Summary: Takes place during Prisoner of Azkaban. Reader is in her fourth year (one below Fred/George) and has been having a rough year because of the Dementors. Fred steps in to help.
Warnings: mentions of anxiety and stress
Word Count: 4,500
A/N: I’ve had this fic idea for a few months now, and finally got around to writing it! Fred is genuinely the love of my life and I hope you enjoy reading! :)
The Hogwarts Library was your favorite place to study. It wasn’t necessarily because you enjoyed the silence more than anyone else, but rather stemmed from your inability to work when other people were around. The moment you broke off from your group of friends’ “study sessions” and started studying by yourself in the library, you fell in love with its quiet yet comforting ambience.
Studying alone didn’t necessarily mean you were lonely while studying. There was an unspoken sense of camaraderie between the regulars who frequented the library most nights of the week. Hermione, for example, had become your unofficial “study buddy” during your second year, with the two of you sharing a table or a couch to do your work on every time you were in the library together. Despite her being a year younger than you, she was one of your closest friends.
Even on nights like tonight, with buckets of rain falling down outside and the wind howling louder than a banshee, the library remained one of the coziest spots in the castle.
It was Saturday, one of the few nights Hermione didn’t come down to join you, and so you’d abandoned your normal desk near the windows in favor of a cushioned armchair near the fireplace (which Madam Pince only lit on nights like this).
You relished the warmth radiating from the fire in front of you, admiring the soft, flickering light it cast on the piece of parchment in your lap. You were taking a break from your half-finished potions essay, transfixed by the rain cascading down the tall library windows like a small waterfall.
You squinted as a dark figure floated into view, brows furrowing as you recognized it as one of the many dementors assigned to Hogwarts’ ground this year. You shuddered, quickly reverting your eyes to your essay.
How ironic, you thought, that you were writing about the Calming Drought when you hadn’t felt calm once all year.
You came from a muggle family, and while many creatures of the wizarding world were still unfamiliar to you, dementors were one aspect you wish had remained secret. They terrified you, to put it plainly.
You hadn’t slept soundly since the first day of the semester when one of them had just floated into the train compartment you were sharing with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. You’d almost passed out right then and there, and you weren’t even the person it was interested in.
You understood why they were there, but you still hated them. You could hardly go anywhere without seeing one hovering lifelessly through a window or lurking slowly over the Quidditch Pitch. As Hermione had said herself, you didn’t need to be near one for it to make you feel absolutely awful.
And while you didn’t like to think of yourself as an anxious person, the dementors’ presence this year had completely degraded your mental state. You were sleeping less, eating less, and trying to cope by putting all your effort into your schoolwork. At least when you were preoccupied with an essay or studying, you’d get a small distraction from the horrible creatures that permeated your everyday life.
“Oi, (Y/n)!”
You jumped about five feet in the air at the sudden noise, essay and quill falling unceremoniously to the floor. You groaned, twisting in your seat and eyes widening at the sight of Fred Weasley approaching you, a concerned look on his face.
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized sincerely. You gulped, ignoring the term of endearment, and shook your head dismissively.
“It’s alright,” you replied with a wave of your hand. “Just caught me off guard is all.” You reached down to pick up the items you’d launched off your lap. When you sat back up, Fred was walking over with a chair he’d grabbed from a nearby desk. You gave him a small smile as he sat down next to you.
“I’m assuming you’d like help with something?” you teased knowingly. He grinned and nodded.
“Hermione said you were in the middle of writing a potions essay, and seeing as Georgie and I have spent the last week studying for our potions OWL, I figured I’d come ask you all the questions Hermione couldn’t answer for us,” he explained. “If that’s okay with you, that is.”
You feigned offense. “Wow, Hermione first then me? I see how it is, Weasley.”
He rolled his eyes, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothing it out on his thigh.
“These are our areas of concern,” he said, handing the paper to you.
“Areas of concern?” You raised an eyebrow as you scanned over the paper, chewing your bottom lip lightly as you tried to figure out what topics you could actually help him with. You glanced up at him, cheeks flushing at the sight of him watching you intently with a small smile on his face.
You’d always been a bit infatuated with Fred Weasley, but then again, who wasn’t? Fred and George were Quidditch legends, insanely popular (but in the truly social way, not the stuck up “I’m better than everyone” way), and quite smart. They were funny but caring, and stood up for anyone who needed it. He was also a year older than you, and thus you regarded him as completely unattainable.
“I understand everything up until this here,” you said finally, pointing at where ‘Draught of Peace’ was written. “I think this is where the fifth year curriculum begins, and obviously I’m not there yet.”
“I will gladly accept whatever help you can give,” Fred replied, grimacing as Madam Pince interrupted him with a loud “Shh!”
You startled again, exhaling quickly and glaring at Fred for causing the reprimand.
“I’m good, thank you,” you replied, looking down at Fred’s list once again. You went to hand it back to him, only to find him staring at you with an apprehensive look. “What?” you asked defensively.
“Have you been sleeping lately?” he asked quietly. You gulped, realizing you hadn’t concealed the dark purple bags under your eyes before you’d left your dorm.
“It’s just been a tough week,” you replied firmly, shoving the list into his hands and reaching down to gather your things.
“(Y/n)-”
“It’s late,” you stated, cutting him off before he could interrogate you further. “How about we get together to study sometime this week? That way I can find all my essays from this year for reference.”
“That works fine for me,” he replied hesitantly. “Are you-”
“I’m free any day except Wednesday, and Thursday morning because I have a Charms test,” you interrupted again, standing up quickly. “Just let me know whenever.”
He nodded slowly, pushing himself out of his seat as well, concern still etched across his face. You tried to give him a reassuring smile.
“How about tomorrow in the Great Hall? After my Quidditch practice,” he finally suggested. You nodded eagerly.
“Sounds perfect, I’ll see you then.” You gave him a small wave and rushed towards the doors, trying to ignore your heart beating ten times faster than normal and the memory of Fred’s worried gaze.
• • •
When you woke up from yet another night of hardly any sleep, you realized you had absolutely no idea when Quidditch practice was. You had walked down to the common room looking for Harry, but lo and behold, Oliver Wood was already up and annotating a book on Quidditch strategies at nine in the morning.
Practice was from three to five on Sundays, as you quickly found out, meaning you had a whole eight hours to stress about studying with Fred before it actually happened.
You spent an hour trying to fall back asleep and another working on your potions essay, then decided you’d had enough of your own room and went to bother Hermione in her dorm. You found her sitting on the carpet surrounded by a copious amount of notes, with Lavender and Parvati helping her sort through them.
“Transfiguration,” Parvati explained as you sat down to help them. “We have a test on Friday.”
“A bloody hard one, too,” Lavender said, slightly exasperated. “Four chapters worth of short ended questions and two essays.”
“Where’s Kellah?” you asked, realizing the fourth inhabitant of the dorm was missing.
“Interrogating McGonagall about all this.” Lavender jabbed a figure at a stack of notes spitefully.
“Maybe Kellah will convince her to give us all bonus points,” Parvati suggested. Hermione laughed softly, head still bowed over a lengthy piece of parchment in front of her.
“I hear you’ve got a study date with Fred Weasley this afternoon,” Hermione said, glancing up to give you a grin and an eyebrow wiggle. You groaned, blushing as Lavender and Parvati squealed.
“It’s really not that serious-”
“Except that it is!” Lavender all but shrieked. “You’ve liked him for forever!”
“Sweet Merlin, this is your chance!” Parvati gushed, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’m genuinely so excited about this.”
You laughed and shook your head. “I’ll be sure to give you all updates tomorrow, though I can’t promise they’ll be all that interesting.”
The four of you continued to talk about your looming study session with Fred as you combed through Hermione’s notes.
“This’ll be good for you, (Y/n),” Parvati said thoughtfully. “I mean, Fred’s a great guy, he’s always cared about you-”
“Maybe hanging out with him more will help with the whole, y’know, anxiety situation,” Lavender added. You shrugged.
“I mean, I saw him for literally five minutes yesterday and he’s already figured out that I’m not sleeping,” you said, chewing your bottom lip. “And I don’t why but the thought of him knowing everything makes me nervous.”
“Why?” Hermione asked curiously. You shrugged again.
“I guess I just don’t want him to be upset, or worried.”
“(Y/n), Fred would never be upset with you,” she said reassuringly.
“I think it’s romantic that he’s all in-tune with your emotions,” Parvati said wistfully.
“And he cares,” Lavender sighed, staring at the carpet emotionally. You rolled your eyes.
“Thanks, guys.”
• • •
At 2:30, you tried to convince yourself that you were heading down to the common room to relax, not to catch a glimpse of your favorite Weasley twin on his way to practice. That was a lie.
Fifteen minutes later, Fred Weasley ambled down the steps with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, laughing loudly with George while Oliver trailed behind them muttering something about maturity. Fred’s face lit up as he caught sight of you curled up on the couch and smiled at you brightly. You gave him a small wave in return, hoping he wouldn’t be able to see the faint blush on your cheeks.
“I’ll see you later!” he called on his way out of the room. George paused in the doorway to give you an exaggerated wink, giggling when you glared at him before turning to catch up with the rest of the team.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, cursing your quickened pulse and sweaty palms - he’d only been in the same room as you, for Merlin’s sake, there was no need to get so worked up.
And yet Fred had all your nerves on edge as the clock on the wall ticked closer and closer to five o’clock. You pulled out your potions textbook and a spare piece of parchment, deciding to make a few notes for later.
At some point you dozed off, your lack of sleep catching up with you as it often did in the middle of the afternoon. You’d become a frequent napper in the last month or so, finding it easier to fall asleep when it was still light out. Today, however, was not the best day for one of your four hour recovery naps.
You woke up with half an hour to spare before you needed to be in the Great Hall. You went back up to your room, gathered your typical study things and changed out of the pajamas you’d been in all day, opting for a sweater and a new pair of sweatpants instead. This time, you made sure to dab concealer under your eyes, erasing all evidence of your insomnia before you left Gryffindor Tower.
There were only a few students sitting in the Great Hall when you got there. You took a seat in the middle of the Gryffindor table and inspected the baskets of assorted snacks in front of you as you set your bag down.
One of the first years, a girl named Amara, pushed a basket of pumpkin pasties towards you from her seat across the table. She gave you a shy smile. “I know you like them.”
“Thank you, Amara,” you said, grinning at the young Gryffindor and grabbing two of the pasties.
“What’s that about?” she asked as you pulled your textbook out of your bag.
“Potions,” you said, setting the book on the table in front of you. “I’m helping Fred study for his exams.”
“Fred Weasley?” Amara asked with wide eyes. You chuckled.
“The one and only.”
As if on cue, Fred made his way through the doors of the Great Hall, head turning as he scanned the room for you. He grinned as his eyes met yours and hastened his pace just a little bit. Your heart skipped a beat, admiring the way his sweatpants hugged his legs and the slight flush to his face.
“Hello, love,” he said, sliding into the seat next to you. You gave him a small smile, eyes widening as he wrapped an arm around your waist. If he noticed the blush tickling your cheeks he ignored it.
“And hello to you, too, Amara,” he continued, giving her a wave. “You look lovely today.”
She squeaked, face turning a bright shade of red as she scampered down the bench towards her classmates. You rolled your eyes, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder.
“You’re a menace,” you scolded.
“Sure am,” he replied proudly, removing his arm from your waist and clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. “So, potions.”
You nodded, flipping open your textbook to the Wit-Sharpening Potion (which you’d bookmarked earlier). “This is the first thing in the fourth year curriculum.”
“Which is where Hermione left off,” he added with a nod.
“I’ve already read it over,” you explained, pointing at some of the annotations you’d made earlier. “So we can review it together and then you can copy down all the important bits to study later.”
He looked down at himself and then gave you a sheepish look. “Do you by chance have something I could write on?” he asked. You sighed, reaching into your bag to grab a piece of parchment and a quill.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Weasley,” you said sarcastically.
“Oh, I hope so,” he replied cheekily, giving you a heart-melting grin.
You spent the next hour or so guiding him through the effects and recipes of each potion. He actually did a surprisingly good job at paying attention, taking detailed notes and only interrupting every once in a while to point out Amara staring at the two of you from a distance.
“She’s so cute,” you remarked softly, watching her gossip energetically with her friends.
“She reminds me of you when you were a first year,” Fred said. You gave him a confused glance.
“What do you mean?”
“Very enthusiastic, easy to rile up,” he explained.
“Now I understand why you and George pulled so many pranks on me,” you groaned, turning the page to the chapter on Skele-Gro.
“It’s was our job to terrorize the new students,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “Peeves’ orders.”
“Uhuh,” you said sarcastically, unable to keep the grin off your face.
“This is the stuff Madam Pomfrey gave to Harry last year!” Fred said excitedly, pointing at the book. You grinned and nodded.
“Yes! Now what’s it made of?” you asked, covering the ingredient list with your hand.
Fred’s nose scrunched as he concentrated. “Erm, puffer fish, and an arm bone, and…spiders?”
“One spider,” you corrected, lifting your hand off the page. “And a bunch of other things.”
“Chinese chomping cabbage, five Scarab beetles…” he mumbled, scribbling onto his parchment as he squinted at the list.
“Invented by Linfred of Stinchcombe,” you added.
“Funny name,” Fred chuckled.
“Which one?” you asked. “Linfred, or Stinchcombe?”
“Both.”
You giggled softly, gaze trailing upwards as the light emitting from the ceiling changed from a pale yellow to a deep blue. The floating candles gleamed brightly against the dark night sky. Despite the change, there was still enough light shining on the tables for you to be able to work.
“Lovely nighttime ambience,” Fred remarked from beside you.
“You sound like you work in real estate,” you replied, gaze moving from the ceiling to the large window at the front of the hall.
You inhaled sharply, noticing the all-too familiar silhouette of a dementor floating just beyond the glass.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Fred asked softly from behind you. You hardly noticed the hand he rested gently on your arm, focused entirely on the dementor hanging in the air like a twisted puppet.
“Dumbledore said they weren’t going to come on the school grounds,” you muttered.
Fred followed your gaze to the window, and you felt him stiffen behind you. “Ah.”
You turned back around in your seat, knocking his hand off you, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your notes.
“I think we can move on, yea?” you said, flipping to the next chapter.
“(Y/n)-”
“Antidotes,” you announced, clapping your hands together dismissively. “Very specific healing potions-”
“(Y/n)!” Fred interrupted, reaching out and covering your hand with his own. You sighed, finding yourself feeling oddly uncomfortable under his concerned gaze. “What, Fred?”
“Exactly, what the bloody hell was that?” he asked, a bit harshly.
“What are you talking about?”
“The dementor!” he said exasperatedly, frown deepening as you shivered. “(Y/n)?” His voice was much softer this time.
“I don’t like talking about them,” you said finally, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath. “They scare the shit out of me.”
“Are the dementors why you haven’t been sleeping?”
Your eyes snapped open, giving Fred an incredulous look. “I’ve been sleeping just fine, thank you.”
“I hope you don’t think last night in the library was the first time I’ve noticed,” he said softly. Your heart skipped a beat. “All year you’ve seemed…more reserved. Tired. You yawn all the time, I hardly see you eat.”
“I’m just…stressed,” you managed, glancing at the pumpkin pasties you’d set aside earlier. The dementor had taken your appetite away completely.
“It seems more serious than that,” Fred muttered, placing his hand on top of yours and squeezing gently.
You sighed, glancing down the table to where Amara and her friends were staring at you intently. “Could we continue this conversation elsewhere?” you asked quietly. Fred nodded, helping you put your things in your bag.
“When did it start?” he asked as the two of you walked towards the doors at the end of the Great Hall.
“It’s been all year,” you admitted, cringing at the way Fred exhaled sharply. “I didn’t know you noticed.”
“Of course I noticed,” Fred said, pushing the door open for you. “You’re worth watching.”
You blushed and followed him down the corridor. “Where are we going?”
“I was thinking the kitchens?” he said. “It’s warm there, plus the house-elves are just starting dinner.”
Fred stayed by your side as you walked down the stairs, hand brushing against the back of yours lightly every time he took another step down. You bit your lip, imagining how it would feel to get to hold his hand.
“How was Quidditch practice?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. Fred looked down at you and gave you a small grin.
“You really want to know?”
You nodded.
“Absolute shit,” he replied, emphasizing every syllable. You stifled a laugh as his brows furrowed in frustration. “Wood has been up in everyone’s business for weeks trying to get us to learn this new play. You know who invented it?”
“Who?” you asked curiously.
“The Pride of Portree!” he said exasperatedly. “They’re bloody professionals, and Wood can’t seem to understand how we’re not performing as well as they are.”
“Wood’s a bit of a lunatic when it comes to Quidditch,” you agreed.
“A bit is an understatement,” Fred snorted, stopping at the fruit bowl painting that concealed the entrance to the kitchens. “Do you want to tickle the pear or should I?” “Don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before,” you laughed. “You can do it.”
Fred reached out and gave the two dimensional fruit a tickle, grinning as it turned into a door handle. He pulled it open. “After you, m’lady.”
“(Y/n)!”
You grinned and waved hello to Krafty, one of your favorite house-elves.
“Hello, Krafty,” Fred called, pulling the door shut and coming to stand beside you.
“Mr. Weasley,” Krafty said, giving a slight bow. “Krafty must go help work on dinner!”
You glanced up at Fred as the house-elf scurried off. “I didn’t know you knew Krafty.”
“George and I come here all the time to steal food before bed,” he explained, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards one of the tables. “We know quite a few of these guys.”
He sat down and patted the bench next to him, grinning as you followed suit and rested your head against his arm.
“Comfortable?” he asked. You nodded.
“Your mother’s sweaters are always so cozy,” you mumbled. “I stole one of Ginny’s old ones to sleep in.”
Fred chuckled. “I’ll just ask her to make you one.”
“I don’t want to burden her,” you whined.
“She loves you, she won’t mind.”
“I miss your mum,” you said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.” “You should come visit,” Fred suggested. You shrugged, sitting up straight. “Maybe.”
Fred reached around your back and grabbed a roll out of a basket behind you. You gave him a confused look as he forced it into your hands.
“Would you please eat this,” he said. “I haven’t seen you eat a full meal in weeks and it’s starting to make me nervous.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled, taking a small bite of the bread.
“I don’t mean to make you feel bad,” Fred said softly, “it’s just that you have to eat.”
“It’s not like I’m trying not to,” you explained. “I want to eat, but I get so…so nervousthat I stop being hungry.”
“Because of the dementors?” he asked.
“Yea.” You cringed at how small your voice sounded.
“Why do they freak you out so much?” he asked genuinely. “I mean, they’re creepy and all, but you seem more affected by them than most other people.”
“You remember how one came into our compartment on the Hogwarts Express?” you asked. “At the beginning of the year?”
Fred frowned and nodded. “Don’t think Ron slept for two weeks.”
“Yea, well, I haven’t really slept since then,” you muttered.
“(Y/n), it’s been months,” Fred said incredulously, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I genuinely have no idea how you’ve been functioning this whole time.”
“I know it’s bad,” you sighed, leaning into his chest and trying to ignore the way his caring tugged at your emotions. “But it’s just…so dark in my room at night. And I’m always the last one awake and I feel so alone, and then I’m just reminded of how lonely and terrified and coldthe dementor made me feel.”
“You have to sleep sometimes,” Fred said, pulling you in closer to him. “I read somewhere that you’ll die if you don’t sleep at all, and you’re clearly alive.” He pulled back and gave you a once-over. “Well, kind of.”
You snorted. “I take a lot of naps.”
“Is it easier to fall asleep during the day?”
“Yea, and I can hear people moving around and talking and stuff, so I don’t feel as isolated I guess,” you said. Fred hummed, thinking to himself.
“Would it be okay if I proposed a rather outlandish and potentially polarizing solution,” he said finally.
“Uh, sure,” you replied, motioning for him to speak.
Fred cleared his throat. “You could, y’know, if you wanted to, come sleep with me. Only if you were okay with it, of course.”
You were sure you’d heard him wrong, eyes bulging as a faint blush appeared on his cheeks.
“Jesus, (Y/n), don’t look at me like that,” he teased with a nervous chuckle. You blinked, trying to force your face into a more normal expression.
“You…you want me to sleep with you?” you asked.
“Not sexually!” he clarified quickly. “Just like physical sleeping, and I could keep you company so you wouldn’t feel lonely.” A pause. “Unless you’d prefer sexually.”
You felt your face turn increasing shades of bright red, stuttering for an answer as he grinned at you adoringly. Your eyes widened as he reached out and grasped your thigh gently, staring down at his hand and then back up at him.
“Would this be a bad time to tell you I fancy you?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for any trace of an answer.
“No,” you managed breathlessly. “This is a perfect time.” His lips were on yours in an instant, your eyes fluttering closed as one of his hands came up to cup your jaw, the other resting on the small of your back, coaxing you closer to him.
You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you senseless and caressing your face with his thumb.
And suddenly you remembered you were still in the kitchens. In the kitchens snogging Fred Weasley.
“Fred,” you murmured, pulling back and taking a deep breath. You opened your eyes, relishing in the sight of Fred panting, his eyes still closed. “Fred, we have an audience.”
