. “Your mother wants to meet me?”

Fred nods, “She has for a while, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“There’s no chance of that now, magic man, especially after last night.”

Fred blushes but beams, satisfied. “Would you like to meet them?”

You pause, tilting your head to one side as you think of how to phrase your next few sentences, “I don’t want to presume anything, but I’d like to think I’m going to be in your life for a long while. I think the earlier I meet your family, the better.”

Fred takes your hand in his, dropping a kiss to the top of it. “You aren’t presuming anything; I want you in my life for an eternity and more. But are you sure you want to meet them? I’m from a very large family, and if I know them, it’ll be partners as well.”

You lean over to press a kiss to his cheek then to peck his lips quickly, “I love the worry, but it’s okay. I want to meet them, and I want to see pictures of my magic man as a baby.”

Fred groans; he’s forgotten about the baby pictures but from the look on your face, he know he’s fighting a losing battle. He kisses you quick, “I’ll send an owl to my mum now, letting her know we’ll come tomorrow, how does that sound?”

You hum happily, “That sounds like just enough time for me to find an outfit good enough.”

-----------------

Molly Weasley opened Fred’s letter with a shriek; rushing to reply before getting started on calling the family together. She sends her Patronus to Charlie in Romania; threatening death should he not return home for this occasion. Charlie replies within two hours by showing up on the doorstep with his girlfriend, Evie in tow.

The whole family under one roof again would be something of an event; and one Molly would not waste by having petty squabbles and nasty reminders. She lines her family up in the living room; boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives and proceeds to lecture about what this means. She’s grateful it being a Friday evening so she can lecture the whole family without absentees claiming work as the excuse.

Halfway through her lecture to her family, Arthur places a soft hand on her shoulder, “Molly, dear, we’re going to be on our best behaviour.”

She whimpers, “I haven’t seen my son is so long, Arthur.”

He wraps an arm around his wife’s shoulder, knowing the toll Fred’s absence took on her. He had been the unexpected twin; but they didn’t love him any less for it. On the contrary, Molly loved him more for the fear of his siblings making him feel unwanted.

“I know, dear. But we all promise to be on our bestest behaviour, don’t we gang?”

Confirmation rings out across all six of their children and their partners. Molly levels them all with a look, “Fred is bringing his muggle girlfriend with him, and George has told me it’s serious. We aren’t going to have a problem with that are we?”

“Definitely not,” George calls out to the agreement of his siblings and siblings-in-law, “(Y/N) is a sweetheart; you’ll see the moment they both arrive.”

Molly dismisses her family; dispersing them to different rooms with different jobs to make the house presentable for Fred and (Y/N)’s visit tomorrow.

-------------------

Tomorrow arrives quickly, and before you know it, the sun is shining through your window and the birds have begun their morning song. Fred’s arm hangs over your waist in a dead weight; you shift him gently as you make your way out of your bed and into the bathroom to begin your day.

By the time Fred wakes, you’re dressed and are brushing through your hair. With a lazy grin, he watches you get ready for the day. He’s in utter awe of how he met someone like you, but then you meet his eyes in the mirror and that awe transforms into something warmer.

He drags himself out of the warm bed desperate to feel you under his hands. He places his hands on your shoulder, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Good Morning,” He whispers, his voice still raspy with sleep, “You look beautiful.”

You hum, “Good Morning sleepy head. The kettle boiled a few minutes ago and there’s a teabag waiting in your favourite pot.”

“You’re a dream,” Fred calls out, pottering into the kitchen.

“And you’re a flatterer, magic man,” You call back; grinning when you hear his laughter.

Time flies by in a rush of breakfast, clothes, and kisses and before you know it, it’s time to apparate all the way to Devon.

“Are you ready?” Fred asks; your hand tight in his. You don’t miss the double meaning to his words.

“Take me to Devon, magic man,” is all you reply before your flat turns into a whirlpool of blended colours and you’re spat back out on the outskirts of green, green farmland.

Not letting go of your hand, Fred leads you in the direction of his childhood home. Air he hasn’t smelt in over a year wash over him, bringing with it a tidal wave of memories. Nostalgia settles within him as he glances down at you to gauge your reaction to his home.

The Burrow stands proudly in the valley between two hills. You gasp at the sheer height of it, “This is where you grew up?”

Fred nods, eyes on you, “It is. I lived here until I moved to London.”