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the small crowd of house-elves watching you from a distance, all donning shocked expressions. “Krafty! Doesn’t (Y/n) look ravishing this evening?”
Krafty blushed furiously, turning around and hurrying away with the platter he was carrying.
“Fred Weasley!” you scolded.
“I wasn’t completely joking, you know,” he muttered, looking back at you. “You look gorgeous. Absolutely stunning, inside and out.”
You blushed. “I, erm, fancy you too,” you said, realizing you hadn’t said it back before. “In case you were wondering.”
Fred grinned, pushing himself to his feet and reaching down to help you stand up. “Let’s take this back up to my dorm, yea? We can make tea and look at that potions book a little more, and then maybe you can spend the night?”
You looked up at him, beaming at the thought of spending a night in Fred Weasley’s arms, and potentially sleeping well for the first time in months. “That sounds marvelous, Freddie.”
George Weasley was part of a selected big group of friends, with its honorary members being Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and his little brother Ron.
The lads weren’t official members because of the age gap — it was rare the moments where they could hang mid-classes. But it didn’t bother Fred, Lee and Angelina to have the little guys around.
There was another girl too, who George saw as much more of an official member than an honorary one. [y/n] [y/ln] was younger than him but older than his little brother — she was from the year between the two. They became friends entirely by accident — she got caught up on a prank not intended for her and after a not-so-much friendly match of Quidditch where she played gracefully and not at all vengeful, the twins talked her into being part of the friend group.
One could’ve said [y/n] was the one most outof the group, but, surprisingly, she managed well around them. She became very close to Angelina, and she had openly called Fred her very best mate once. Even when Potter was around, she never acted as a “fangirl” — and she noticeably picked Ron over Harry tons of times.
They were all together one afternoon, playing card games in the grass by the Lake when Fred had an idea: steal food from the house-elves.
[y/n] was immediately into it. “We have to be quick then because it’s almost supper time, and they’ll be all up to our arses if they catch us by that time,” she said, getting up and leaving her deck of cards to Angelina to handle.
Ron got up quickly too, ready to follow the girl wherever she went. Fred just smile. “Anyone else for our road trip?” asked the older twin.
“It’s hardly a road trip,” opined Angelina, before winning against Hermione and starting the game again.
Since no one else got up, the three left. George and Lee drew closer to the two girls left, anxious to see if Hermione could beat Angelina, but chances were the Quidditch player was going to win again.
“Has anyone noticed Ron’s fancying [y/n]?” asked Hermione, who had smelled it in the air, way before anyone else, but she just wanted to be sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks.
Lee snorted at the question, trying not to shame-laugh. He hadn’t only noticed Ron’s crush — he noticed Hermione’s too. Angelina simply smiled and kept playing the card game, but George spoke up.
“I dunno how it ends, but [y/n] will for sure be part of my fam,” he said, laughing it off.
“How so?” asked Hermione, tensing up a bit, which allowed Angelina some advantage in the game.
“Well, Ron fancies her; she fancies Fred and Fred…. well, I reckon that bloke hasn’t pashed anyone, that’s for sure,” George replied. “Either Fred falls for her or she falls for Ron, but she’ll end up a Weasley, alright.”
Lee elbowed the redheaded.
“She’ll end up your sister,” he laughed.
“In-law,” added George, suddenly wanting to make sure [y/n] was not blood-related to him.
Angelina and Lee exchanged knowing looks, but Hermione and George were oblivious to the exchange. George was inside his wee world, thinking why it bothered him to acknowledge [y/n] as a sister, and Hermione was wishful thinking that Fred could bloody well fancy [y/n] right away.
The match went on, with Angelina winning that turn and then Lee taking Hermione’s place and losing too — the difference was Lee didn’t care and laughed his loss away. George wanted to play too, but when his turn finally came, Fred, Ron and [y/n] arrived with the stolen food.
“Hey, I wanna go back to my match,” said [y/n], sitting down next to Angelina, who remained unbeatable. “Who’s the winner?”
“Who would you reckon?” replied Lee, smiling. [y/n] liked his smirk, it felt sparkling in the twilight.
“Angie,” [y/n] smiled too as she spoke.
“No worries — I’ve been playing non-stop and George hasn’t had his turn,” Angelina said, moving away from the card pile. “Take my place,” offered the Quidditch chaser.
[y/n] took the offer, and looked straight at George. He had a playful smile, which only increased when he reached the pile and started shuffling the cards for the new game.
In the background, George heard Ron asking Hermione if Harry showed up, and the bookworm replied with a “no”. The younger twin wasn’t facing Ron, but he could visualize the frown on his face. Harry Potter was chosen to be a Triwizard champion, which meant he was generally never free and around — but also, his friendship with Ron was a bit rocky at the moment.
George reverted his focus on [y/n].
“Get ready to eat grass, Weasley,” the girl said.
“We’ll see,” responded George, feeling his grin widen.
[y/n] was late, which meant Fred and George were late too. They planned a quick trip to Hogsmeade, but they were going “illegally” and if [y/n] took a minute longer to get ready, Fred swore he was gonna leave her behind.
“I’m here!” she whispered and shouted, at the same time. George wondered how she managed that.
“You’re late,” the younger twin said, messing with her.
“Just five minutes,” she pointed out, checking her wristwatch.
“Could well mean the difference between getting caught,” George continued.
“Stop, you two,” said Fred, but he knew very well all the bickering came from his twin. George hadn’t found his way around flirting women, and it showed — Fred knew he had to do something about it, but it’d need to be later. At the moment, he only sought to get to Hogsmeade.
“She started it,” said George, defending himself.
“How could I?” she inquired, startled.
“By showing up late,” he answered, frowning his brows.
Fred rolled his eyes and decided not to meddle. They could figure it out for themselves. The older twin, then, took the front of the little voyage group and led them to the secret passageway. The trio went through that one-eyed old crone’s hump, and soon they were in the dark corridor that would lead them away from Hogwarts.
Fred and George had to lean their backs, so they wouldn’t smack their heads, but [y/n] could go most of the way just fine and stretch. She had been there three times before, but it was never easy being in that dim and smelly place.
She didn’t even notice when she edged nearer George Weasley until he offered her his arm. Furthermore, she looked at it, suspiciously, before accepting.
They had a complicated relationship. They were always quarrelling, like too foolish kids that couldn’t possibly like the opposite gender. It was always stupid, but [y/n] couldn’t avoid it — it seemed so nice to bicker with George because then he would look at her sideways and provocatively grin and that usually made her smile too.
She had a thing for Fred from the first moment she learned his name. It had been some girl in her class had been ranking the most handsome blokes of Hogwarts, and when [y/n] asked who was Fred Weasley and why he was in twenty-second place, her classmate smiled and asked: “Why? Do you think he should be higher up?”. [y/n] didn’t think that, of course. At eleven years of age, she barely thought of boys that way, especially the ones one year older, who seemed so much more mature back then. But later she was engrossed in one of the twins’ pranks, and Fred presented himself.
Tall, even for a twelve-year-old, and with beautiful freckles in his cheeks — [y/n] didn’t need much more thinking; she knew she had become a woman, and she was ready to have that man.
They became friends later on, and even though [y/n] never made advances towards Fred, she never tried to stop fancying him either. It just felt natural to have a crush, a since Fred was right there and available, she took him.
Of course, she went out with other boys, specifically last year when she had just turned fourteen, but it never felt quite right. Not even as right as studying with Hermione, not as right as relying on Ronald, and definitelynot as right as bickering with George.
It felt nicer to argue with George than to kiss Oliver Wood! she remembered, in a sudden thought in the middle of the ill-lit hallway. Her expression changed, worrying George, but since she stayed in silence, he did the same.
Oliver had been [y/n]’s first kiss, and even though he was very gentle and kind — even nowadays — the only thing he taught her was that she was better off single.
“We’re almost there, I reckon,” said Fred, having to rely on his memory to keep marshalling. He didn’t regret having given Harry his map, but sometimes, he felt nostalgic for it.
The passage twisted and turned, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. [y/n] and George followed just behind, still with their arms intertwined. George didn’t want to think what that gesture possibly meant, and he didn’t have to — they had ended up right into the cellar of Honeydukes.
“This passage remains safe, thank Merlin,” Fred thought out loud, which made [y/n] repress a laugh. She then remembered to let go of George’s arm, since she was back in the light, but her arms felt empty without his there.
They didn’t longer around Honeydukes — their plan was to go to the joke shop and get new supplies, and thenceforth go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. The candy store was barely empty, so their exit had to be a bit theatrical so no one would suspect a thing.
Zonko’s shop called the boys’ attention as soon as the three of them stepped outside Honeydukes, and [y/n] had to hush to follow them. The store was striking, the girl had to give in. Its walls, covered with shelves, loaded not only with Dungbombs and Hiccough Sweets, but also Frog Spawn Soap, Sugar Quills, and Nose-Biting Teacups. No wonder the boys loved to shop there.
“So, Fred, what’s it that you guys are looking for to stock?” [y/n] leaning against the shelf that Fred was so meticulously observing.
The red-headed looked down at her for only a second and smiled.
“A bit of everything, I suppose,” he replied.
George appeared from behind [y/n] and the shelf, scaring her with a nudge. She, at least, managed not to scream. It wasn’t late yet, only twilight, but the stored seemed umbra, which gave the toys up on the shelves a different glow. Macabre, [y/n] determined.
“Never, ever, do that again, do you understand?” she threatened George, but the twin only giggled.
“Come with me, [y/l/n],” said George, eyeing the back of the corridor he was in. “You’re gonna like this.”
Fred tried really hard not to smile at his twin taking an initiative, while [y/n] followed.
George waited until [y/n] was right next to him and offered his arm again. There was really no official reason for it — even though it was starting to be dusk outside, the shop still had light enough for the girl not to feel scared, but he liked being of use.
[y/n] accepted his arm with biting of lips, suddenly feeling very nervous with the interaction. Could she like George? She wondered, innocently. He was a nice lad, for sure. He was also a tiny bit taller than Fred, and she did like tallboys. But he’s very annoying, she reminded herself. He’s always teasing you in a non-lovable way.
“Do you know Ronniekins has a devotion for you?”
George plumped the question, smirking in taunting.
“Ronniekins?Ron?” she asked, stunned.
[y/n] didn’t even bother with George’s smile. She cared for Ron, a lot since she confided in him most of the time, but if the lad was messing things up… she would need to take a stand, and she wouldn’t like it.
“Yep,” affirmed George. “He developed some sort of crush on you; I can’t speak anything in your concern without being scolded.”
“That’s nice of him,” she tried to smile, attempting to make the best out of the situation, but she just couldn’t. “Oh… But if he really does fancy me… I’ll have to say something, right? I don’t wanna lead him on.”
“To be honest, I think even if you actually stare him down and say: ‘Ronald Weasley, I do not fancy you and I don’t want to kiss you’, he will still hold on to hope,” George told her, pressing his arm against her harder. He wanted to comfort her, and he didn’t even fully comprehend why.
[y/n] was an enjoyable lassie and, even though he messed with her all the time, he liked to be around her. But did he like likebeing around her? Oh, Merlin… He couldn’t. His younger brother loved her, his older brother was the object of her affection. He did not want or wish to be in the middle of it. As a matter of fact, he liked to mock the situation from the outside. She’s a future sister-in-law, he told himself, but it felt wrong in his mind. She’s part of the family, he pondered again, and that phrase felt easier, which was a relief.
The girl in question watched George’s expression, as it tensed and relaxed, and she wondered if he was worried about his little brother. That’s sweet of him, she thought.
They finally stopped in front of a shelf filled with candy bars, but George remained silent and did not explain why they stopped there.
“George?” she called his attention. “What do you think I should do?”
His eyes stared down at her, thoughtfully. He truly wanted to help her, even if it meant walking her down the aisle to his twin.
“Well, you don’t fancy him, do you? I reckon it’s another brother of mine you have your eyes on,” he said, out loud this time. For some reason, he felt like he needed to know. He needed to know if she still had a thing for Fred. Or even for Ron, if the tables had turned.
[y/n] avoided George’s eyes. How could he have found out about her wee crush on Fred? She sure wasn’t being self-evident, was she?
But even so, if she were obvious, what was she supposed to answer? She most definitely was not going to confess, especially because her feelings have been shifting a lot. Fred was her best mate. Yeah, she knew they would match just fine if it were Fred to ask her out, but did she want it? Did she yearnto be Fred’s companion?
“I don’t fancy Ron, obviously,” she answered, finally, after a while pondering how to phrase her feelings. “And I don’t know what you mean about brothers of yours.”
George snorted. “Okay then.”
He decided it was for the best if he just remained quiet and did not bother her about it any longer. She didn’t want to answer, and, honestly, he didn’t wanna hear it. So he faced the shelf he had directed her towards and picked one of the candy bars.
She breathed a sigh of relief that he had dropped the previous matter, and asked: “I didn’t know Zonko’s shop sold candy.”
“Not any proper candy,” he replied. “This is a special one.”
“Really? How so?”
George gave her the candy bar, so she could analyse it, but, as he very well knew, there was nothing in its packaging that revealed its true content.
“They provoke emotions, different ones, but always strong ones,” George explained, taking back the bar from her hands. “This one, for instance, is for decisive moments. See here?” he pointed to a very small font where it could be read: “you want the courage to do what you most long to? This is for you!”
“Why would someone eat something like this?”
“Various reasons,” George shrugged before taking another candy bar from the rack. “This one is for knowledge. Suppose you have a test tomorrow — this could be your salvation.”
[y/n] took the second bar from his hands and analysed it herself. “Only if I know the test’s subjects beforehand, you mean,” she said, returning him the candy bar. “If you haven’t studied, this won’t be much help.”
“It will be somehelp,” said George.
“Right,” [y/n] snorted.
“Anyway, it’s practically not much of use nowadays. Professor Snape found a way to perceive it in your organism with a special potion,” he explained, but he didn’t place the bar back in its place. He held still the two candy bars and led [y/n] to the cashier.
“You know you’re buying the courage one, right?” she whispered in his ear before Fred could reach them in the cashier line.
George smiled.
“You are the one buying it,” he corrected her. “After all, you’ll need it to talk to Ron.”
[y/n] let out some air from her throat, completely frustrated. She knew she didn’t fancy Ron, at least, so she should talk to him. Perhaps the candy bar was going to be of some use.
“What are you two buying?” asked Fred, having absolutely no free space in his arms. He had a bit of everything — Dungbombs, Frog Spawn Soap, Nose-Biting Teacups and more that [y/n] wasn’t able to name.
“Magic Bars,” the girl answered, looking up to meet Fred’s eyes. It was only then she realized she still held George’s arm, so she instantly let it go — but not before Fred couldn’t notice.
“Oh, so you can be brave enough to break up with Ronniekins?” asked Fred, smirking.
The girl looked shocked. “Oh, come on! Everyone knew?”
The twins only laugh it out.
Knowing that Ron was going to arrive at any moment at the Three Broomsticks with the rest of the gang, [y/n] popped the candy bar and ate it all at once, only stopping for a sip of butterbeer to make it all easier to let out. George watched, surprised, but offered his own comment: “I don’t think you needed to have eaten it all.”
She sniffed. “Could have informed me that earlier, couldn’t you?”
Fred just smirked, amused with the scenario. He took the opportunity to corner his twin when going to get more butterbeers at the counter, leaving [y/n] alone on the table.
“So… now that she’s breaking up with Ron, when are you gonna tell her you fancy her?”
George’s eyes widened, staring at his twin with disbelief.
“What? You’re gonna pretend you don’t like the lass?”
“[y/n]’s a friend,” George answered, sharply.
“Right…”
They ordered the butterbeers and waited, avoiding staring at each other. Fred didn’t want to keep laughing at his twin, and George didn’t want to confess something he wasn’t entirely sure.
Could he fancy [y/n]? No, he answered mentally. She fancied Fred, and he always promised not to come between his twin’s girls. Because, if ever [y/n] decided to hit on Fred, he knew his twin wasn’t going to be able to resist. She was just like that, and she never even noticed — if she wanted a guy, she’d have him. And the day she’d claim Fred would come, and George would be left to watch the two love birds.
“Seriously, now,” started Fred, handing the butterbeers, “why don’t to come clean with her?”
George sighed. “I have nothing to clean. Do I like her? Yes. Do I think she’s pretty? Yep. But we’re better off as mates, or better saying, bickering mates,” answered him, finally.
Fred decided to say nothing more. George would eventually realize on his own that he like [y/n] and, when that day arrived, Fred could finally beam saying “told you so”.
They sat back at their places, noticing the small crowd on their table. Ron, Hermione, Angelina, Lee and (the big surprise of the night) Harry Potter had arrived, and they were talking jubilantly about the upcoming ball they had been hearing whispers about.
George sat between [y/n] and Ron purposefully, and [y/n] sighed in relief while staring at George.
“Hasn’t it had any effect yet?” asked George, referring to the candy. [y/n] just shook her head. “It will happen soon.”
She wished he was right.
The two of them got caught up on the table talk, adding their own remarks and desires for the party. [y/n] didn’t add much too aloud, though — she was afraid Ron could say something about them going together.
Suddenly, she felt a kick inside her. The candy bar! she thought, anxiously. She stared at Ron from behind George and gesture for them to go out. She needed to say it, once and for all.
George watched as the two of them left, but he didn’t make a comment.
“So much for [y/n] marrying Fred…” Lee said aloud.
“Me?” asked Fred, confused and frowning. Lee laughed and Angelina tried to ease Fred, mostly for [y/n]’s sake, then for the red haired’s.
George kept staring at the door as if wishing the conversation ran out faster if he did so. Lee nudged George.
“Is she kissing him?”
“Ew, no,” George replied. “She wanted to talk him outof his feelings,” he continued. “She even ingested one of the Magic Bars for courage.”
“Those are never a good idea,” said Hermione, meddling.
“Why?” asked Lee, genuinely curious. He often liked those candy bars.
“Well, it gives you the kicks to do what you most long for. Not necessarily a good thing if what you most long for is to kill someone, for instance,” she explained. Hermione, then, shrugged, knowing [y/n] was not about to kill Ron, but suggesting that what she most longed for might not be “end things” with Ron.
George pondered Hermione’s words. What could be the thing [y/n] most ached for, and could the magical candy bar really help?
He had no more time to think as the door from the Three Broomsticks opened once again, but only Ron came in. He had some of a tired look on his face, and that worried George. Not for his younger brother, but for [y/n].
George got up and left, leaving a confused Lee behind. Angelina and Fred exchanged looks before smirking — both sharing a secret of what had happened.
“Never again make me ingest one of those bars, are you hearing me?” [y/n] said as soon as she faced George, in on dark space between Three Broomstick and the next store next to it.
“What happened?” George asked, stupefied.
“Nothing, of course, and how could it? With Ron?” she laughed it off. “I just told him something about him being the little brother I never had and how I saw him grow up so fast. He understood the message.”
George waited, but she said nothing more. “So, what’s the matter?”
“I want to be touched, Georgie!” she exclaimed, surprising herself. She covered her mouth, a little too late, but it was the least she could. Had she really told George she wanted to be touched? Had he understood the length of her words?
George froze, giving [y/n] the time to gather her thoughts. He looked very handsome in the half-light coming from the establishment next door, and [y/n] enumerated how many freckles he had on his face. There were more than Fred’s, and George’s were more intensely gathered on his nose. The twin noted the girl’s fierce inspection and cleared his throat.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone almost gruff as he felt completely exposed in the dim light of the Hogsmeade night.
“I’m counting your freckles,” she replied truthfully. It wasn’t the candy effect — she really wanted to be honest, because that was how she was around George. [y/n] never thought before talking when she was with the younger Weasley twin, unlike when she was around Fred or even Oliver Wood.
“Why?” George questioned in a whisper. It was like he was afraid to speak.
“Because…” [y/n] didn’t have a “why”. She wanted to, so she counted. She wanted to come closer to him, so she did. Moreover, she longed for his touch, and that terrified her. “I wanna kiss you.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it felt very loud in both of their ears.
What? George wanted to ask, but he wasn’t able to mould a coherent phrase. Instead, he leaned closer. If she wanted to kiss him, he would let her. He had thought it before: the man she desired, she would get.
“George?” she asked, forcing him to open his eyes once again. “I won’t kiss you unless you say you want to kiss me too.”
“I thought you were desperate to be touched,” George played, smirking a little.
“Desperate? I didn’t say that” [y/n] smiled too.
“Kiss me, [y/n],” he said, the smirk disappearing.
She took one last deep breath and pressed her lips against his. It felt sweet at first, but then it was something different, something [y/n] could not find words to describe, perhaps spicy could be a great word, but it wouldn’t delineate it completely. There was more, always more, and when [y/n] opened her mouth waiting for his advance, she was impressed to feel him eager.
Their kiss deepened, it became something of its own, essentially when George’s arms took her whole body in, tugging, hugging, caressing her. She did the same with her hands, searching for his red curls, and pulling him in by the neck.
“George, touch me,” [y/n] yearned.
“I… I…” George couldn’t find the words, neither to say yes nor no.
He kept pulling her, closer and closer, but it wasn’t enough. He finally understood her, understood what she longed for because he longed for the same. To touch her, on her very core. But he couldn’t.
“We shouldn’t, [y/n],” he said, sorrowfully. “I shouldn’t.”
“Fine,” she whispered, leaning over his ear. “But I should.”
Her hands left his neck and wandered towards his trousers, finding the confirmation of his deepest desires. Oh, he hankered to touch her, too. He only lacked what the candy bar gave [y/n]: fearlessness.
He held her hand before she pressed him even tighter.
“Are you sure of what you’re doing?” he asked. “You’re probably intoxicated.”
“Intoxicated?” she stepped back. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe her. “Why? Because I would rather be with Fred, you reckon? Oh, yeah, you know so much about me!”
She took more steps away from him, and looked back, finding him with a disturbed expression on his face.
“If I wanted to be with Fred, I would’ve found a way to drag him here,” she said, confidently but also angry. “But it was you who came to me, and yes, I might’ve been the one to kiss you, but only because you told me to.”
“[y/n]! I… I just don’t think you wanted to… in the middle of Hogsmeade,” he shouted back, feeling the first raindrop fall over his nose. “Because don’t turn this on me! I’ll allow you to touch me anywhere you’d like, any day, even! You longed to be touched, but I’ve been longing to be touched by you!”
His words weren’t only an astonishment to her, but to him too. George didn’t know he had been thinking about her that way until she touched him — until he felt the taste of her lips.
[y/n] made a quick decision: she left. She turned her back, feeling raindrops start to fall all over her, but she didn’t bother and kept walking away, towards Honeydukes.
George watched as she went, and he was frozen, even in the rain. It was Fred who found him, all soaked.
“What happened?” Fred asked, but his twin did not answer. “I knew I should have taught you better how to hit on girls.”
George, paralysed, only moved his lips. “She left me,” he finally said. “In the rain, all alone.”
Fred breathed. “Let’s go back to Hogwarts; she’s not going to get back here.”
summary: after an explosive prank, fred lands himself in detention, being forced to care for a mountain of plants. luckily, y/n is there to guide him the way, teaching him about the wonders of herbology and about himself, too.
pairing: fred weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings: pining but that’s about it!
a/n: the second installment of the golden collection is finally here!! this was lots and lots of fun to write! researching herbology and plants was hella fun. also spoiler but i think it’s ironic that the game that fred is going to play in is actually a bad one and doesn’t seem lucky at all lmfao.
“I will not hear another peep out of you, Mr. Weasley,” she snapped, her voice muffled by the greenhouse walls that separated you.
Professor Sprout barreled through the door; Fred in tow, who was rolling his eyes rather dramatically. You peered at him through the leaves of the lavish wolfsbane that you were watering before casually approaching the pair.
You smiled warmly at each of them, knowing all too well what this particular guest entailed. Sprout looked back at you with contrition, announcing, “Mr. Weasley, this is Ms. Y/L/N — she’ll be showing you how to tend to the greenhouse on this lovely Saturday morning.”
However, the morning was anything but lovely. Dreary clouds covered the sky, and brittle leaves danced in the crisp wind. Conversely, a sticky humidity hung inside of the greenhouse, making it especially pleasant to let the cool air creep in for just a moment.
Fred flashed you a lopsided grin as he snuck out of Sprout’s grasp. She leaned towards you and whispered, “good luck,” before scurrying out of the greenhouse.
In which Fred Weasley loves watching you paint. // MASTERLIST. Request: Not requested, thought of it while trying to fall asleep and now, here we are! Word Count: 943 Warnings: Brief mention of food (baked goods). Reblogs are very much appreciated, thank you! DO NOT REPOST! I do not give consent or permission for my work to be reposted elsewhere! Thanks!
There were very few things that could tame the beast that was Fred Weasley and his inclination towards mass amounts of chaos, even if only for a short span of time.
Hold a freshly baked cake or a few warm muffins to his nose, especially if they were made by his wonderful mother, and he would be quite content for a good few minutes. Placing a few ingredients for whatever new product he and George were setting their sights on would do the trick, as well. Asking him if he could help with a particularly problematic Arithmancy or Charms paper would get him to settle for an hour or two, surprisingly.
Another thing he would instantly calm at, something that could keep his mind on one track was you. More specifically, watching you paint.
summary: after an explosive prank, fred lands himself in detention, being forced to care for a mountain of plants. luckily, y/n is there to guide him the way, teaching him about the wonders of herbology and about himself, too.
pairing: fred weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings: pining but that’s about it!
a/n: the second installment of the golden collection is finally here!! this was lots and lots of fun to write! researching herbology and plants was hella fun. also spoiler but i think it’s ironic that the game that fred is going to play in is actually a bad one and doesn’t seem lucky at all lmfao.
“I will not hear another peep out of you, Mr. Weasley,” she snapped, her voice muffled by the greenhouse walls that separated you.
Professor Sprout barreled through the door; Fred in tow, who was rolling his eyes rather dramatically. You peered at him through the leaves of the lavish wolfsbane that you were watering before casually approaching the pair.
You smiled warmly at each of them, knowing all too well what this particular guest entailed. Sprout looked back at you with contrition, announcing, “Mr. Weasley, this is Ms. Y/L/N — she’ll be showing you how to tend to the greenhouse on this lovely Saturday morning.”
However, the morning was anything but lovely. Dreary clouds covered the sky, and brittle leaves danced in the crisp wind. Conversely, a sticky humidity hung inside of the greenhouse, making it especially pleasant to let the cool air creep in for just a moment.
Fred flashed you a lopsided grin as he snuck out of Sprout’s grasp. She leaned towards you and whispered, “good luck,” before scurrying out of the greenhouse.
summary: after an explosive prank, fred lands himself in detention, being forced to care for a mountain of plants. luckily, y/n is there to guide him the way, teaching him about the wonders of herbology and about himself, too.
pairing: fred weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings: pining but that’s about it!
a/n: the second installment of the golden collection is finally here!! this was lots and lots of fun to write! researching herbology and plants was hella fun. also spoiler but i think it’s ironic that the game that fred is going to play in is actually a bad one and doesn’t seem lucky at all lmfao.
“I will not hear another peep out of you, Mr. Weasley,” she snapped, her voice muffled by the greenhouse walls that separated you.
Professor Sprout barreled through the door; Fred in tow, who was rolling his eyes rather dramatically. You peered at him through the leaves of the lavish wolfsbane that you were watering before casually approaching the pair.
You smiled warmly at each of them, knowing all too well what this particular guest entailed. Sprout looked back at you with contrition, announcing, “Mr. Weasley, this is Ms. Y/L/N — she’ll be showing you how to tend to the greenhouse on this lovely Saturday morning.”
However, the morning was anything but lovely. Dreary clouds covered the sky, and brittle leaves danced in the crisp wind. Conversely, a sticky humidity hung inside of the greenhouse, making it especially pleasant to let the cool air creep in for just a moment.
Fred flashed you a lopsided grin as he snuck out of Sprout’s grasp. She leaned towards you and whispered, “good luck,” before scurrying out of the greenhouse.
summary: after an explosive prank, fred lands himself in detention, being forced to care for a mountain of strange plants. luckily, y/n is there to guide him the way, teaching him about the wonders of herbology and about himself, too.
pairing: fred weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings: pining but that’s about it!
a/n: the second installment of the golden collection is finally here!! this was lots and lots of fun to write! researching herbology and plants was hella fun. also spoiler but i think it’s ironic that the game that fred is going to play in is actually a bad one and doesn’t seem lucky at all lmfao.
“I will not hear another peep out of you, Mr. Weasley,” she snapped, her voice muffled by the greenhouse walls that separated you.
Professor Sprout barreled through the door; Fred in tow, who was rolling his eyes rather dramatically. You peered at him through the leaves of the lavish wolfsbane that you were watering before casually approaching the pair.
You smiled warmly at each of them, knowing all too well what this particular guest entailed. Sprout looked back at you with contrition, announcing, “Mr. Weasley, this is Ms. Y/L/N — she’ll be showing you how to tend to the greenhouse on this lovely Saturday morning.”
However, the morning was anything but lovely. Dreary clouds covered the sky, and brittle leaves danced in the crisp wind. Conversely, a sticky humidity hung inside of the greenhouse, making it especially pleasant to let the cool air creep in for just a moment.
Fred flashed you a lopsided grin as he snuck out of Sprout’s grasp. She leaned towards you and whispered, “good luck,” before scurrying out of the greenhouse.
It was no mystery how little Fred Weasley cared about Herbology. Half of the time, he’d snooze to the sound of Sprout’s voice, and the other half, he’d turn her plants into playthings. It was fairly common by now to spot one of the twins shrinking the tentaculas or extracting foul odors from the wormwoods, but no such prank had been as outrageous as the one Fred pulled the morning prior: he transformed Sprout’s prized umbrella flower into a pyrotechnic display by enchanting it to blast miniature fireworks from its vibrant petals.
This would surely be a challenge.
You turned to Fred, who was closely inspecting some puffapods. You pondered the likelihood of transforming him into someone who cared even an iota about plants. And you were determined to bring it to fruition.
Contrary to him, you’d been exposed to the magic of Herbology quite early in life: your mother kept a lush garden of daffodils and dahlias, all whilst bouncing you on her hip in the summer heat. And as birthdays passed, your growing collection of Herbology books began to burst from your cluttered shelves. Most of those books traveled with you to Hogwarts, where you were often spotted in the Hufflepuff common room tending to the whimsical plants. During your fourth year, Professor Sprout, admiring your natural affinity for plants, promoted you from Soil Supervisor to Head of the Herbology Society, an accomplishment you were especially proud of.
You raised a brow at Fred, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be, darling,” he replied.
You rolled your eyes before collecting a list of duties from a nearby table. “These are the tasks that Professor Sprout would like us to complete before sundown.” Fred hovered over your shoulder as you trailed your fingers down the parchment, “Clean the plant beds, prune the wiggentrees, trim the sugar shrubs, and re-pot the puffapods.”
Fred groaned, “We’ll be here ‘til next Saturday with all this busywork! Listen, Y/N, I’ve got to be down to the pitch by three. We’re playing Slytherin! I can’t miss it!”
“Not to worry, you won’t miss your precious little Quidditch match. In fact, it could be much worse,” you insisted, “I once had to re-pot the fanged geranium, and suffice to say, they are not a fan of re-potting!”
“And you do this for fun?” Fred shook his head, “Bloody hell, woman…”
You pivoted on your foot and started for the edge of the greenhouse, smirking to yourself before uttering, “I could ask the same of Quidditch.” You could practically hear his eyes rolling in his skull. “Most of the game’s spent beating and bruising each other, which doesn’t sound very fun at all. Honestly, it sounds quite boorish.”
He laughed humorlessly, “Is this why Hufflepuff is so bloody bad at Quidditch every year? Everyone’s too busy picking flowers when they should be practicing?”
“Which is exactly what you’re doing now,” you quipped, tossing him a pair of gloves, which he scoffed at before dejectedly throwing them on. You glanced at the clock: 9:00. You had approximately seven hours to tackle the greenhouse with Fred.
“Now, it’s very important that you follow my instructions carefully,” you began, kneeling to inspect the bed of bouncing bulbs that were tethered in place, “Every plant you see in this room is extremely delicate and must be handled with great care.”
Fred raised his brows, as if to question the gravity of the task.
You sighed, “Will you at least try to care?”
“I’ll make you a deal,” he grinned, kneeling beside you, “I’ll do as you ask, exactly how you ask, if you come to our ‘precious little Quidditch game’ later.”
You laughed, “All right, it’s a deal.”
Fred firmly shook your hand, and for the first time, you felt as though he was your friend.
————-————-
“Am I doing this right?” Fred asked as he haphazardly trimmed the sugar shrubs with a pair of dull hedge shears.
You chuckled, “Not the prettiest, but good enough.”
He laughed as he tried to assess his progress. He caught sight of the clock, which read 11:00, before spotting that fateful umbrella flower — except it wasn’t the same as before. Its vibrant pink and yellow flowers had severely paled; its stature slightly wilted.
“It’s not good for the plants, you know…” you said suddenly.
Fred’s eyes met yours.
“Transforming their size, changing their chemistry… literally lighting them up…” Fred looked down, “It places enormous stress on their fragile bodies. Most are drained of essential nutrients in the process, and too often their growth becomes permanently stunted.”
Fred couldn’t muster a single word. Instead, he stared at you with a newfound emptiness behind his eyes.
“I’m sure you hadn’t realized,” you said sadly, “Most people don’t.”
Fred tried to string together some sort of response, but nothing was coming to the surface.
You cleared your throat, “C’mon, we’ve only got a few more.”
It wasn’t long before you reached the last of the shrubs. Most of your time was spent trimming in silence; the occasional snip ringing through the humid air. But when it was time to show Fred how to prune the wiggentrees, he spoke at last.
“I genuinely had no idea,” he admitted sheepishly, “But I am so sorry, Y/N.”
“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” you contended, “But I forgive you on their behalf.”
You intricately reviewed how to prune a wiggentree, and Fred clung to every word that fell from your lips. Every word spoken rattled his bones. While it was true that Fred enjoyed getting into mischief, it was never his intention to hurt anyone — or anything, for that matter.
And he certainly never wanted to hear the deep-rooted pain that laced your words ever again.
After a couple of hours, Fred managed to prune a decent number of wiggentrees with only a few minor scrapes to prove it. You jovially applauded him as he bowed theatrically.
“You’re not coming for my position as Head of the Herbology Society, are you?” you teased, swapping your shears for a trowel.
“Can’t get anything past this one — just too smart and pretty,” he winked.
Your face flushed with a burning heat, a bundle of butterflies bursting inside of you. Eager to avoid eye contact, you swiftly turned to lead him to your final task: re-potting the puffapods. You tried your best to focus on what Professor Sprout asked of you, but hearing Fred compliment you sent you into a complete and utter tizzy.
Fred cheekily chuckled at your sudden silence as you reached the middle of the greenhouse. You quickly composed yourself, struggling to tame the butterflies ricocheting in your stomach.
“Re-potting the puffapods is a lot easier than it sounds. Honestly, I find that using my bare hands gives me a much better understanding of where their roots lie. You don’t want to disturb those, you see.”
You tossed your gloves to the side, and Fred followed suit. You rolled your sleeves to your elbows before gently digging your fingers into the soft soil of the pot closest to you. “Here,” you nodded for Fred to come closer, “Come see what they feel like.”
His stomach flipped as your delicate fingers clasped around his large, rough hand. You guided his hand under the soil until you could both feel the roots that intertwined below. You suddenly realized how close you stood to Fred. Every breath that escaped from his lungs practically shot into your own. The same warmth that had flooded your face earlier returned once more.
“Scoop around those to move it to its new home,” you explained softly, carefully maneuvering his hand to scoop the purple puffapod.
You smiled at him, wondering if he was thinking the same things you were: how the morning had been surprisingly delightful; how bolts of electricity zipped through your body when your hands met; and how the autumnal sun was occasionally peeking through pockets of clouds. It beared down just enough warmth through the sheer greenhouse windows to comfort you.
You shook your thoughts and asked Fred, “Think you got it?”
“Think so,” he nodded, an encouraging smile plastered to his lips.
He demonstrated his competency with the task on his first attempt, so you trusted him to the smaller puffapods as you began tackling the bigger ones.
You sighed, “Perhaps we’ll see some Painted Ladies today.”
Fred furrowed his brows, “Rest assured, there are plenty of those hanging in this ancient castle.”
“No!” you laughed, “Not literal painted ladies — the butterflies!”
Fred laughed with you, “The butterflies? Who in the bloody hell decided ‘Painted Lady’ would be a proper name for a butterfly?”
“I don’t know that, but I do know that hundreds of them migrate in around this time of year,” you explained, “It’s a sight to see! Trelawney always says, ‘Good fortune will be brought unto those who witness it!’”
Fred laughed at your spot-on impression, “Is that so?”
“‘Course! And if the rain holds out a little longer, they might just make an appearance,” you said, peering outside.
You perused the landscape in silence. Without turning back to Fred, you muttered, “Seven years here, and I still haven’t seen it.”
He instantly sensed the deep disappointment that colored your words. And he realized that this actually mattered to you. He recognized that this was something you believed was truly absent from your time here — time that was quickly running down the hourglass.
Mollifying your melancholy, Fred changed the subject, and before you knew it, you were both animatedly chatting as you slaved over Sprout’s tedious task. He told you all about how his mum made him de-gnome the gardens growing up, and how everything “just tasted better” with fresh ingredients he and his siblings harvested from their backyard. Meanwhile you taught him to identify various trees by the pattern of their leaves and identified the part of the year each flower flourished.
He admired your commitment to such seemingly insignificant creatures. Though he’d only known you shortly, he knew you loved these plants; the way your eyes lit up at the sight of a fresh bud blooming in the bushes; or the way you rattled off the perfect way to keep a flutterby bush alive in the dead of winter. You had him longing to find beauty in even the darkest corners of the world.
And part of that beauty he had found in you.
Once you finished the last of the puffapods, you dusted your hands and turned to Fred. A sudden sadness bloomed in your chest as you watched him wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead.
Fred felt a similar sorrow burrowing inside of him.
“Well, we did it… And with,” you glanced at the clock, “about an hour to spare.”
He nodded, “It was nice working with you today, Y/N.”
You nodded, “Yeah, you as well!”
“It’s surprising how much beauty lies in even the tiniest of plants.”
Your eyes sparkled up at him in response; as if he were a beautiful rosebud basking in the sun with its petals swaying in the gentle wind. He didn’t want to let the moment go.
“I was thinking maybe you and me could — bloody hell!”
Fred’s eyes widened, a grin exploding onto his face. Before you could ask, he swiveled you to face the long anticipated miracle.
Your hand flew to your mouth, “Merlin!”
You bolted out of the greenhouse as Fred trailed closely behind. Hundreds of butterflies soared overhead; their bright orange wings sonorously fanning your skin. The steady breeze that flitted through the air could’ve soothed a thousand scorching summers.
You slowly reached upwards, allowing the dainty creatures to dance around your fingertips. You laughed at the sensation, and at the fact that you couldn’t help but cry.
You were levitating at the hands of one of Mother Nature’s finest masterpieces.
Fred was dazed and delighted standing there amidst the storm of butterflies. Despite this, he was careful not to encroach on a moment so destined for you that it felt wrong to impose himself on the memory.
You shook your head with laughter as you turned to face him, “Can you believe it?!”
He shook his head in disbelief, “This is wicked!”
“To think I might have missed it if it would have just been me in the greenhouse! I would’ve been finished hours ago!” you exclaimed, abruptly hugging Fred in the process, “Thank you, Fred! Thank you!”
And as if he’d done it a million times before, Fred wrapped his arms around you. The sweet scent of your perfume nearly intoxicated him, and the thunderous flight of Painted Ladies became his new favorite melody. The familiar sensation of butterflies fluttering inside of him consumed him yet again.
“Thankyou,” he said softly.
You pulled away, your hands lingering on his arms. “Guess you better get going. Don’t want to miss the big match!”
“But I’ll see you in the stands, yeah? You promised,” he playfully reminded you.
“Definitely,” you replied, a warm blush flooding your face.
You waved goodbye as Fred started over the hill. He practically skipped towards the Quidditch pitch and recalled Trelawney’s famous claim: good fortune will be brought unto those who witness the great migration.
Enjoy!! Does include some serious smut at the bottom!!
A smile rested upon your cheeks as you watched from afar. More so watching the one and only Fred Weasley as he was trying some of his new puking pastilles on the 1ST years. Watching as their faces twisted in disgust, and the laughter that flowed from Fred.
You were brought back to reality by a swift hand brushing your shoulder, you softly groaned as you turned away.
“Too busy watching lover boy?” your best friend Meg smirked as she watched the blush wash over your pale face.
You couldn’t find the words to try and excuse yourself from the embarrassment of watching the boy you have had a crush on for what seems like forever.
“You-uh-uh oh shush” you stuttered, only causing a bellowing laugh from your best friend as she took the seat next to you. You just gave her a small smile, clearly still embarrassed that she had caught you looking once again.
“Maybe you could start with hello…. instead of watching him from across the room.” She said softly as she watched you slowly turn your attention back to Fred and the smile that lit up his face.
“Hello? He wouldn’t even know who I was if I tried.” You said the defeat clearly lacing your tone as your smile slowly fell from your face.
Your best friend’s smile fell as she saw the defeat clear upon your features, “How could he not know the smartest witch in his year? If he doesn’t clearly, he’s dumber than I thought” she said bluntly, an echoing laugh coming from you.
“You do know that I can’t even say two words to him, correct? Who would be interested in that?” You murmured, carefully pushing your glasses farther onto your face. Sadness laced your tone. You knew that Fred would never be interesting in you. He wouldn’t even bat an eye in your direction. You were like the Hermione Granger of Slytherin. And as your mother would say… “No one likes a know it all.”
Your best friend sighed; she knew where you mind went- “Then maybe he is just dumb” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. A giggle erupted from your throat, catching her off guard.
The both of you fell into a fit of giggles, unable to control the laughter than echoed through the hall. It felt like it was only the two of you, and her comment was the funniest thing in the world.
Unbeknownst to the both of you, as your giggles echoed through the hall you had caught the attention of a certain red head.