“It’s incredible,” You whisper, taking a step forward, and then another, and then another until you break through the long grass into a clearing. A garage is situated to the left of the large house, and you can just make out the canes for a vegetable garden. You nod as if understanding every motive for the placement of everything; if you were to live somewhere like here, you’d too grow your own food.

Fred draws your attention back to him by speaking, “Through there is where we practice Quidditch; the game I told you about from Hogwarts?” He continues when he sees you nod, “Then behind there is a pond that a family of frogs live in. To the right of us is mum’s garden, it’s her pride and hoy – she excels at household charms, but she’s a wonder in the garden too.”

“Fred, this place is incredible. I already love it and I haven’t even met your family.”

Fred smiles, “You won’t need to wait very long; here’s George.”

You turn from the sight of the growing vegetables to see George making his way over to you. “Fred! (Y/N)! How are you?” he calls out.

Fred waves at his twin, leading you to him. “We’re good, Georgie. How is everyone?”

George beams at his twin and then you, “They’re beside themselves with excitement. Mum screeched when she got your letter; gave us a lecture on decorum and everything.”

Fred laughs; his heart swelling with love and fondness for the woman who had raised him with such love and care.

“What do you say, (Y/N)?” George starts, “Ready to meet the Weasley clan?”

You grin at George and then at Fred; utterly besotted by this man, “Lead the way.”

George claps his hands before turning his back on you, heading towards the open door. You follow him at a faster pace than the one you had done when walking up to the house. Eagerness settling in your stomach as you keep your eyes on the open door.

Fred keeps pace with you easily; both nerves and excitement coursing through his veins.

He hears his mother before he sees her, “Fred! My darling,” she cries, tackling him into a hug so tight Fred thinks his ribs might break. You pause next to him; Fred’s arm angled awkwardly as he hugs his mum with one arm – you move to let go of his hand so he can hug his mother properly, but his hold on you tightens.

“Hi Mum, I’ve missed you,” Fred says at the sound of her cries, “I’m home mum, and I’m starving so let’s get something to eat, shall we? I’ve missed your cooking too much.”

Molly wipes her eyes, running them over her son, “I think you have. You’re looking far too thin, darling,” Her eyes land on you; they widen for a second before she’s tackling you in a hug. She whispers, “Thank you” in your ear before saying much louder, “I’m so glad I finally get to meet you, dear. I’ve read so much about you I feel I know you already but it’s never the same thing.”

You return her hug with just as much vigour, “Thank you for having me, I love your home.”

Molly pulls away, “You’re lovely; you’re perfect for Fred, I know it. Come on in, it’s time we ate, and you can meet the rest of the family.”

Your stomach ties itself in knots as you follow Fred into his childhood home. Voices starts to shout upon the sight of Fred entering the home; he grins at them all, greeting them by name, passing out kiss after kiss on the cheek as well as hugs to his brothers.

Then it’s all silent as the crowd turns to you. Fred’s hand drops your and his arm wraps around your waist, “Everyone this is (Y/N). Please be nice, I’m rather fond as you’ve probably heard from mum and George.”

Everyone greets you as if you’ve been part of the family for years; kisses on cheeks and tight hugs as everyone introduces themselves. A dream of your since you were child was to have a large family, and now with Fred, it seems as if that dream would finally be possible.

His arm rests on the back of your chair as the family take their seats at the table. The food is served with loudness and love; Molly taking extra care with her cooking to make sure it’s perfect for you. From your first bite, you understand what Fred was on about all those months ago. After eating Molly’s food, you would be ruined for anyone else’s.

It’s wonderful; they take you in with open arms, ignoring the fact that you’re a muggle because to them, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t bothered whether you have magic or not, just that you love Fred and make him happy.

------------------

After the meal, Fred watches you interact with his family; explaining to his father the purpose of your degrees and your plans for the future as Arthur sits there entirely enraptured. He watches you asking Charlie question after question about Dragons with Charlie only being too happy to answer – his girlfriend Evie chiming in every now and then with her own knowledge on the subject matter.

He watches you talk animatedly; eyed wide and hands gesturing wildly, fitting in with his family better than he could have dreamed of.

Sighing happily, Fred realises three things:

One – his family would always be there for him, no matter the issue. They’re there to help, to never hinder.

Two – he’s still healing. It will be a long time before he’s recovered from the war, and he’s accepted that.

And three – he’s moving forward with all that in tow because he’s found the love of his life and he’s finally ready to start living it.

*********

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