He watched on from across the Great Hall- watching as you tried to catch your breath from the laughter that rocked your chest. He could just barely make out the tears running down your face from the utter amusement.
He only wondered what was so funny. He continued to look on from his spot at Gryffindor table. Carefully watching as you wiped the tears falling down your cheeks, some splattering onto your green tie and white shirt.
You sat there, carefully wiping the falling tears from your face. It was the hardest you had laughed in a long time, the utter amusement of your best friend’s tone just sent you into a fit of giggles.
Placing your glasses back onto your face, you turned in the direction of the man you so desperately wanted to be yours.
But you were shocked… He was already looking at you, a soft smile etched on his features.
You looked away quickly, a red, hot blush spreading over your features as you hide your face in your long blonde hair. It was as if breathing became more difficult. You couldn’t believe he was looking at you, let alone the fact that you caught him looking.
Your eyes went wide, and blood ran cold as you realized- He caught you looking too…
Carefully, yet quickly you gathered your things. Praying he wasn’t watching you as you shoved your toast in your mouth- while simultaneously grabbing your bag and wand.
You brushed past your best friend, whispered a quick sorry as you rushed so very quickly out of the Great Hall. Praying that you weren’t being followed by the one person you knew you couldn’t face.
The empty corridors echoed as you rushed through, trying to get away from the interaction with Fred. Hoping that he really wasn’t looking at you, so he didn’t see how flustered you got by the eye contact.
But you knew deep down, he was looking at you. You also knew, this time he actually saw you, not the small, quiet, wickedly smart Slytherin girl he sits behind in Potions.
Thoughts spun through your head, unaware of the footsteps following you. The echoes becoming even more overwhelming as your heart beat out of your chest.
You were in such a rush to get away, you didn’t even notice that you rushed into the restricted section of the castle. You just continued to try and get as far away from everyone and everything as possible.
You were drawn from your thoughts as you felt a hand wrap around your upper arm, carefully spinning them towards you.
You heart dropped as you spun around coming face to face with a certain freckled face, who was taking in your features slowly.
“Hey” he said, almost in a shy tone.
You opened your mouth, but you knew no words would come out. Taking a deep breath, you uttered the only sentence you could, one you have been trying to say forever.
“Hi Fred” you said, shyness also lacing your tone. It was the one sentence you had been trying to say since you met him 1ST year.
“You know you didn’t have to run out, right?” He said softly, letting go of your arm as he watched a blush coat your features once again.
“I-uh-uh-I I was embarrassed… it obviously wasn’t my best moment.” you said, clearly just defeated that you had been caught, not only looking at him but also running away.
He opened his mouth to softly comfort you, but he was interrupted by a sharp meow.
Both your eyes went wide as you saw Mrs. Norris and her blood red eyes looking narrowly at the two of you. You knew that Filch wasn’t far behind.
Fred gently grabbed your hand, pulling you down the corridor. You short legs barely catching up with his long steps he was taking. You both sighed as he pulled you inside a dark closet.
The meows distanced themselves from the outside of the door, silence began to engulf the both of you. It was then that you realized Fred still had a hold of your hand. You carefully pulled away- trying to hold yourself together.
Swiftly you turned back to the door, pulling on the handle gently as you just tried to escape this situation all together.
But the door didn’t open.
“Fred- the door is locked” you said nervously.
He just sighed, brushing past you and roughly pulled on the handle. But of course, it didn’t open for him either.
“I-uh I think we are stuck” he said, laughing as he sulked back into his corner of the closet. His laughter just continued to bounce off the walls.
“Seriously, of all things Fred I do not need this right now. I just want to get out of here.” you hissed unintentionally as you fumbled around the dark closet.
His laughter filled the tiny, dark space. You could almost imagine the smirk that crossed his handsome features. You felt the annoyance in his laughter beginning to push your buttons.
Merlin, you were locked in a closet, and he found it more than amusing.
“Glad to know you find this so funny.” You stated, anger dripping from your words.
Continuing to jiggle the door handle, praying that it would open. No spell or trying could get you further away from this situation.
“Maybe it’s locked because we need to talk…” he suggested. You knew he wanted to talk about the fact you were looking at him earlier, but you had no words. Nothing to even try to defend yourself.
“Fred- I don’t want to talk” you said, still trying to jiggle the doorknob. You were praying it would just open so you could escape this dreaded conversation.
You knew the minute you opened your mouth that the words of love were going to desperately escape from your locked vault. You were so desperately in love; you didn’t even know what to say to him.
Carefully turning your head, you caught his darker eyes. You could see the lack of sleep covering his features, his soft stubble that was starting to show on his chin, the freckles that danced along his features.
Before you even knew it, you were moving closer. Your lips barely touching his before you felt the fireworks shoot through you. Your eyes opened, looking deeply into his. He was looking just as deeply back into yours.
You leaned forward again, placing a swift hand on his cheek. The fireworks were shooting through you as you kissed him once more. His hand finding it’s way to your hair and around your waist, pulling your smaller figure into him.
Nibbling carefully on his lip, a small moan escaped from his lips. You couldn’t believe that this was happening right now.
His hands slowly made their way down to your ass, squeezing. It drew a loud moan from your throat as you leaned in closer to him.
You pulled away; your lips hot from the kiss. Carefully you undid the buttons to his white button down, feeling his abs as you slowly undressed him. His shirt fell to the floor, as you made your way to his pants, popping the button carefully.
His eyes watched you intensely as you got on your knees, slowly dragging his pants down his legs as you kept eye contact.
His cock clearly outlined in his boxers as you carefully pulled them down his legs as well. You caught his eyes, almost to get his approval before taking his cock in your mouth.
You swirled your tongue around his thick cock, saliva running down your chin as moans softly fell from his lips. His hands found their way to your hair, roughly pulling causing a moan to come from you as well.
You carefully pulled away from him, locking your lips with him once again. His large hands pulled you close, carefully undoing the buttons on your shirt. Slipping it off your shoulders, your white lacy bra showing on your sun kissed skin.
He carefully kissed down your neck, softly sucking as he made his way to your breasts. He carefully caught your eye, silently asking for your approval. You nodded softly, as he undid your bra- softly kissing your nipples and breasts. The moans silently slipped from your lips as you laced your fingers in his ginger hair.
He continued to give your breasts all the attention as you moaned more, “Freddie… fuck me. I need you”
A wicked smile crossed his features as he carefully lifted your skirt to reveal the lack of underwear you were wearing.
“Oh- naughty. No panties?” He moaned, pressing hot kisses to your neck.
“All for you…” you moaned as you turned your back to him, bending over. His hand brushing against your nub, carefully swirling in circles before you felt his tip graze against you.
His tip was at your entrance, teasing you gently. You moaned at the contact before he entered you in one quick move, your moans echoing through the closet. Fred continuously pounding deeply into you, as he pulled your hair.
He carefully flipped your around, his lips slamming onto yours. The hot closet and Freddie inside of you sent your body into overdrive. He quickly picked up his pace, causing your eyes to roll back into your head.
Your climax was fast approaching, and Fred could feel you beginning to tighten around him. He carefully reached down rubbing your sensitive nub.
“Are you mine? Tell me baby” He groaned out as he continued to slam into you.
“Y-Y-Yo-Yours” you moaned loudly, as your climax overcame you. Fred could feel you pulsating around him which only caused him to lose it. He moaned as he filled you up with his hot seed, causing you to moan at the contact.
Your legs felt like jell-o, as you carefully pulled your shirt back on. Quickly turning to Fred, placing a soft kiss on his lips as you turned, pushing open the door which thank goodness was unlocked now.
Sending a wink in Fred’s direction as he pulled his clothes back on. He sent you a soft smile, knowing good and well he was going to see you later. You carefully turned, heading towards your common room.
And all of a sudden you were wondering where you got the confidence, as you slowly skipped away from Fred. But you knew that the closet, and those moments with him had changed you forever.
“Seriously, of all things Fred I do not need this right now.” you hissed as you fumbled around the dark closet.
His laughter filled the tiny, dark space. You could almost imagine the smirk that crossed his handsome features. You inner annoyance reaching a new high when it came to him.
Merlin, we were locked in a closet and he found it more than amusing.
“Glad to know you find this so funny.” You stated, anger dripping from your words.
Continuing to jiggle the door handle, praying that it would open. No spell or trying could get you further away from this situation.
Do we like? Do we want more? Give me your feedback!
Summary: Bill & Fleur’s wedding is quite the event… too bad about those wedding crashers. Anyway, what wedding is complete without awkwardness at the buffet table?
Request: Are you taking requests? If you are could I ask for another Fred Weasley? Maybe something where they’re fighting together (bills wedding or battle of Hogwarts maybe?) and the reader rescues him in some way but gets injured herself but not fatally because I can’t deal with too much angst hope that’s not too specific… also just wanted to say I love your writing it’s amazing
A/N: thank you!!!! Terribly sorry for how long this took holy cow but I hope this is alright love I loved the request and that is why this is so long also I wasn’t quite sure how to split up the flashbacks so like we’ll see how this goes
Reader:female
Warnings: injury, battle, suggestive, couple stuff, alcohol, suggestive, implied sex
A groan peeled open your lips before you could even think about opening your eyes. You couldn’t really focus on anything, though, not when everything just ached, not with your head pounding and your ears ringing. People’s feet blurred past you, rushing and falling with flashes of light. You frowned. Blades of wet grass pressed against your cheek. The smell invaded your senses.
__
Fred groaned like a child at Molly’s pestering, the vibrations echoing down your spine. You rolled your eyes, pressing your back further into his chest in response.
“When I get married,” he said, turning to face George with a grimace. “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full-body-bind curse on Mum until it’s all over.”
Molly tutted at her son, ignoring him for the most part as she scurried away to fix something else that didn’t really need fixing.
“Oh, really, mate?” George said, drinking his tea.
You were happy to see him up and around; you remembered how scared Fred had been after the incident on the broomsticks. The bandage around George’s head still looked particularly grizzly, but you were glad he was feeling better.
“Does Y/N have anything to say about that?” he said cheekily, hiding his face in his mug as he watched you with playful eyes.
“Why would I?” you asked, pulling away from Fred to grab a piece of toast off the table. “It’s not like my standards are low enough to marry this git.”
“Oi!” Fred huffed.
You tried to move out of his reach before he grabbed you, or worse, tickled you, but you weren’t fast enough and you squealed as he clapped his hand on your arse.
“Cheeky,” Fred said, pointing at your accusatorily as you glared back, pulling your dress straight with your toast balanced in your mouth.
“Might have to teach my wife a lesson,” he teased, shooting you a wink. As you moved to sit by George on the kitchen counter, you mimicked Fred, ignoring the backflips of your stomach at his words.
__
Your stomach flopped again as you rolled over, the wet grass splaying over your face, no doubt covering your cheeks in mud. There was a sharp pain at your side and a nagging in your head as you tried to remember what exactly was happening. Where you were. Where the bloody hell Fred was. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, every breath felt like daggers in your side, your ribs bruised horribly. Whatever happened had certainly left you winded. It could have been worse, though, you thought as your vision cleared up.
Standing up was almost impossible and each breath was wheezy as you fought the fog clouding your mind, your knees sinking into the mud as you did. Your dress was ruined, that much was obvious. The fabric and your skin were both covered in dirt and dust and black marks as you reached your feet. You tried to smooth it down, but it didn’t seem worth it, especially not as your eyes trailed up to see the wedding tent.
Well, what was left of it.
The golden marquee was in tatters, torn here and scorched there. Guests were running under the archways and disappearing into thin air like there was no tomorrow, no doubt encouraged by the black figures shooting brightly coloured spells at their feet. You almost wished the ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped as the sounds of shouting and carnage began to fill your senses.
__
“Y/N, you look lovely, dear,” Molly said, the pride in her voice obvious.
“Thanks,” you said, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be sure to pass the message on to my stylist.”
She laughed at the joke, patting your hand softly and leaving to tell someone off, no doubt. You remembered fondly her insistence earlier that no, she was never too busy to do her favourite soon-to-be-daughter-in-law’s hair. It was a good job though, you thought, that Fleur was too busy getting dressed up herself to hear that one.
You finished your champagne, more than grateful that the flute was enchanted as you watched it refill. As you stared, you became suddenly aware of someone’s eyes on you and turned to see Fred sat beside you, a strange look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” you asked lightly, sipping your drink.
“Nothing,” he said, a decidedly un-Fred-like smile playing on his lips. It was far too angelic to be recognisable in his features.
“Is there something on my face?”
You all but slammed your glass on the table, using the shiny napkin holders to try and get a better look at your reflection.
“No,” he chuckled, his laughter only growing as you made faces, looking for some stray crumbs or Aunt Mildred’s lipstick. “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”
He placed his hand on top of yours, stopping your borderline-neurotic inspection. You looked up at him with a pout and a fond smile spread across his lips.
“There is,” he said, cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb along your cheekbone. “Nothing wrong with your face.”
Struggling to hide your pleased grin at his compliment, you leant into his touch.
“Sounds like someone has a crush, Weasley.”
“Oh, really?” he said, his hand leaving your face with a pout in its wake. You smirked though, when he scooted his chair closer to yours, like a child, leaning on the back of yours with his elbow instead.
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Mhm,” you nodded, his smile contagious. “Is that so?”
“Actually,” he said conversationally, leaning the side of his head on his hand. “I think you might be the one with the crush.”
“How did you know?” you said dully, slowly placing a hand on your chest in mock surprise. “How can I ever cope with the knowledge that you will never feel the same?”
He barked a laugh at your dry, monotonous tone, his head dropping to the side as he watched you for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes. That was before, however, a sly smile lifted his lips – a look you were very familiar with when it came to Fred. You fixed him with a suspicious stare.
“How about we get out of here?” he said, shifting in his seat.
“What?”
Your eyes followed him as he stood up, brushing down his suit briefly before offering his hand.
“Come on,” he insisted impatiently. He made a face at your unwillingness.
“Fred,” you said incredulously, shaking your head at his gall. “This is your brother’s wedding.”
“I have other brothers,” he shrugged before rolling his eyes and leaning down to grab your hand. “And we’ll be back in 20 minutes, half an hour, maximum.”
You stood up, enjoying the way his hand twisted to thread your fingers together.
“We will, will we?” you said, raising your eyebrows with an amused grin.
“Yes.”
He moved to wrap his hand around your waist, pulling you closer so he could whisper in your ear.
“With you looking like that, I doubt we’ll need any longer, sweetheart.”
You choked out a laugh at his words and looked around you as you escaped through the side of the tent.
“If we get caught-“ you threatened, cutting yourself off when he shot you a smirk.
“Live a little, sweetheart.”
__
“Fred,” you said quietly, your voice coming out hoarse. You blinked, swallowing and letting yourself adjust to the frantic rush of your surroundings.
“Fred,” you repeated, slightly louder this time as your heartbeat began to race.
People were apparating in and out like wildfire and there were already a few bodies collecting on the ground. Only injured, from the looks of it, but your mind thought the worst. Spotting your wand on the ground, you bent down to pick it up, your whole body singing in pain at the stretching of your muscles.
“Merlin,” you muttered, a grimace contorting your features. That was going to hurt tomorrow.
You searched for someone you knew in the crowds, a recognisable face in a sea of sparks and mist and gold wedding decorations. Your reactions weren’t the best, though, and your head was swimming. Albeit, though, you were grateful to be getting your land-legs back with each shaky step. Every flash of red hair you saw had your heartbeat jumping, but none of them were Fred, all most likely some distant Weasley cousin and none of them anybody you wanted to see right now.
What had even happened? One minute you and Fred were watching Fleur and Bill dance – she did look ever so lovely in that dress – and the next you woke up on a bed of damp grass with a killer headache and a distinct lack of memories. You didn’t have to be a genius, though, to put two and two together. The dark figures slowly herding people inside the tent and shooting spells every which way were Death Eaters; you could only hope that Harry had gotten out safely. Despite your hopes, though, your thoughts were preoccupied with Fred and you found yourself praying that he was okay.
“Fred!”
__
You hoped you weren’t giggling too loudly, and that your dress wasn’t too creased, and that it wasn’t too obvious what you’d just spent the last 23 minutes doing.As you snuck back into the tent, you separated from Fred, shushing him and moving to interest yourself in the buffet as to avert suspicion. Necessary, you figured, with Fred being so very suspicious. Typically, he ignored your plans and followed you to the buffet table, a cheeky grin slapped across his face
You glared at him, distracting yourself with the mini sausage rolls and putting as much distance between you both as possible. Harry, unlucky as ever, was caught in the crossfire.
“You alright there, Harry?” Fred said, looking over the display. “Any of the classically beautiful Weasley cousins taking your fancy?”
“I’ve got other things on my mind, actually, Fred,” Harry said tightly. You felt your stomach drop slightly; he was far too young to be carrying so much weight on his shoulders.
“Ah, no mind,” Fred replied, as unaffected and blasé as ever. “I’m sure you’ve got your eye on someone else anyway, eh?”
You watched Harry’s face heat up and rolled your eyes affectionately: Fred had a knack for turning even the darkest of issues to humour.
“I’ve got my eye on someone here actually,” Fred said, piling cocktail sausages onto his plate with a mischievous smirk.
“Oh, really?” Harry asked, turning to face Fred. He clearly didn’t care but you did notice his double-take and frowned, your brows drawing together. “Who’s that?”
“Well, if I told you then I’d have to kill you,” Fred nodded solemnly, shoving three mini sandwiches in his mouth at once and shooting you a surprisingly subtle wink.
“Sorry, uh,” Harry stuttered, pointing at Fred and then gesturing to his own face. “You have, uh, something on your-“
“What?”
Fred frowned, his mouth stretching as he swallowed the food and began to rub at his cheek.
“Lipstick, I think,” Harry said, decidedly awkward.
Your eyes widened and you gulped, not daring to look at Fred
“Ah, cheers for that Harry.”
“Not a problem, Fred.”
With that, Harry turned to leave, surprised to see you behind him. You watched his eyes flicker down to your lips and you prayed to Merlin, Godric and even Salazar that he wouldn’t be able to tell.
“Alright, Y/N?” Harry said softly, his mouth set in an embarrassed smile.
“Yeah,” you replied, your voice a couple of octaves too high. “Thanks. Enjoy your…”
You looked down at his plate, swallowing uncomfortably as you felt your face heat up.
“Chocolate frogs.”
“Ah,” Harry nodded. “Thanks.”
You clenched your teeth as Harry walked past you, cursing Fred under your breath. Chuckling, he slid next to you, his plate once again overflowing with food.
“Brilliantly eloquent there, love. I don’t doubt that Harry’ll enjoy those chocolate frogs, but I’m sure your well wishes are appreciated.”
“You’re the worst person alive,” you snapped, not looking at him.
“That is not what you said earlier,” he said smugly. You turned to shoot him a dry look as he pushed a block of cheese into his mouth.
“I hate you so much,” you insisted, your smile giving you away.
“Me?” Fred pressed a hand to his chest defensively, spewing crumbs everywhere as he spoke.
“Yes, you-“
Your bickering was cut off by the clinking of a spoon against a champagne class. You both turned to face Molly, who was looking particularly happy with herself as she announced Fleur & Bill’s first dance.
“Come on, you pig,” you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the crowd forming around the happy couple. Despite his grumbling, he put down his plate and followed you. Ever the gentleman, he brushed off crumbs onto his trousers before grabbing for your hand.
As you watched them dance, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It was hard not to imagine you and Fred in their shoes in a couple years. Molly always told you that you argued like an old married couple as it was, surely it wouldn’t do any harm to make it official. You couldn’t think like that now though, not with the constant threat of war looming. It never seemed more real, though, than when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s patronus appeared, his deep voice ringing through the tent, announcing the incoming storm, creating a frenzy.
Fred’s hand tightened around your own and when the Death Eaters started appearing, you were grateful for the contact. You looked between the faces you recognised, somewhere between heartbroken and horrified to see Ginny and Molly already firing out spells; Harry, Ron and Hermione rushing outside, hopefully apparating to safety. Distracted by the others, you barely noticed a Death Eater appearing next to Fred. Fred, in his panic, didn’t seem to either. Just as he readied his wand, you found yourself pushing Fred to the side and out of the crossfire. The force of the hit ripped your hand from his and the last thing you remembered before you were knocked out cold was your body flying through the side of the tent.
__
“Y/N!”
You spun around, the new memories and very familiar headache making you wince as you all but collided with Fred, suffocated instantly in his tight grasp.
“Merlin,” he sighed, his breath fanning against your cheek as you struggled to form a sentence. “Am I glad to see you.”
He pulled away, cupping your cheek with one hand whilst the other still held your waist gently. “You had me so worried.”
He didn’t need to tell you that; you could see it for yourself. His relief was slowly ironing out the deep crease between his brows and his eyes were shining with tears in the light of the moon.
“Pushing me out the way like that, what were you even thinking? Could’ve been killed. Merlin, you flew right through that tent, George had to hold me back, he did. If I wasn’t so bloody worried, I would’ve ripped that bastard to-“
“Fred, we really need to go,“ George insisted, his eyes drifting to you for a moment as he anxiously fiddled with the wand in his grip.
“Hang on a minute,” Fred said distractedly, turning to his brother for a moment as his fingers slotted behind your ears, cradling your face.
“Are you okay, love?”
You breathed for a second, only vaguely aware of the commotion still going on around you. Without another moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around Fred’s neck, holding him close and revelling in the familiar scent of his shampoo. You smiled as he relaxed in your hold, his chin digging into your shoulder.
“Guys-“ George said, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. Fred pulled away abruptly, his worried eyes scanning your face.
“Are you alright to apparate?” he asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.
It had been getting harder and harder to climb the stairs now, but today was extremely difficult. You felt tired, you felt as though you were out of breath and that you needed to sit down to have your well-deserved rest. On your way up to the bedroom you passed many pictures hanging on the wall; your dear Fred’s wedding pictures, then Roxanne playing with one of your grandchildren under a Christmas tree. You gave a faint, tired smile. They were such good memories.
It seemed really cold once you reached the upper floor. You made your way slowly to the bedroom, opening the door slowly. It was hard to turn the handle; your hand was aching all the time, and you also needed a breather after those many stairs. You stopped for a second, searching for a wand in your pocket, but you had to come to a tired realisation that you had forgotten it downstairs again. Yes, now you remembered; it was probably lying on the kitchen table. A raspy sigh left your lungs — you simply did not have the strength to climb the stairs again, only to get that wicked wand.
There was no other way, you had to reach the bed in total darkness. Luckily, you knew the room by heart, since living in this house for over fifty years now. You walked carefully, passing the old cabinet in which you still had one of those old Christmas jumpers hanging, its color faded, its material stretched out. You passed the mirror in which you always checked your outfit for the day when hurrying off to the Ministry each morning. Finally, you walked passed the bedside table, on which stood one single photograph, of you and your late George; a moving picture that was taken on his forty fifth birthday. You remembered that day clear as day, having Albus and Teddy setting up a huge tent where all the family could celebrate together.
You were glad it was dark in the room, however. As much as you loved your husband, it had been hard sometimes. You missed him with all your heart, and seeing pictures of when you were younger just made the pain sharpen inside. It had been three years, and remembering only a few times was better, than being tortured by his memory throughout the days. It was a bit sad. But it was better this way.
You sat on the bed with a huge sigh of relief. Your legs were hurting, your back was in pain, and your head felt like it was about to explode. You lay down, and as soon as your head touched the pillow, it became all better. You closed your eyes, sighing again. You wondered if you had closed the front door… well, you certainly would not go down to check it now. Anyway, if Victoire was right, the charms that James had casted on the entrance was keeping every kind of harm away.
By that thought, you relaxed a little, your breathing slowing down. You were thinking about next weekend, when the little ones had promised to visit their nana. Sweet little things. You loved them, all of them. You were ashamed to admit it, but there were times, when you simply forgot their names. You couldn’t help it. There were so many of them, running around in the house, it was hard to remember sometimes.
The cool air of the room made you shiver, so you pulled the covers up. Within seconds it was all cozy, and you felt like a biscuit, warmy being baked in the oven. You chuckled to that thought. Maybe, if you have the strength, you’ll bake something for when the children come. But at the same time, as your breathing was getting slower and slower, a strange feeling came over you, and suddenly you knew, with great certainty, that you were never going to cook anymore.
You fell asleep.
You opened your eyes. It was brighter then before and you had to blink a few times before you were able to focus on anything, really. You were lying on your back, so there must have been a floor under you. You felt it, but somehow you didn’t feel it. It was a strange feeling.
It was also not cold anymore. It was neither warm nor cold, to be exact. The temperature was absolutely perfect, so perfect that the thought of it soon left your mind. It was not important anymore. A moment later you didn’t even remember what you had been thinking about.
You took a deep breath. It felt nice, it felt an easy thing to do. There was no rasping, no muffled breathing anymore. It was unusual, but you were certainly glad for it. Now that you came to think of it… everything was so… comfortable. Your back was not hurting, your legs were not in pain anymore. You were feeling… well.
You suddenly felt your hands touching your stomach, resting. You looked down, and realised that you were naked. Then, the next thing you realised was how healthy you looked. Your skin had a nice, warm tone, and it wasn’t as loose as you remembered it to be. You were also missing several scars that you had acquired over the decades. You blinked. You didn’t know what was going on. You wished you could see yourself.
As soon as the thought occured to you, a mirror appeared out of nowhere. You hesitated, then stood up — which was surprisingly easy — and walked towards the mirror. You wanted to see your whole body, and the mirror somehow new, for it had started growing and now it was as big as a door. You met your reflection, and you let out a surprised gasp.
It was you. But not as you knew yourself now, no… But as you had been, several, several years ago. Your skin lovely, your hair not gray anymore, and your face… your face was young and beautiful. As you started examining your body, something appeared next to you, a few metres to the left. It was a train, but not just any kind of train. It was the Hogwarts Express.
And suddenly, you knew.
From then on, there was no question about it. You wanted to board immediately. All of a sudden you felt awkward for being naked. In a second, freshly washed clothes appeared at your feet. You wanted to waste no time. You got dressed, took one last look in the mirror, then ran to the train and hopped on it. It started moving, first slowly, then faster and faster until it was going at full speed.
You felt too excited and nervous to sit down, so you were standing during the whole journey. You were looking out the window, seeing houses, forests and meadows passing by. Once you saw a beautiful lake with a frozen surface, but the train was moving too fast for you to actually examine everything properly. And then, when you were seriously wondering about the destination, the train started slowing down, then stopped at what seemed like a train station of a small village. The door opened, and you climbed down with your heart beating in your throat.
As your feet touched the ground, more and more houses seemed to take shape in front of you. They seemed so familiar, still, they were still dream-like. There was a pub, a bookshop, and a small café nearby. On the left, they sold cloaks, ice-cream and newspaper. However, there were no people around. You only saw one person, a tall figure, you was standing a few metres from you. He seemed really familar.
“Georgie?”
Your heart was pounding really fast as you started walking. You would have given anything to see your George again. But something was off. Even though the man had ginger hair, his expression was something of a kind as a mischievous smile appeared on his face.
“Let’s try that one more time, sweetheart.”
You stopped, frozen in shock. This couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. No. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.
“N… No,” you whispered.
“Yes,” came the cheeky answer.
“No,” you said again. He laughed.
“Yes.”
“But… you’re…” you shook your head in despair. His smile disappeared. His eyes were filled with tears.
“It’s so good to see you again, Y/N.”
You covered your mouth to muffle your sobs, but it was not doing very much. Finally, you gave up alltogether, and closed the distance between the two of you and hugged him, sobbing uncontrollably. He was sniffling as well, gently stroing you back with his warm hands. Warm. He was warm. A sudden flash of a certain night came to your mind, but you erased it immediately. That was not important anymore. He was here. He was with you again. You stepped back, wiping off your teary cheeks, looking at him again. You tried to calm down, but you were still chuckling occasionally as you started to speak.
“I missed you — so much.”
“I know.”
“You know?” you whined.
“I missed you, too,” he ignored your question but let out a small laugh — a sound which suddenly felt so familiar, even though it had been over sixty years. Fred leaned closer and gave a soft kiss on your forehead. “I missed you so terribly. I was also wondering when I would see you. Been a lot easier since George have arrived, though.”
“George?” you jerked your head up. “George is here as well?”
“Of course,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “Everyone is.”
“Can we —”
“Meet them?” he said, his eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna meet someone first.”
“But —”
“Everything in its own time,” he said mysteriously. “First, we’re going up.”
“Up?” you said, confused. He rolled his eyes.
“Turn around, woman.”
You did. And your jaw dropped. There was the road, leading through some trees, through a gate and up till the entrance of the castle. The Hogwarts castle.
“Why are we here?” you whispered. Fred smiled.
“Well, I guess this place is part of everyone’s heart. At least a bit.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” you said, still confused.
“You’ll understand.”
“When?”
“Over time. Now, come on.”
He gently pulled you with him and you started walking towards the entrance of the castle. Every piece of grass, every leaf, every tree was like a friendly wave from the past. Your past. It all seemed so magical and you felt like a first-year student, experiencing this for the first time in their lives. The only difference was, that you already knew this place. And you felt like in a dream. Every now and then you glanced at Fred, making sure he was still there with you. When you did that, he smiled and squeezed your hand reassuringly.
You reached the Entrance Hall, then made your way up the marble staircase. The corridors and hallways looked exactly how you remembered them. You walked through hidden passages, stepped over missing stairs, and soon arrived at the last turn before the Gryffindor common room.
You swallowed and you stopped before the painting. It was not the Fat Lady, it was a simple picture of a forest. You let go of Fred’s hand and looked around nervously.
“Where is everyone?” you asked.
“Oh, you’ll meet them,” he said.
“When?”
“When you’re ready,” he gently squeezed your shoulder. “Don’t worry, all right? You’ll never have to worry again.”
Your eyes met his.
“Promise?”
He smiled and flipped open the portrait.
“Promise.”
The two of you stepped inside and nostalgia hit you like a train. The carpet, the furniture, the fireplace, the paintings, the doors, the tables and the chairs… even the smell was the exact copy of the one you remembered. Fred walked past you, talking loudly.
“I’m back.”
“Took you long enough,” said another voice and your heart missed a beat. Fred grinned.
“Yeah, well, I had to pick up someone.”
“Who?” came George’s voice from the couch. Fred grinned even more.
“See for yourself.”
George turned around and his face dropped. You couldn’t even take in his presence when he was already holding you in his arms, lifting you from the ground. When he put you down he kissed you without saying a word, and you kissed him back immediately… Then you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, and realised that he was young again, just the same way as you were. His hair was ginger and messy, his freckles lit up his face, his skin was soft and toned… he was holding you with much more strength than in recent years, and his lips were crashing against yours with so much force that you had not felt in a long time.
“Hello, my love,” he said finally, and his words made you tear up again. “Welcome home.”
A shaky ‘hi’ was the only thing you could say. George laughed.
“Are you struck by my beauty, darling?” he teased. You chuckled.
“I missed you so much,” you said, cupping his cheeks. He turned serious, and rested his forehead against yours.
“I missed you, too. How’s… How’s everything at home? How are the kids?”
“I’m sure everyone’s fine, I’m… wait,” you looked at Fred. “I thought you could see what’s going on at home?”
He made a politely confused face.
“I’ve never said that.”
“But you referred to it.”
The twins exchanged looks. Fred hesitated.
“Well… You can have a peek, but it’s tricky.”
You frowned.
“Oh… It’s okay. You can show me how things work around here.”
“Now?” asked Fred in surprise. You shrugged and took your opportunity.
“Well, yeah of course!”
George laughed and kissed you on the cheek.
“Unbelievable! You barely got here and you already want to know everything!”
“You cannot build a trading business here, Y/N” said Fred, teasing.
“Of course I can!” you said, laughing. Then you raised your head in mock demand. “Now, show me around. I haven’t got all day.”
“Actually…” started Fred, grinning again. “We have all the time on Earth.”
You raised and eyebrow in doubt. Then, you smiled.
“Well, I don’t think we’re on Earth anymore.”
“Fine,” agreed Fred, smirking, while getting ahold of your arm and leading you to the portrait hole, George following. “We have all the time in Heaven, then.”
The End.
Dear Readers!
Thank you all for supporting Georgie and Witty’s story in this past year.
Writing this was like therapy for me - I could always escape to Harry’s world, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. I hope whenever you needed to, you could always escape to this world, too. In my opinion, this fanfiction shows perfectly, how the stories we love never really leave us. We can always create and read more. We can always relive the best times, even if it’s in the form of books, films, or a fanfiction.
Because don’t forget: Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.
“Your total is five galleons and three knuts,” you said and took the coins that the young witch gave you. “Here you go, have a nice day!”
She took the package and waved goodbye. It took her a while to reach the entrance because the shop was flooded with people. All around kids were looking at products, laughing at each other, trying out magic and muggle cards, or just racing each other to the higher floors.
“Tough day?” came a kind voice from behind your back.
“Ron!” you said with a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Just came to say hello.”
“Have you really?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, I came to talk to George. Is he around?”
“Oh… Wait a second, will you? Verity!”
The witch from the other side of the store turned to you. You waved and watched as she started moving towards you, carefully making her way in the crowd.
“Verity, could you take over for a bit?” you indicated at the cashier. “I need to take care of something.”
“Of course!” she said and you nodded towards the stairs.
“Thank you. Come, Ron.”
You made your way to the upper floor which was a bit less crowded, then continued on the corridor towards the back, where the door lead through to your flat.
“So, what brings you here?” you asked once there were no people around. Ron looked around nervously.
“I was thinking about leaving the office.”
“Really?” you said while turning the key in the door. “How come?”
“It’s just… not for me I think. Harry’s all for it, but I was thinking about — woah! I’ve never been in here!”
He looked around in surprise, seeing the inside of the flat. You laughed.
“I guess the renovation really did the place justice.”
“You renovated?” he asked.
“Yeah… it was… it reminded of… you know,” you said dully. “George is in the office. He’s a bit quiet, this time of year, you know. It’s almost May.”
“Sure,” said Ron huskily. You cleared your throat.
“I’ll tell him you’re here. Be back in a sec.”
You walked past him, and knocked on the door which used to be Fred’s room. A muffled ‘come in’ came and you stepped inside. George was sitting at the table, papers and unfinished drawings all around him, but he was clearly not working. When he looked at you, a kind smile appeared on his lips.
“Hey, is everything all right?”
“Sure,” you said and walked over to him and sat in his lap. He welcomed you with a soft kiss. “What are you working on?”
“I was thinking about some new products.”
“Really?” you said with joy. He had not invented anything for years. “And what will they do?”
“Well…” he said lowly. “Maybe they’d ease tension. After a nightmare or something. I thought about them yesterday, when… you know…”
“You woke up?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and you saw him glancing towards the window, where a photograph of him and Fred stood. “What do you think?”
You stroke his hair kindly.
“I think it’s phenomenal.”
“You mean it?” he said, looking into your eyes again. “Or are you only saying that because you love me?”
You snorted with laughter.
“What a ridiculous question,” you kissed him. “By the way, Ron wants to see you.”
“Ickle Ronnie?”
“He’s here right now. He’s outside.”
“What does he want?”
“I think he might want a job. Here.”
“Does he?” he looked at the closed door. A sudden idea seemed to come him. “What if I hire him?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, maybe you can apply for that job in the Ministry again. If you want, of course.”
“At the Ministry?” you said in disbelief.
“Well… You always wanted to work in trade… Maybe this time they actually look for qualification instead of blood,” he said in an annoyed tone. You looked at the floor, thinking.
“Yeah, maybe… Can we talk at dinner?”
Now he was the one who snorted.
“Weren’t we supposed to?”
“I meant… I just need to tell you something.”
“Oh…” he looked concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly, standing up from his lap. “I’ll send in Ron.”
The rest of the afternoon flew by quickly and once you looked at the clock it was already seven o’clock. You were heating up some leftovers from yesterday, when George exited the bathroom, his hair still a bit wet from the shower. You smiled at him; he looked incredibly handsome.
“So, what are the big news?” he asked and your heart jumped.
“What big news?”
“You wanted to tell me something, did you not?”
“Oh…Oh! Yes. Er —”
“What is it, then?” he came closer. “Is everything —”
“Stop asking if everything’s okay,” you snapped. “Sorry. I don’t wanna sound rude.”
“Okay, love…” he said, looking puzzled. “You’re starting to scare me so say it please.”
You stomach was in a knot. You had been thinking about phrasing the words in your mind the whole afternoon, but no solution came. You swallowed.
“You said I should apply for a job at the Ministry.”
“Yeah.”
“Well… I can’t really do that. Not now.”
“What?” he said. “Why?”
“Remember when I ate that fish and then threw up?”
“What, like — two weeks ago?”
“Mm. And I didn’t tell you this but I threw up yesterday, too.”
“Are you sick or something?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Well, I thought… So I went to St Mungo’s for a check up…”
“Okay…” he said slowly. “What did they say?”
You took a deep breath.
“George… I’m pregnant.”
A silence fell over the room. George’s face was stuck in shock. His eyes were the only things moving; they slowly made their way down your chest and stopped under your stomach.
“W… What.”
It was not a question. You sighed again.
“I’m pregnant.”
“What.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Wh —”
“George!” you said, your laugh shaky from nervousness.
“Merlin… Are you really?” his mouth fell open.
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God,” he fell onto his knees and touched your belly as if it was made of glass. “There’s a baby in here?”
“Yeah.”
“Hah… hah,” he laughed weirdly. You were not sure he understood the situation.
“George… You know what this means?”
“What?”
“You’re gonna be a dad. We’re gonna have a baby.”
He looked up at you, his eyes wide.
“A baby?”
“Yeah.”
“Our baby?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God… Oh, my God!” he exclaimed and stood up. “Oh, my God, Y/N! You’re pregnant, you’re… Oh, my God!”
He shouted and lifted you from the ground. You laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
“I can’t believe this…” he said, now grinning from ear to ear. “We’re gonna have a baby! Oh mum… Mum’s gonna freak!”
“I know,” you said, also smiling. “But there’s something else.”
“Something else?” he said and looked at your belly again.
“Yes. So… While I was there, there was a witch who told me about these charms that would help me know more about the baby… And…” you laughed as tears started falling from your eyes. “She asked me if I wanted her to do those charms on me, and I said yes…”
“Why are you crying?” George asked in fear.
“Because…” you chuckled with tears. “Because I don’t think we’ll need to think about names…”
“What do you mean?”
“Because… it’s a boy.”
He reacted faster than for the first time. His hands flew over his mouth, his eyes watering already.
“Are you… Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you nodded while crying and he broke into sobs as well. He hugged you again, holding you close, occasionally laughing, then crying again.
“You are my everything,” he said, whispering into your ears. “You and… him.”
He looked down at your belly again, and with a smile on his face he gently touched you where he imagined his son to be. You were shaking with joyful anxiousness, but were grateful as well; grateful for him, grateful for your happiness, and grateful for the amazing life that was about to come.
You just finished reading an article in the Daily Prophet when the door opened in the hall and George stepped inside, his heavy boots thumping on the wooden floor. You turned to him with a smile, watching as he threw his coat to the hanger and brushed the snowflakes out of his hair.
“It’s freezing outside,” he said and waved his wand so that a cup of hot tea appeared on the table.
“You should’ve taken the scarf your mum made,” you said, smirking. He rolled his eyes.
“Always with the lectures, Y/N,” he said, but you saw him hiding a smile. You threw the Prophet onto the table.
“So — how was it?” you asked eagerly. George took a sip.
“Well… it was quite all right,” he said with a shrug. “They seemed to like the idea to do some business with us. Maybe Tom’s hand is in it as well. He offered a bottle of gin. On the house.”
“He likes you, Tom,” you said. “And his help can always come in handy. Lot of folks come through the Leaky Cauldron from all around the country. If he can just talk to them about how amazing the shop is, that’s already a step forward to us.”
“You thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” George asked. You nodded.
“Why, of course. I want the best for this place. For you. For us.”
He didn’t answer but looked at you in a strange, almost surprised way. He seemed like he was thinking about something he had long forgotten, or as if he was searching for words that did not even exist.
“What is it?” you asked, because his gaze made you feel uncertain. He moved his head from side to side, speaking very slowly.
“Nothing. Everything’s all right.”
He stood up, taking his empty cup into the kitchen, his face still fixed in that expression. You didn’t know what to make out of it, and it started worrying you. When he reappered in the living room, you were determined to say something. He sat down next to you onto the couch.
“George, is —”
You couldn’t finish for he cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips onto yours, gently, but firmly at the same time, and you were staring in surprise, not sure what to make of the situation, for he had not kissed you for over a year now.
His lips parted slowly, allowing his tongue to have a taste of yours. You were on fire, you felt as though you were going to melt into his touch, and you closed your eyes and kissed him back, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him closer until there wasn’t an inch between you left.
After at least a minute you couldn’t bare it anymore and broke apart, desperate for air. Your heart was beating twice as fast, and you were panting, while looking into those beautiful brown eyes.
“Hi,” he whispered. He seemed just as shocked as you were.
“Hi,” you said, your voice breaking. You felt tears in your eyes and you started blinking. One year. More than that. He had been somewhere else for more than a year. But now as you looked at him, you felt something else, something changing. You felt as if happier times would come.
“Come here,” he pulled you close, kissing your cheek. You were shivering. You couldn’t help it. You buried your face into his neck. You pressed soft kisses all over his skin. He took a sharp breath, then lowered his head to meet your lips again.
His hand found its way to your lower back and you felt like you were dreaming. You leaned closer to him, breathing in his smell which you loved and missed so much. He then slowly stood up, not letting go of your lips but pulling you with him. You stood on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulled away, only for a second, to look into your eyes.
“Do you —”
“Yes, shut up,” you said, pressing your lips on his again, backing away towards the bedroom.
——
Christmas was just around the corner, and you felt as a completely new person. To be exact, you felt like yourself again. Yes, occasional sadness still hit you, it hit George as well. But somehow you felt as though the two of you were fighting against it together, and not separately.
Last Christmas you had not visited the Burrow, it was just way too much for the two of you. But this year Mrs Weasley invited you again, and even though her eyes were often watery and she blew her nose constantly, all of you felt like a family again. On Christmas Eve, when you were sitting on the couch in George’s lap, staring at the tree and listening to the radio, the world seemed a less horrible place, even if it lasted only for a few hours.
Everyone was there; Ginny and Hermione were talking while sitting on the floor, Harry and Ron were playing chess while Bill watched. Charlie was supposed to arrive the day after tomorrow. Mrs Weasley and Fleur were playing with Teddy, who was now mumbling words and constantly changing his hair color after every sentence. Mr Weasley and Percy were talking, being watched by George.
“Is everything okay?” you asked kindly, stroking his hair. “You’ve been quiet.”
“Yeah,” he tried to smile but you could see some kind of nervousness in his eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, love,” he pressed a soft kiss on your hair. “Everything’s okay.”
Soon Andromeda came to take Teddy home, and people started to go to sleep one by one. Your heart ached painfully after entering George’s room — there were still two beds in there, figuring they’d come in handy once there’s way too many guests in the house. Still, it took you an enormous amount of effort to stay calm, take George’s hand and climb into bed next to him. He held you close all night, but you could tell that he was barely sleeping. You woke up several times during the night, too.
Then morning came and you opened your eyes with a tired groan. George was already sitting up, looking anxious. He was checking his watch, then when he saw that you were awake, he smiled weakly.
“Finally,” he said. “Come, I’m sure mum’s ready with breakfast.”
“Just give me five more minutes,” you said, closing your eyes again.
“C’mon, it’s Christmas!” he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of bed. “Aren’t you excited to give me your present?”
“Why do you think you’ll get a present in the first place?” you teased while opening the door.
“Witty,” George rolled his eyes and took your hand again, leading you down the stairs.
Not a single person were in the kitchen, they all gathered in the living room around the tree. It was quite crowded but you didn’t mind. Ron was already wearing his maroon jumper; you saw Hermione smirking and him shaking his head before kissing her on the cheek. Percy was just opening his package which seemed to contain a new scarf and a hat. Mrs Weasley’s sudden voice made George jump.
“Kids, finally! Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas… Let’s see… George, here you go dear. Just the usual.”
“Thanks, mum,” he said, hugging his mother for at least a minute. Mrs Weasley’s eyes were watering again, but she collected herself and smiled when looking at you.
“Y/N, dear… Arthur, where are you — come here! Now, dear, we’d like to —”
“No, mum, it’s me first!” said Ron through his teeth. You raised and eyebrow. George groaned.
“Then just do it, you prat.”
Ron shot an angry look at his brother, then he turned to Hermione uncertainly.
“Er — Hermione?”
“Merlin, Ron,” she said, rolling her eyes while searching in her pocket. “Yes, I have it, don’t worry. Do you want to read it?”
She gave Ron a piece of paper which he held up, looking a bit puzzled, then started to read.
“Dear Y/N! We were thinking about the perfect present for you, something that would make you feel the happiest person on this fine Christmas morning. Unfortunately, our ideas stopped at a certain point, therefore we decided that our present will be nothing more, than our appreciation and friendship that we feel whenever you’re in the room.”
He folded the paper, looking quite proud of himself. Hermione nodged him in the ribs.
“Oh, and Merry Christmas,” finished Ron. Hermione nodded. “Merry Christmas.”
“Oh…” you said, not sure what just happened. Anyway, their words felt really nice. You smiled. “Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“Well, this is embarassing,” spoke Bill, while holding a piece of paper. “Looks like we were thinking about the same present as Ron.”
“Oh,” you said, feeling quite dull.
“I’ll still read it,” said Bill, and Fleur was looking at you, smiling. “Dear, Y/N. Please allow us to express, how much we adore you. You’re brave, you’re strong and you would do anything for the people you love. This perfectly showed during those long months you spent with us. It was hard, though you never gave up. And for this, Fleur and myself — we adore you.”
“Thank… Thank you,” you said, choking up. You felt their words to be too nice. They were too nice to you.
“Thanks Bill, for ruining my speech,” Ginny stepped forward, her face in mock annoyance. “I wanted to do the same thing, but seems like my idea was stolen.”
“Just read the letter sis,” said Bill, fighting a snicker. Ginny nodded and pointed at herself and Harry, a letter in her hand.
“Y/N, I want to thank you for being the first person who sat down next to me in my second year, even if I endangered a lot of lives the year before that. You never judged me, and you became one of the best friends I had. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You were always there for me, in happiness and sadness, and I hope I was always there for you when you needed me.”
“Of course you were,” you whispered.
“Good. And I promise to be there for you after this, for the rest of our lives. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” you said.
“Now, dear, Arthur and I have something to say as well,” said Mrs Weasley, paper in hand. “You have always been like a daughter to us, and we could not have been more proud of you. It’s always a pleasure to have you with us, and we thank you for making our son so happy. I know that without you he — he’d be lost and — all I want to say is… all we want to say is that we welcome you in our family.”
She smiled with tears in her eyes and George spoke.
“Y/N?”
You turned around and you saw him already on one knee, holding up a box with a beautiful ring in it. Your mouth dropped.
“Y/N…” he spoke. “You are the love of my life. You are my everything. You are witty, you are smart and you are the kindest person I’ve ever met…Without you I wouldn’t have been able to survive this past year… You were there for me since I’ve known you, and I can never repay you for all the love that you have given me. But if I try, maybe a lifetime will be enough… So will you marry me?”
You dropped onto your knees, crying. You ignored the ring and hugged George instead. It wasn’t even up for debate. Your answer was obvious.
“Yes!” you sobbed. “Of course I’ll marry you!”
You kissed him and the room erupted in cheers. George hugged you tight, his lips against yours and he stood up, pulling you with him while Mr Weasley summoned some glasses and champagne.
“I love you!” you said to him finally, after pulling away a bit, looking into his eyes. His were watery, but he was grinning.
“I love you, too!” he said, kissing you again. He then took your hand and placed the ring on your finger. You gasped.
“Oh, George — I love it!”
You hugged him again, and continued crying. The difference was, that these were not miserable tears. These were happy tears. And for the first time in a very long time, you felt that your happiness could not be demolished by anything.
In the past few months your relationship with George had become somewhat better, though you had your better and worse days either way. After Christmas you had figured it was time to clean out Fred’s room, that had been deserted for a very long time. It wasn’t an easy task to do. There was sobbing, cuddling, screaming, hugging, crying… but eventually it was over. Now its door was closed, hiding a room which no longer represented someone’s personality. It was just an empty room now.
And yes, it had been hard. Really hard, for the both of you. But some days were simply easier, some days you were not as miserable as usually… Except today. Oh, yes. You had been dreading this day since last May. Because today was the first day of April.
You woke up earlier than him and your empty stomach drove you into the kitchen, where you started chewing on a piece of toast, though not really feeling its taste. You looked at the clock; it was half past eight. You watched the seconds passing, feeling more and more miserable and lost. The silence in the kitchen was defeaning.
You put down your food, you simply couldn’t eat anymore. Your stomach was clenched and about the size of a nut, hurting with every breath. You wished you could eat more. Maybe then you could fill some of the empty hole in your chest.
You walked back to the bedroom and saw George lying on the bed with his eyes open. You stopped at the door, examining his face. He had been melancholic for a few days now… But today was different. You knew today he was hurting like nobody else.
“I’ve brought you some breakfast,” you said huskily, knowing very well that he’s not going to touch the food. You put the plate onto the nightstand and kneeled down to the floor to be on the same level as him.
He was crying. It wasn’t sobbing, it wasn’t conscious bawling… his tears were falling quietly down his face, then raced to reach his pillow. His gaze was empty, or at least he was staring at something that you couldn’t see.
You reached out, gently touching his face. You wiped his tears with your thumb, only to welcome more and more. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw things around the room. But you had to stay strong for him. Today, you simply had no other choice.
You climbed back to bed and lay down, hugging him from behind. You were stroking his hair tenderly, occasionally pressing a small kiss onto his cheek or the nape of his neck. You were lying like this for at least an hour, when he started shaking.
“It’s okay,” you said, hugging him tight while he was crying in your arms. “It’s all right, love.”
He was shaking even more and you had no idea what to do. All you could think of is staying here, by his side and making through the day, one minute at a time.
There was knocking on the window and you saw an owl, with a letter tied to its leg. You turned towards it uncertainly, George still in your arms.
“Don’t…” he said. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not…” you said and waved your wand towards the window. It opened and the owl flew inside, raising his leg after finding a place on your cover to stand. You needed only a second to see what kind of letter it was. You got it from the owl, watched as it flew away, then looked at the messy writing which seemed to had been written by a very shaking hand.
“It’s from your mum,” you said lowly. George winced.
“I don’t want to read it.”
“I know,” you said and put the letter aside. “You really need to eat something, Georgie. It’s almost noon.”
He didn’t answer and you accepted his silence. You went back to him, resting you chin on the top of his head, while he was shaking with watery eyes.
“I’ve never been older,” he said, his voice muffled from the crying.
“What?”
“I’ve n-never been older,” he sobbed. “Older than him.”
Your heart broke into a million pieces with realization. You swallowed, trying your best not to cry, but it was really really hard.
“Sing,” George said suddenly. You looked at him, puzzled.
“What?”
“Sing,” he pleaded. “You sang a muggle song… a long time ago… sing for me…”
“I don’t — I don’t remember singing,” you said desperately. He cried.
“Please… Please, Y/N…”
“I can’t…”
“Please.”
You stared. You didn’t want to sing. You were only singing when you were happy, when nothing troubled you… It was a tool to express joy… You knew if you were going to sing now, you would lose your mind. You would hurt yourself on so many levels… But George was here, asking you to do it. And you would do anything for him.
And so you took a deep breath and sang the first thing that came to your mind.
Love of my life, you’ve hurt me You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back Don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know What it means to me
It was not perfect, you could barely call it nice. But you were singing and George seemed to ease in your arms for the first time. You couldn’t stop now.
Love of my life, don’t leave me You’ve taken my love, you now desert me Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back Don’t take it away from me Because you don’t know What it means to me
Tears started blurrying your sight so you decided to close your eyes.
You will remember When this is blown over Everything’s all by the way When I grow older I will be there at your side to remind you How I still love you I still love you
You saw a castle in your mind, and you saw happy memories. You saw walls and common rooms, greenhouses and Hagrid’s hut, you saw a lake, you saw a village and you saw two boys with red hair at the Great Hall table, recklessly laughing about who knows what. You were choking on your tears. But you wanted to finish now.
Oh, hurry back, hurry back Please bring it back home to me because You don’t know what it means to me Love of my life Love of my life
You fell silent, your tears running down your cheeks. You left them there. You didn’t care anymore.
The two of you lay there, not saying a word for at least an hour. George seemed to breathe a bit more easily after the song, and it was all that mattered. You, on the other hand, were a complete mess. You pressed your lips together tight, determined not to make a noise. Behind your closed eyelids pictures from the past flew by, and you wished with everything that you were to be able to turn back time and be a fifth year student again, who sometimes orders stuff from outside the castle and sells them to be able to buy a ruddy bottle of butter beer.
The sun was shining from a different angle now and you knew that it was way into the afternoon. Without any hope for success, you gently stroke George’s hair and spoke in a low whisper.
“You should really eat something, love… or have a cup of tea… how does that sound?”
To your surprise, George opened his eyes and turned his head slowly, facing you. Maybe he was more hungry than miserable, because he nodded and sighed as if collecting some strength to get out of bed.
“Okay.”
He sat up, but didn’t stand until you intertwined your fingers with his. His face looked exhausted, his eyes were bloodshot from all the crying. His hair was everywhere and his cheekbones were as sharp as a knife.
“Come on,” you said, leading him to the kitchen. “How about some music?”
He nodded and sat down to the table. You turned on the radio, leaving it on low volume and letting the slow tune to fill the cold room. You left the water to boil and looked at George again. He was sitting with his head hanging low, breathing slowly, eyes closed.
“Come,” you said again, tenderly touching his hand. “Dance with me.”
“What?” he said, visibly puzzled.
“Dance with me,” you said again, pulling him to his feet.
“Y/N…”
“Sh… it’s okay. See?”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning closer so that your chest was against his. You two started swaying slowly, without any real steps, but still dancing in an intimate, loving way. You rested your chin on his shoulder, standing on your toes to reach him. After a while you felt him shaking with sobs again.
“Darling…” you said, gently wiping his face. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry…”
“No — Don’t say that. I know…”
“It’s not that…” he sniffled. “It’s… I know… I know how terrible I’ve been to you…”
“You weren’t,” you said, though a weird uneasiness came over you. He shook his head again.
“Yes, I’ve been. I… I want you to know… I want to spend my whole life with you… I do, but… I feel like I’m stuck… I don’t have my old life anymore, but I’m not ready to… to start my new one…”
“It’s okay…”
“But I need to tell you, I need you to understand…”
“I know, baby,” you said, kissing him on his cheek. “I know it’s hard, I know we’re… we’re not quite all right, but… maybe with t-time, we will be.”
“It hurts…”
“It hurts me, too,” you said, hugging him close, and he hugged you until you couldn’t breathe, until you felt nothing but him, and finally it felt as though some of the pain inside the two of you was evaporating away… You knew better times would come… But when, you had no idea.
You thought about Hogwarts again, the castle and its grounds, and you realized with another painful jolt in your heart that you would never be able to return to those times when you were so carelessly happy. You went through a war. You were not children anymore. You were both… well… older.
Summary: After Fred’s death everything is dark. How can you move on when you don’t want to move on? And how can you love each other, when all love seems lost?
Like two strangers, you were lying on each side of the bed, your backs opposite each other. The clock on the wall said it was way past two in the morning. Still, you were not asleep. You were quiet, your breathing steady and slow, and you were staring into nothing, while George’s quiet sniffs came from behind you.
You’d moved back to the little flat above the shop three months ago, after spending one more month at the Burrow. It was still hard. Without Fred the rooms felt empty and deserted. The shop was open, sure; you knew George rather wanted it open so that he can do something… but it was not as charming, not as fun as it used to be. For the two of you, at least, it wasn’t.
The bed creaked on George’s side and he got up and left the room. You didn’t turn around; you knw either he was going to the bathroom to wash his face, drive his demons away, or headed for the kitchen to drink something that’d help him sleep. You waited for minutes but he didn’t return. Then there was a crash.
You got up and ran outside; the lights were on in the kitchen. You covered your eyes for they were hurt by the brightness and stepped in.
George was standing in the middle of the kitchen, frozen, his face emotionless and bland. He was staring at one spot on the ground, where the remains of a broken teapot lay. Around it was a small puddle of water, pieces of china all around the floor.
“Reparo,” you said. You dried up the water with another wave of your wand. You looked at George. “You okay?”
He didn’t answer. He turned away, lips pressed together and leaned onto the counter. After some hesitation you stepped closer. His shoulders were shaking, his head hanging low. You knew he was able to sob quietly, a talent which he had perfected during these past months. It came in handy when he wanted to hide his cries from you. It broke your heart.
“Love…” you said as gently as you could. You wished you could hug him. “Love, come back to…”
“Stop it, Y/N,” he said, a bit colder than you found necessary. You swallowed.
“Let me help you.”
“I cannot be helped,” he said, still not turning around. “Go back to bed.”
You stood there, choking up. He had been like this ever since you got back from the Burrow. Yes, he left the house every now and then, yes, he had reopened the shop, but he was not the same George anymore. He was barely eating, he was just staring at or playing with his food. He looked so pale and so sickly, that you were seriously concerned for his health at this point. There were times, when he was frozen in shock and in realization; then he would just stay still, staring into the void, completely forgetting about the world. Usually, he got three or four hours of sleep per night; he got to bed late and woke up early, desperately doing his best to avoid dreams, dreams which you knew were haunting him since they were all about Fred.
And the worst of it was that he didn’t want to be helped. He didn’t want to be comforted. When you tried to hug him he left, when you tried to dry up his tears he turned away. You knew you needed to give him space, and it was all right, but at the same time you felt lonely and depressed as well. He had promised that he’d be there for you, but he was distant and rejecting. You were like two strangers living together.
On those rare occasions when he had better days — when he put a lock of your hair behind your ear, or touched your shoulder as he passed behind you in the shop — you felt empty. You were missing that raw energy that he had always had, that special George Weasley-like liveliness… you wished he would pull you into his arms, or would fiercly grab you while making love… but in reality he barely touched you, and even if he did, his fingertips brushed against your skin and that was it. Nothing more. After two months of moving back, you had wanted him so much your body hurt… but when you kissed him, he had refused and told you to go back to bed.
Just like he did now.
——
George was bleeding; he had cut himself with the paper when he unwrapped the package that just had arrived. How ridiculous, he thought, as he watched the owl flying out the open window, and sucked on his finger in annoyance. When the bleeding stopped, he looked at the little wooden box his mother sent him and opened it up. It was full of old letters, pieces of paper and pictures. He closed the box immediately, turning it’s little lock. He had an idea what it was, but he simply did not have the strength to care about it in the moment.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said, and you stepped in. George hid his hand with the cut finger in his pocket. He didn’t even know why.
“Someone is looking for those eatable ears,” you said, the buzzing of the jokeshop coming from behind you. “She doesn’t want to understand that we won’t have them until the end of the month.”
“Just… ask her if she wants to preorder now,” he said, barely paying attention.
“All right.”
You nodded and turned to leave, but George’s gaze fell upon the box on his desk.
“No, wait — Actually, could you take this up, please? Mum sent it. I’ll deal with those ears. Why don’t you… Go up. We’re closing in thirty minutes anyway.”
He gave you the box and you took it; he saw something in your eyes but you turned away quickly and closed the door behind you, leaving him alone in his office. He cleaned his throat, fighting that depressed feeling he felt every time he talked to you.
The truth was, he had opened the shop again, but only to have something to spend his days with. It did not cause him pleasure anymore, but it was rather painful to spend each day selling products that they made up with Fred, together. He did not feel enthusiastic walking along the shelves; he felt as if he was missing something, he felt as if a big part of him was left somewhere. Well, he had been feeling like this anyway, so at least he was making some money.
He also felt lost, but it was not because of Fred. It was because of you. When he looked at you during breakfast, or talking to a customer, he wondered if he’d see the spark in your eyes, the cheekiness he loved so much. He knew he was causing you pain, he knew you were crying every night… But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you about Fred. He couldn’t.
He was staring at the floor for minutes when he finally remembered that he was supposed to help someone. He left the office, immediately being surrounded by hundreds of people laughing and joking around amongst the shelves. He felt nauseos.
He wrote down the name of the customer, then he watched as the crowd slowly faded. Then he closed the doors, turned the lights and headed for the stairs, up to the flat. He fumbled with his keys, then stepped inside, and — carefully avoiding his reflection in the mirror — loosened his tie. When he turned around, that’s when he saw you sitting on the living room floor, sobbing.
His heart jumped in fear and he hurried over, scared, that something really serious was happening, that you were in pain, that someone might had hurt you… Then he saw the wooden box next to you, a bunch of photographs lying all over the floor. He lowered himself, feeling extremely anxious.
“Y/N?” he started uncertainly. “What happened?”
You shook your head and sobbed. George wished he could hug you. He wished he was able to.
“Y/N…” he said miserably. “Tell me…”
You reached for a photograph on the floor and shoved it in his hand. It was crumbled as if you had grabbed it too firmly. He looked at it and he felt his heart pounding painfully. He thought he’d have a heart attack.
It was the three of you — him, you and Fred, in the Burrow, standing in front of the Christmas tree, when you came back from Hogwarts in your last year. It was not moving, it was made using Mr Weasley’s muggle camera, but George could still see the happiness in his eyes. And Fred… He couldn’t look at Fred for long. He stared at himself instead, but it was like looking at a stranger. He was smiling, he looked well-fed and healthy, he even looked more mascular than he was now. He chuckled darkly — he still had two ears.
He turned over the picture and put it down. He sat down next to you, examining all the papers on the floor.
“Can I bring you something?” he asked lowly. “Tea?”
You shook your head. George swallowed.
“C-coffee, then?”
“Hold me,” you said suddenly, between sobs. “Please.”
How could he explain that he couldn’t? But you were already in his arms, and he held you so gently that he barely even touched your skin. He was sitting there with you for long minutes, thinking wether he knew what he was doing or was he just a coward…
“George?” you asked, wiping your face.
“Yes?” he said huskily.
“Don’t you love me anymore?”
He stared, taken aback and you pulled away from him, looking into his eyes.
“Why would you say that?” he asked, but he knew very well what you meant.
“Because I feel it,” you said. Your voice was really heavy. “I see it when I look at you. You… you haven’t kissed me in months. You wouldn’t even touch me… I feel so out of place, and I feel like I’m just some burden, some stranger who lives here.
“You’re not — no,” George felt his whole world shaking. How could he tell you, how could he make you understand? “I love you, Y/N! I do, I really do!”
“I’m not sure I can believe that anymore…”
George shook his head violently. How could he explain to you how he was feeling? How he was constantly wishing that he could rip out his heart to stop the pain? He didn’t even have to think about Fred to be hurt, the feeling was just there, all the time, during the day, but also during the night as well. He had nightmares, visions about the battle, but sometimes it was not Fred who lay on the floor, but his mum… Ginny… you.
He hadn’t been home for a month, he just could not bare to look them in the eye. But here was different. You were with him in the shop, in the flat, in the bed… And George somehow felt that if he kept his mind off you, the nightmares would not come so often. He felt that when you kissed him, he slept worse, fighting the sick feeling in his stomach that was telling him that he’d lose you as well, that if he loved you carelessly and freely a moment would come and take you away from him as well.
But he couldn’t tell you that. You’d not understand. You’d tell him that the war was over and that you were safe now… And George didn’t want to be reassured, because he didn’t believe that everything was fine now, he didn’t believe that life was safe and sound when he was already missing the biggest part of his life… So this is why he let his head hang low at the dinner table, this is why he went form kisses to hugs, from hugs to shoulder brushes, and this is why he told you to stop when you wanted to make love to him, during those quiet nights in late August…
He realized he had zoned out again. It had been really hard for him to concentrate on anything, really. But your quiet crying brought him back to reality. No matter how hard he tried to stay away from you… he still loved you. And he hated himself for causing you pain.
Summary: After Fred’s death, neither you or George cope with the situation well. You cry in secret, he doesn’t come out of his room. Will he listen to you when you talk to him, or will he stay distant?
The funeral was quick and you were glad for that. You zoned out after it had begun; you felt guilty for not paying attention but at the same time you knew that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You were sitting in the front row next to George and the two of you were not saying a word to each other. From the corner of your eyes you saw how his shoulders rose and fell and you knew that he was forcing himself to breathe properly. He was staring without seeing much, and after the funeral ended with the lowering of the casket, he was the first to stand up and disappear in the house.
You had not seen him ever since, and it had been five days.
You felt empty. You wanted to feel empty. Empty was better than pain. You did not want to feel anything, because that would mean that you accepted the truth, that you were living through it, and you were not ready for that. It was easier to distance yourself, to pretend that it didn’t hurt. To pretend that you were not dreaming that you were carrying his body with the Ravenclaw boy. Pretending was good. Pretending was safe.
Oh, yes, pretending was fun. But sometimes it didn’t work. Sometimes the truth came through, memories flooded your mind, and during those times it hurt much more than you could ever imagine.
“Y/N, I’m talking to you, do you hear me?”
You looked up, your eyes meeting Ginny’s. The bowl of soup in front of you was cold and watery now. Opposite you, Mrs Weasley sat, crying. Mr Weasley was gently stroking her hair.
“I don’t know what to d-do,” she sobbed, her eyes puffy and weary.
Mrs Weasley had been busying herself, continuously doing the laundry, cooking more than was necessary, dusting off furniture every two hours… literally doing anything to draw her attention away from her son. Sometimes, however, she would break down, crying her eyes out. Apparently, this was one of those occasions.
“I t-tried everything… he won’t o-open the d-door.”
“I was just telling Y/N,” said Ginny, the usual strength missing from her voice. “That maybe she should try it.”
You looked around the table and noticed that everyone was staring at you. You raised an eyebrow.
“You want me what?”
Your throat hurt as you spoke. It had been days since you said more than one sentence.
“You can…” continued Ginny. “You can try to bring him his dinner. He won’t open the door to mum or dad.”
Of course. They were talking about George.
“What makes you think he’ll let me in?”
“C’mon, Y/N…” she pleaded. “Just try. Please.”
You looked away from her, fixating on Mrs Weasley again. She was dabbing her face with an already soaked handkerchief. She looked pathetic, to be honest. You couldn’t blame her, though.
You nodded and grabbed a prepared plate with some chicken and sprouts and headed for the staircase. Each step was a misery, it felt like you were marching to your own execution. You had no idea how he was going to react. He had not talked to you since the funeral.
You reached the door that recently you had tried to ignore, for it had been too much to even ackowledge its existence. But now you stood before it, your hand raised, and you knocked, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. You knocked again, this time more loudly, but there was still no response. You were thinking about leaving the food on the floor, but you reached for your wand instead and tapped on the handle, turning the lock with a clank.
You stepped inside and your carefully built wall of denial almost crumbled. The first thing you saw were the boxes, filled with untested products and notes; then you saw left behind socks and trousers all around the floor that were clearly not George’s; and finally you saw two bed, one perfectly made, cold, empty, and one with a tall ginger figure in it, facing the wall, his eyes closed.
You did not want to stay in the room for more time than was necessary. You put the plate onto the table, then turned and left. You did not want to go back to the kitchen; you headed for Ginny’s room which you shared, lay down and stared out the window at the darkening sky. Around nine Ginny came in as well, and you pretended that you were sleeping until she closed the curtains. Then you lay on your back, facing the ceiling, doing your best not to fall asleep, because you knew that nightmares would come, and you had had enough of those.
The house was quiet, it was past midnight. You wondered if you were the only one awake, or was there anyone else who was struggling against the calling of night time horrors. You closed your eyes, focusing on your steady breathing. You were not going to give in.
A brown pair of eyes.
You sat up, panting, shaking your head. No, you cannot think about it! You took deep breaths, determined to stay calm.
A Nosebleed Nougat in a colorful wrapper.
“Ah, fuck,” you whispered, burying your face into your hands. Stop it. Don’t. Just… don’t.
‘Morning, sunshine.’
You let out a quiet moan and you pressed your palm against your mouth. You got up as quietly as you could and made your way out of the room, down the stairs, into the bathroom. You closed the door, then opened the tap and splashed cold water on your face.
Drinking tea in the kitchen. ’I love you.’
“Stop!” you whispered, holding your head, as if you were trying to drive those unwanted thoughts away. The water was still running.
The couch in the common room. A lake with skating children. A pair of sneakers on the floor.
“Stop!” you groaned, hitting your head. “Stop it! Please… stop!”
‘You’re like a sister to me.’
“Shut up…” you cried, broken, grabbing onto the sink with one hand, trying to muffle your panicky breaths with the other. “Please… I don’t… I can’t…”
You fell onto the floor and did not want to get up. You held onto the rug, squeezing it, pleading to anyone who’d listen to stop the pain, release you, make it feel better, bring him back…
You didn’t know for how long you stayed there, but what it seemed like hours later you heard movement in the house. You stood up quickly, stopped the water, then left the bathroom quietly, looking out at the sky, seeing that morning was not far away… You went back to Ginny’s, climbed back into bed, and fell asleep within minutes.
You woke up, feeling more tired than ever. Your eyes hurt from the continuous sobbing, but if you were sure about one thing, it was that no one would make a comment about it. They knew.
You walked down to the kitchen, suddenly craving company. You ate a few bites of your toast, but it was like chewing a rug. Mr Weasley already left for the day with Percy, and you could not help but think about the shop that was now standing deserted. You choked up and pushed the plate away.
“Dear?” you faced Mrs Weasley, who was holding a bowl of porridge. “Will you take this up, please?”
You looked into her eyes, and realized that they were the same brown as —”
“Sure,” you said and quickly turned away. You went for the stairs again, stopped in front of the door just like you had done yesterday. You knocked, but there was no answer. After trying the lock, you pulled your wand out again and opened the door with a tap.
George looked exactly the same as the previous night. He was facing the wall, apparently sleeping. You looked at the table where his dinner lay untouched, cold. You switched it with the bowl without a word.
“The door’s locked for a reason.”
You turned around, not believing your ears. You had not heard George’s voice for almost a week. He sounded ill.
“You can tell dad as well.”
You swallowed.
“Your mum’s downstairs,” you said huskily. “It’s me.”
He jerked his head towards you and you barely recognised him. His eyes were swollen and almost shut, his whole face had sunken during those seven days. Under his eyes huge, dark circles colored his pale skin. He looked like a skull.
“Oh,” he said finally. “Okay.”
Your stomach clenched.
“Okay?” you stared. “Please, eat something. You can even bring the bowl down when you finish.”
He didn’t answer and you casted down your eyes. You wished he had at least stood up from the bed. You could not bare to look at him anymore. You turned around and left him, closing the door behind you.
“Nothing?” Ron asked as you returned to the kitchen. You shook your head. Mrs Weasley, seeing the untouched plate, broke into tears again.
“I wish he would talk to us!” said Ginny, angrily wiping her eyes. “He could at least come down to sit with us!”
“I know,” you said, thinking the same.
A fading smile on colorless lips. A white casket.
“Stop!” you said, shivering.
“What?” said Hermione. She looked worried. “Y/N, is everything —”
But she didn’t finish. She knew nothing was okay.
You turned away, facing the sink. You felt the familiar pressure in your throat, choking you, and you felt yourself tearing up.
“I’ll feed the chickens,” you said, not looking at any of them. You hurried out of the house, your feet taking you further and further. You passed the garden, passed the lake and ended up by that tree under which you had been sitting ages ago, with George, making a flower crown, telling him that you felt safe when you were with him…
‘How is the lovely couple?’
You pressed your fists against your eyes, violently shaking your head. No, you didn’t want to think about him, you didn’t want to, you didn’t…
Fred.
Fred as he colored your hair at Shell Cottage. Fred as he handed you a butterbeer in Hogsmeade. Fred as he looked concerned, then laughed at you. Fred teasing Ron. Fred smirking in the shop. Fred hugging you before setting off to rescue Harry. Fred, on the floor, dead.
It was so much worse now, during this lovely morning, surrounded by wild flowers and nicely buzzing bees. At night, you could pretend that it was just an episode, that when the morning comes the nightmare ends, but now… What could you pretend now?
You walked back into the house not long before lunch. Even if you didn’t eat much, you needed these small events to get you through the day. A sort of habit, a system. Sitting down, talking, crying alone, repeat.
“Dear?” said Mrs Weasley and you didn’t even look at her, but took the tray with a plate of food and a glass of water and headed for the stairs. You didn’t knock this time, you tapped the handle, opened the door and stepped inside. George looked exactly how you had left him, still in his pajamas, facing the wall.
“Here’s lunch,” you said.
“I don’t know if you can tell,” he started, without looking. “But I am not hungry.”
You looked at the bowl of porridge you had left there, now soggy and disgusting.
“Please,” you said. “Please, eat something. Or just — Let’s go outside. Let’s go for a walk.”
You wanted nothing more than to be with him.
“I don’t want to go for a walk,” came the muffled answer.
“Please,” you said, then added hesitantly, “I miss you.”
It was almost as if he moved his head a little… but it might had been your imagination. You stood there, not sure what to do, choking up under your emotions again. You wished he would look at you. You wished he’d at least turned around in the bed.
“Please,” you started, tears in your eyes. “Please, just look at me…”
“Please leave me alone,” he said miserably. “Leave me alone, Y/N.”
“Please.”
You waited, and he seemed to be waiting, too. You did not want to leave, not until you tell him what’s in your mind. It seemed like hours, before he finally moved; he slowly, very slowly turned around in the bed, then put one foot down onto the floor. His pale, sunken face was glowing in the curtained, shadowy room.
You two locked eyes, and it was when you truly saw how much pain he was in. He was lost, he was exhausted, he was grieving. But you were, too.
“Please, George,” you started. “Please… I can’t do this alone anymore. It’s… killing me, no matter how hard I try, it keeps crashing down on me… I don’t know what to do, I feel so miserable, I feel so useless, and I need you, I need you more than anything but… apparently you don’t need me, so —”
His face softened and he stood up from the bed. He came closer, reached out as if he was about to hug you, but then retreated. He casted down his eyes.
“Of course I need you… I…”
He shook his head, puzzled. From up-close you saw how dry his lips were, how unhealthy his skin looked. You could clearly make out his cheekbones.
“You, staying up here… isolating yourself… it’s not good, Georgie —”
He winced hearing his name and closed his eyes as if he was trying to get rid of a thought. You stood there, watching, speaking as genuinly as you could.
“I’m not the only one… your family misses you, too —”
“They miss him,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not me.”
“That’s not true!” you said and stepped closer, this time taking his hand, too.
“They’re worried about you… Please, don’t do this… Don’t push them — don’t push us away. Staying here alone is not going to make you feel better… and it breaks my heart, you up here, feeling miserable, not eating, not —”
“Of course I’m feeling miserable!” he said, with a surprisingly rude tone. “What did you think, that I’m gonna sing and dance around the house? My brother just died!”
“I know,” you said, feeling hurt. “But don’t forget, he was a son, he… and he was like a brother to me, too.”
“Yeah? You weren’t even related,” he snarled all of a sudden. “So how d’you reckon I feel?”
You were taken aback. All of a sudden George looked like a bomb, ready to explode. You let go of his hand, and you felt yours shaking.
“I know you’re scared —” you started, but he cut you off.
“I’m not scared —”
“— but I’m scared, too. Every time I… I think of him, I’m scared, because I know I’ll have to live a life without him…”
“Stop it,” he said, closing his eyes again. You were barely holding yourself together now.
“And I’m scared to accept that he’s really gone…”
“Stop it, Y/N, I’m telling you…”
He sounded like a wounded animal. You started sobbing.
“I’m not stopping! You stop it, stop acting like he was only yours, because you’re not the only one in this house who feels fucking miserable…”
“I’m not saying I’m the only one, but he’s… he was… I knew him best, I was the closest to him! Y/N… Can you believe that?” he was half shouting, half crying. “Can you imagine what’s it like being together with someone for twenty years, and then see them on the floor, d-dead?!”
“I…”
“Everywhere I look, I see him. I look at his bed and it’s empty, I look outside and he’s not there! I’m stuck, it’s torturing me, it’s like he’s torturing me…”
“Don’t you think it’s torturing your family, too?” you yelled. You wiped your eyes, but it was a weak attempt; you couldn’t stop crying. “Have you seen your mum? How she breaks down every two hours? How she always tries to do something, to keep her mind on something else? And your dad? Comes home from work, barely speaking, barely eating? And Percy? Being all shaky and not staying long, because he wants to hide how messed up he is?”
“Yes, I’m sure they’re all —”
“And that’s not the worst!” you didn’t let him finish. “The worst is that you won’t even care, you don’t even show your face, and now it feels like we’re grieving two people, because you’re not there!”
“Well, I wish I wasn’t there!” he shouted painfully. “I honesty think that it should’ve been me, I wish it was! I wish I was the one, not him, sometimes —”
“YEAH, WELL, SOMETIMES I WISH I WAS DEAD, TOO!”
He fell silent, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned around, sobbing, ran down the stairs and ended up in the kitchen. When you looked up, you saw that everyone was staring. You ignored them and ran out of the house. Not looking back, you turned on your heels, jumped into the nothingness and disapparated.
——
You came back to the Burrow way past dusk. As you appeared at the little meadow the first thing you saw was the house with light coming out of its windows. You couldn’t stop yourself; you searched for George’s window, then turned your head away immediately. It was dark.
You shivered a bit, even though it wasn’t too cold. It was the middle of May, and you saw a couple of owls setting off for their night time hunting. You thought about Peanut and your heart ached again.
You didn’t want to go in just yet — you were not planning on sleeping any time soon, anyway. You walked slowly towards the backdoor, watching as a gnome hurried back into its hole by the sight of you. Finally you stopped, sitting down onto the last step outside the door, resting your chin on the back of your hands, your elbows on your knees. You stared without seeing, and you didn’t even jump when the moonlight shone upon some kind of animal crossing the garden.
You weren’t sure you wanted anyone to know where you’d been. You weren’t sure you were ready to see any of them, after what they had heard. You weren’t even sure how you felt about the things you had said. They were true, there was no doubt. But it still pained you to realize, how far you had come, when you were supposed to be happy. You won, didn’t you? The good side won, Voldemort’s reign was over, and you should be happy. Right?
You wished it was that easy.
You sniffled and looked around in the garden, finally taking in the sight. In the darkness, only illuminated by the moon and the stars, everything seemed so peaceful. It seemed almost unbelievable, and suddenly you hated all this beauty, all this peace. You were jealous of it. It was unfair, it was not right to have such peaceful things surround you, when you were so disturbed… It was unfair of nature to run its course as if nothing had happened, when something did happen, and Fred Weasley was dead.
You watched as the light breeze tingled the grass, and you looked over the hill where the small village lay; not far from it the cemetery, that was hidden from muggle eyes, that was only for wizards and in which now stood a tombstone, with a very familiar name on it.
“I wish you were here,” you said lowly, not even sure that you wanted to speak. “I miss you so much.”
You let out a shaky breath, tears swam in your eyes. Then you let out a short, nervous laugh.
“I’m sure you’d take the mickey out of me if you saw I was talking to you. But I don’t care. I’m just… scared. I’m so scared to… to one day wake up and don’t remember your face… or the sound of your voice… and I’m scared because I k-know that I need to live the rest of my life without you… I don’t know if I can d-do that…”
You wiped your tears when you heard steps from the kitchen. The door opened and someone joined you on the stairs.
“Were you talking to him?” asked Ginny kindly. You hesitated, then decided that it didn’t really matter. You nodded.
“Yeah.”
She looked at your face, but you were avoiding her eyes. Finally she turned away, following your gaze that was still fixed on the hill.
“I talked with Harry about this,” she started, playing with a grass halm. “He said… He said he was at a place, from where he came back. There’s… There’s something there… I’m sure.”
You didn’t answer. It was too nice to be true.
“I’m saying that he might have heard everything you just told him,” she continued. You bit down on your lips. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
You wiped your tears again, unable to stop crying. But for now, it was not a continuity of ugly sobs… it was silent, and somehow your soul felt a bit lighter after Ginny gently squeezed your shoulder.
The door opened again behind the two of you, and you heard an exhausted voice speak.
“Can I talk to her?”
Ginny’s mouth dropped by the sight of George, and you could understand her — she didn’t see him for a week after all. For a moment she looked as if she couldn’t decide wether to hug or shout at his brother, but eventually she just stood up, nodded and left.
You turned back to face the garden again. From the corner of your eyes you saw a pair of shoes next to you.
“Can I sit down?”
“It’s your house,” you said. For a moment, without even realizing it, you were waiting for his comment, for his little chuckle and him murmuring ‘witty’ under his breath. But it didn’t come, and as George sat down, somehow your heart broke a little more.
You were sitting in quiet for some time, and you didn’t really care. You weren’t in the mood for fighting, and you were certainly tired of convincing George about anything.
“Were you serious?” he asked finally. His voice was low and raspy, but you could still hear him in the silent garden. “Did you mean what you said?”
“What part?” you asked, without facing him.
“The last one.”
You tried to gather your thoughts, tried to make them sound nicer, but it was impossible. Your thoughts, just as you, were a mess.
“Yes,” you said. “Yes, I meant it. It’s just… so hard. I can’t sleep… I have all these flashbacks, and they hurt… and I wait at night until everyone’s asleep so I go and cry in the bathroom, how messed up is that?”
“Does it help?” he asked. “Crying?”
“No, it doesn’t do a damn thing,” you said miserably. “I am constantly switching between denying my memories and being afraid that I’ll forget him…”
“You won’t forget him.”
“You don’t know that,” you wiped your eyes. “It so hard to believe that one week ago I was talking with him, and now he’s… he’s…”
You started panting, trying to cry as quietly as possible. George’s head was hanging low and you wished he’d say something… But how could you wish that, when you knew that he was feeling even worse than how you did?
“Y/N, I want to apologize,” he said, raising his head. “I’m so sorry that I haven’t been there for you. You deserve so much better… I know that you loved him and that he loved you, too. And I’m sorry for what I’ve said, about you not being related. It doesn’t matter, it didn’t matter then, it doesn’t matter now… You’re part of my family. And you were right, about being there for each other… g-grieving together. I’m just sorry for being so selfish.”
You nodded and finally faced him. He sat there with his eyes closed, his jaw clenched. He was shaking.
“But it’s been so hard for me as well… to realize, to accept… I haven’t slept for a bloody week, every part of my body hurts… he’s everywhere…” tears ran down on his cheek. “When is it gonna get easier?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“How are we supposed to just live now?”
“I don’t know. But… I don’t wanna do it alone. I can’t do it alone.”
“Me neither,” he said and let you wipe the tears off his cheek with your thumb. “Stay with me.”
“Always,” you said, barely louder than a whisper. Then the two of you just sat there in silence, watching as the moon rose higher and higher on the sky.
April had been the time of your life - if you can say that during a war - and it could not even be compared to the previous eight months that you had spent at Shell Cottage. You had celebrated the twins’ birthday, then Lupin had come to announce the news about his newborn son. The whole month had been as though there was no war outside; you had lived in your own bubble, accompanied by George and the Weasleys and you could not had been happier.
It all happened so fast.
May had arrived, and with it the radio was shouting the news about Harry Potter who had broken into Gringotts with two of his accomplices, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Mrs Weasley had been so nervous she broke two plates during cooking; Mr Weasley had been carefully listening to the radio the whole day, waiting for any information that would reassure him that his son was all right.
Then the news came. New weather report: Lightning has struck.
It was almost as if you had been waiting for this for years now, and it was finally happening. All the Weasleys got ready, apparated to Aberforth’s place, met up with Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley and the rest of the Order. After you made your way through the tunnel and reached the Room, there was no turning back.
It all happened so fast.
And now you were marching down the stairs towards the Great Hall, and your heart was aching by the sight of the familiar corridors and hallways. You remembered those times, those lovely, peaceful times when you had been a student and you had had nothing to worry about but your exams. Those beautiful afternoons by the lake, those calm nights in the common room. And then here you were, wand in hand, ready to fight for your friends, for your loved ones, but most importantly for yourself. Because you knew that this was it.
Yes, it happened so fast.
But you had been waiting for a long time.
“Are you okay?” asked George hastily as you made your last turn down the staircase, following Kingsley.
“I’m ready,” you said and you knew he understood.
You reached the Entrance Hall and Kingsley turned to you. His low voice resonated through the room.
“I put all my faith in the best thing. You.”
Then he pushed open the huge wooden doors.
You followed him inside, taking in the scene, Harry shouting in the middle, Snape staring at him from across the hall. All around them the whole school was watching.
“How dare you stand where he stood? Tell them how it happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and killed him! Tell them!”
Snape drew his wand, but McGonagall immediately stepped in, pushing Harry aside. You felt a hand on your arm, pulling you further away from the duelling pair. Then McGonagall won; Snape gave up and flee through the window.
“Coward!” her voice was muffled by the loud cheers of students. “Coward!”
Then a sharp pain, worse than you had ever had struck through your head and you stumbled.
“Y/N!” Fred got ahold of you, helping you stay standing. “Are you…”
Someone screamed but it felt like it was coming from inside your head. You couldn’t bare it, you wanted it to stop, you couldn’t breathe… Then an ice-cold voice spoke, a voice that you had never heard before but it made you feel more afraid, more desperate than anything in this world.
“I know that many of you will want to fight… Some of you may even think that to fight is wise… But this is folly… Give me Harry Potter… Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”
Your hand was shaking as you brushed your hair out of your face. What were you doing? What were you doing?! Your eyes met with George’s and suddenly you were not ready… Suddenly you didn’t want this… You wanted to go back to safety, back to Muriel’s and stay there for the rest of your life.
“What are you waiting for?” Pansy Parkinson’s voice dragged you back to reality. She was pointing at Harry. “Someone grab him!”
Somehow anger took over your fear and your mouth dropped, outraged. You were not the only one; within seconds thirty or so people joined Harry, shielding him from Slytherins.
“Students out of bed!” Filch’s voice made you jump. “Students out of bed!”
“They are supposed to be out of bed you blithering idiot!” snarled McGonagall. “And Mr Filch, I would like you, please, to lead Miss Parkinson and the rest of Slytherin House from the hall. The dungeons would do.”
Cheers erupted as Filch started to lead the students. Kingsley hurried towards, giving out orders and requesting people to take positions.
“… need somebody to organise defence of the entrances of the passageways into the school.”
“Sounds like a job for us,” said Fred at once and you agreed. Kingsley approved and waved you away.
“Good. Hurry up, you heard him. We don’t have much time till midnight.”
You turned away, heading for the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall. Around you people were running up and down, pushing each other, calling for lost friends and siblings.
“I’ll take the tunnel that leads to Honeydukes,” called Fred, shouting over the huddling students.
“All right,” said George, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Take a few people with you. I”ll take the one on the sixth floor, you know behind that ugly statue that looks like…”
“Snape, yeah, by the size of his nose,” grinned Fred. George chuckled, then his face darkened and he turned to you in realization.
“Stay with me.”
Your eyes fell on his missing ear, and you remembered how you felt that night, thinking the unthinkable, fearing the impossible… Yes, you wanted to follow him, you wanted to go where he was going, you wanted to make sure that he was all right, because… because you were scared, more scared than ever before, and you couldn’t bare even the thought of loosing him…
“No,” you said finally, going against your heart’s desire. “No, I’ll go up to the fifth. I always used that one when I wanted to get down to Hogsmeade.”
“No, Y/N,” George started. You cut him off, hoping that your voice was more stern than how you actually felt.
“We need to cover a lot of ground,” you said. “They might be coming from all over the place, we can’t risk it…”
“She’s right,” said Fred, answering George’s ask for help. He looked into his brother’s eyes, his voice confident. “Come on… She’s gonna be okay.”
“I’m gonna be okay,” you said, too. George seemed to be in anguish. He looked like he was fighting for air, looking at you and Fred in turns. Then he seemed to make a decision against his better judgement.
“Fuck! Come here,” he pulled you to him, kissing you with everything he had, not letting you go for at least a minute. When he did, he nodded. “Okay. Go then.”
“Okay,” you said, too. “Okay. George, I love —”
“No!” he said sharply. “I don’t wanna hear it!”
You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. You knew he was scared to say goodbyes but you wanted to do it anyway… just in case.
“I love you,” you spoke loud and clearly. Then you let him go and turned to Fred. “And I love you, too.”
He opened his arms and hugged you, and you hugged him, too, until both of you felt that you couldn’t stretch out the moment any longer, because your time was up and all three of you needed to be somewhere else, someplace where the others could not follow.
“See you later, okay?” Fred said, giving you one last kiss on your cheek. “Now get out of here.”
You nodded, then looked behind you, where a bunch of people stood, waiting.
“Anyone who’s here to defend the entrances, choose groups!” you shouted. “I need two people.”
The Patil twins were the first ones to step forward. You indicated towards the stairs.
“All right. Let’s go!”
You left the others behind, running, with Parvati and Padma following you, your heart beating in your throat. You tried not to think about George, not to think about Fred, because right now you needed to focus, you needed to get ready to fight. You made your way through a couple of first year boys and looked at your watch. It was ten minutes until midnight.
The further you got from the Entrance Hall, the fewer people you met. Everyone was clearly spreading out in the castle, making sure that every corner was well defended. After you left the fourth floor, there was no one besides the three of you, and you could only hear muffled buzzing from the other parts of the building. You ran up on the last staircase leading to the fifth floor, and then you saw it, the old carpet under which lay the loose floorboard that led out of the castle. You stopped, wand in your hand.
“This is it,” you said, turning to the other two. Padma stepped to the window, her face nervous.
“I can see them,” she said. “Over the hill, I…”
“Let’s just cast some spells over the entrance,” you said quickly, deciding that you didn’t want to see the army outside. “Come, help me.”
You pulled aside the carpet, revealing the wooden planks amongst the stone tiles. You glanced at your watch every second, more anxious by the minute. You placed detective spells over the tunnel that would tell you immediately if someone was coming. Parvati and Padma got several tables from a nearby classroom and built a mediocre barricade from them. You stood behind it, your ears sharp, your hands shaking, your eyes fixed on the entrance in nervous anticipation.
Then there was a loud bang and lights like a thousand firework hit the shield over the castle. You didn’t need to look at your watch anymore. It was midnight.
It went on for several minutes, and with each blow you thought that that was it, the defence crumbled, you were going to get hit and killed… but the castle was holding on, and the whole school seemed to fall into silence, waiting.
But then a blow, louder and stronger than any of the previous ones made the whole castle shake, and you stumbled, grabbing the leg of a table, and the floor was shaking, and the walls were trembling and you heard people screaming from all around the castle, and you saw the last pieces of the protective dome over Hogwarts falling onto the ground. Black stripes of smoke were heading in your direction. You raised your wand, people’s distant screams still echoing in your ear, and you feared that you were going to faint and suddenly your mind was empty and you couldn’t remember a single spell to use…
“Impedimenta!” screamed Padma and the first Death Eater fell backwards and out of the window. But there was more, three, seven, fifteen were coming…
A green light hit your barricade of tables and all three of you fell onto the floor, your hands over your head, someone screaming. You heard footsteps coming, and suddenly you were awake, adrenaline pumping through you and you jumped to your feet and stunned an approaching hooded man. Parvati appeared next to you, sending a Body-Bind Curse towards another man. She missed, but the Death Eater was forced to find cover from Padma’s curse. You heard yells and a painful moan, and you used the opportunity to peak from behind the remains of your shelter.
You saw Death Eaters running down the stairs on the other side of the hallway, but there was four that remained there to fight. One of them was dragging his stunned mate on the floor, so you stunned him as well.
“Let’s make the little rats come out of the hole!” you heard one of the man roar and then you were flying backwards, hitting the ground hard and you heard a crack but did not feel pain, for there was no time to feel pain. You stood up, seeing the approaching Death Eater and screamed ‘Stupefy!’ but he blocked it, his face stuck in an evil smile. You could not see either Parvati or Padma but from the corner of your eyes you saw lights in all different colors hitting each other and you heard shouts and cries from all over the place.
“Stupefy!” you screamed again, but missed. “Impedimenta!”
You hit a column and it crumbled, burying the man under itself. Dust and smoke reached your throat, choking you on the spot, and you fell onto your knees, desperately trying to breathe. You looked up, your stomach sick and you saw fire, fire you had no idea where it came from, eating up the hallway, burning the carpit and the paintings on the wall.
“Aguamenti!”
Water burst out of your wand and somehow you managed to stand up, fresh air releasing the knot in your lungs and you looked aside and saw that half of the hallway was blown open, its walls ruined, a huge opening providing a view to the grounds outside. And you saw in the distance people running, screaming, red, purple, orange, green lights flickering; you looked around and you didn’t see either Padma or Parvati but you saw a bunch of new faces and you realized that the fight had reached you. You glanced towards the secret passageway and it was torn open, several hooded figures were climbing out of it, and you ran, as fast as you had never run before.
“Impedimenta!” you shouted and you hit a crouching woman into the face. The man following her growled and sent a green light at you that missed your head by inches.
“Come on, you little prat, dance for me!” he screeched, casting a spell that you jumped away from. “You don’t like that, do you? Crucio!”
Air got stuck in your lungs and you felt pain that could not be compared to anything you had ever experienced… and you screamed in agony, and you wished it was over, you wished everything was over and you wriggled on the floor, desperate for death, hoping that it would come because you were sure even death was better than this pain.
“NO!” you heard a cry and the pain stopped but you couldn’t move. “Are you okay?”
You felt a hand on your shoulder and looking up you saw Cho, her hair messed up, her face black from the dust. You nodded, your legs shaking as you stood up, and your hand flew over your ribs in pain, remembering that some of your bones might had been broken. Around you the scene had changed within those few minutes you spent fighting; you could barely make difference between friends and enemies in the chaos.
“Come!” said Cho, pulling you away from the entrance of the passageway, then turning around and shouting, “Reducto!”
The floor beneath you shook and you saw the passageway falling in, blown up, sealing the entrance so that no living thing could come through it again. You stood, panting, holding onto that thin stick in your hand, and you were not thinking anymore, you were only acting, and you made a run for it, squeaking with every breath you took, but fighting, sending curses at every hooded figure you saw, loosing track of time, but holding on, because there was no other way to end this than to fight.
A high pitched whisper echoed in the castle, and you grabbed your head again, wincing at the sound that felt like it was coming from inside your skull.
“You have fought valiantly but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, now I speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”
The voice stopped and you looked around; you stood facing Death Eaters by the dozen. They stood staring, some of them bleeding, some of them grimacing wickedly. Then, almost as if they were one entity, they burst into black stripes of smoke again, fleeing the castle.
The silence was deafening. After the explosions and screams everything seemed sinister, and now, that the adrenaline was leaving your body could you really focus on your fears again. You wondered…
“Help! Someone… Help me!”
You turned your head and saw a Ravenclaw boy lifting a body from the ground. You stumbled to him, stepping over fallen pieces of stones and rocks, and looked at the body, scared to recognise anyone familiar.
“Help!” pleaded the boy again, tears cleaning the dust off his face. “Please.”
You grabbed the leg of the girl he was holding and together you lifted her up. You felt numb. You didn’t want to think about the fact that the person in your hands was not a person anymore.
“We take everyone in the Great Hall,” you heard someone speak. “This way, come on.”
It seemed like hours had passed by the time the Entrance Hall finally came into sight. On your way down more and more people joined you, some carrying bodies, some limping, some holding a wound that was still bleeding. You kept looking around, forcing yourself not to cry, not to panic just yet. There were still a lot of people coming.
You reached the Great Hall and layed the body of the girl next to the wall, beside many many more. Your throat closed by the sight of the many lying on the floor, not moving, still. You took sudden gulps of air. You were panicking now.
You walked on, desperately looking, but there were so many people that you couldn’t see a thing. But then you saw a family, a family with ginger hair huddled together and you started walking as fast as your broken ribs let you.
“George!” you screeched. “George!”
He raised his head in anguish, but as he saw you he left everyone behind and ran, literally crashing against your body, sobbing, and you soothed his hair and whispered:
“It’s okay… I’m —”
You fell silent, seeing the pair of legs on the floor. You stood there, your mind not able to process what you were seeing. You let go of George, getting closer, and now you recognised the sneakers on those feet.
No. No, no, no, no, no. No.
Ginny stepped aside and your eyes fell on Fred, his face still and pale. Your mouth fell open, wether to moan or to scream you didn’t know. You felt a hand on your shoulder, had no idea who it was. You were staring at the lifeless body, and you stumbled over and fell onto your knees next to him, your sight blurry. Someone screamed, or maybe it was you, then you reached for his hand and it was cold, and a cry of agony escaped your lips as you started sobbing, shaking your head in denial, unable to speak. Pain was shattering your insides, it was torturing your soul and you wanted it to end, and you didn’t want to look at him anymore but you were still unable to turn your head away.
George came into view on the other side of him, and you had never seen his face so ugly, so deformed, in so much pain. His eyes met yours and you saw your own pain in them, the pain that was eating both of you up like a desease… you held out your other hand to him, and he grasped it desperately, and now you were holding one warm and one ice-cold hand…
You wanted to believe that it was not true. You were barely able to see from your tears. His eyes were closed, his lips curled even in his sleep, almost as if they resembled the great jokester he was. You let go of his hand but only to touch his cheek, gently, lovingly, then you leaned closer, saying your goodbyes with one last trembling kiss.
His cold skin burned your lips and you were not in control of yourself anymore. Still grasping George’s hand, you lay your head onto Fred’s chest, and you realized with great torment that his heart was not beating. You stayed there, listening to the silence, closing your eyes and crying, for God knows how long.
Hours had passed as you lay there, drowning in grief. Around you people were sobbing with loud chuckles, but you felt so far away from them; you were up in the Gryffindor common room, laughing about who knows what with the twins, so much younger, so much more innocent, and you didn’t open your eyes because laughing was reality, and blood and death wasn’t, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, because that would mean that Fred was gone.
Your eyes hurt from the salt, and you started blinking heavily. Your ribs ached with every breath, and you were sure that Madam Pomfrey could heal you within a minute; but if it meant leaving Fred behind for even a second, then you did not want to be cured. Through the windows you saw the night slowly fading away, and not long after that you heard the crowd around you buzzing.
“It’s him, he’s coming!”
“They’re back, they’re here!”
“Who is he holding?”
“Who is that?”
You raised your head, alarmed, but not quite understanding what was happening. People seemed to look out the windows, their faces in shock and fear.
“What’s happening?” asked Ginny, her voice crooked. You saw Ron and Hermione look at each other.
“It’s him, he’s here!”
With enormous effort you stood up, your nervousness stronger than your grief. Grabbing your wand you joined the crowd swarming outside the Great Hall, stopping between the ruins of the courtyard. Approaching, you saw him, for the first time in your life, You-Know-Who himself.
He was accompanied by his many Death Eaters, his snake, and Hagrid, who seemed to be…
“Who is that Hagrid’s carrying?” asked Ginny. “Neville, who is it?”
Then you heard the screeching sound.
“Harry Potter is dead!”
“No!” screamed Ginny. “NO!”
“Silence! Stupid girl!” he laughed, his servants joining in. “Harry Potter is dead!”
You felt every last drop of hope leaving your body. While You-Know-Who… Voldemort was speaking, you were zoning out, staring at the body in Hagrid’s hand. It didn’t matter anymore. You were a muggleborn. Your faith was sealed. Maybe death would stop this miserable pain…
Then Neville started limping forwards, an ugly old hat in his hand.
“It doesn’t matter Harry’s gone.”
“Stand down, Neville.”
“People die every day! Friends, family. Yeah, we lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us, in here. So’s Fred… Remus… Tonks. All of them. They didn’t die in vain. But you will! Because you’re wrong! Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us! This is not over!”
He pulled a long sword out of the hat, his face angry and determined, but your eyes fell on Harry, who jerked himself from Hagrid’s arms, stood up, very much alive and shot a blaze of fire at the snake.
It was as though the whole school came alive, and suddenly you were running, shooting spells at every hooded figure who approached you and you were in the Great Hall again, fighting like never before, with a new kind of aspiration in your heart. You remembered something from the past, McGonagall claiming that there won’t be duelling in the Great Hall while she was a teacher here… Oh, how times had changed, you thought, as you were duelling very much so.
And then he came across you, the man you loathed and feared. He growled, his pointy teeth showing in his bloodstained mouth. Fenrir Greyback licked his lips, and you saw hunger in his eyes.
“Stupefy!” you shouted and he blocked it; then it was his turn and you ducked from the green light. “Impedimenta!”
He blocked the curse again, though stumbling under its force. You got on your feet, your ribs hurting immensely. He shot curses at you and you blocked them, one after the other, though you barely had time to fight back.
“This is it, precious,” he howled. “Oh, I remember you and your friends… what d’you think, they let me have the ginger one after we finish here?”
Fresh, hot rage ignited in you, and finally you reached a point from where there was no coming back.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Your curse hit the werewolf in the middle of his chest and he fell backwards, his face stuck in surprise, hitting the floor with a thud. You spared him one last disgusted look, then joined the others, just in time to hear Mrs Weasley yell:
“Not my daughter you bitch!”
George appeared next to you, pulling you away from his mother. Bellatrix laughed but not for long; she was blown into pieces, ceased to exist.
Voldemort was raging on the other side of the hall, seeing how his most loyal servant was finished. But then there was Harry and the fight stopped, for there was no one else but Voldemort left… and the sun was shining bright now, and you were watching the pair of them, talking about wands and lies, and you didn’t understand a thing, but it didn’t matter…
And then both of them cried out their curses… he fell onto the floor… and it was over.
Loud screaming and cheering broke out in the Great Hall and you were caught up in the hundreds embracing Harry, and you turned around, your eyes meeting George’s and he was dirty, puffy eyed, one-eared, and you jumped into his arms and kissed him, because it was over, you were free, and from now on you could love whoever you wanted, you could marry whoever you wished and you could continue your life where you had left off…
When the first wave of cheer ended, you pulled George aside, joining up with the Weasleys again. They welcomed you with hugs, laughter and cries, and eventually you settled down onto the benches, not far from where Fred lay. Your mood was switching from happiness to grief, and you were tired, so tired that you wished to sleep for days. You locked eyes with Ginny, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder, and you saw that Mrs Weasley was crying again.
“Do you know…” started Mr Weasley, looking as though he was not sure he wanted to ask the question. His voice was higher than usual. “Do you know who… who was it?”
“Rookwood,” said Ron, his lips trembling. Next to him Hermione was tearing up.
“But you got him, right Perce?” said Mr Weasley, his voice shaking. Percy nodded.
“I’ve never liked him,” he said. His voice cracked. “But now it was personal.”
“D’you mean…” you said hoarsly. “D’you mean Percy-nal?”
You heard George’s tired chuckle next to you and you turned to him. One second of his gaze was enough to see how much agony he was in… and his eyes were so like his brother’s, whose eyes, you knew, would never meet yours again.
March came and you were drifting. Tiredness came all over you; it was like a heavy blanket, covering your whole body, pinning you down so that you were unable to move. You couldn’t sleep but kept your eyes closed anyway - it was easier that way. Your slow breathing was the only noise in the room, and you could still smell the untouched food that Fleur had left on the table the night before.
You were exhausted. You felt emptyness inside, a hole in your chest. Every time you breathed you felt as though air was coursing through you but did not fill the gap inside. It was a hollow feeling.
You were in pain. Your head, your eyes, your limbs, everything. Every time you were uncomfortable, it took you loads of effort to turn around in the bed. Sometimes you just lay still, your body aching. You didn’t need to favour your body. You didn’t use it for anything. All those organs inside, they kept you alive. That was it.
Yes, you were alive. But you were not living.
Even though you were tired, you couldn’t sleep. All that thinking, all that anxiety kept you up. You heard continuous buzzing from around the room, but at the same time it seemed as though the buzzing was inside your head. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to do something. Anything.
With a muffled groan, you got out of bed. Not wanting to wake up Bill or Fleur, you opened the door as quietly as you could and you made your way downstairs to the kitchen. It was still really early; the sun had not come up yet.
Darkness welcomed you as you sat down to the table with a cup of hot tea in your hands. You were drinking in silence and when you finished you took your cup to the dishwasher to clean it. That was when you heard the noise.
You jerked your head towards the window after hearing the sound of apparition. You saw people moving not far from the water, then someone disapparated. It was too dark to recognise them; you took out your wand and shouted.
“Bill! Fleur!”
They didn’t hear it. Keeping your eyes on the arriving people, you shouted again.
“BILL! FLEUR!”
Their door flung open and they rushed down the stairs, wand in their hands.
“What is it?” asked Bill. “What happened?”
“There are people here, I… I don’t know who.”
He looked through the window then immediately hurried out into the garden. You and Fleur followed.
“Stop where you are!” Bill yelled when you reached the stumbling people. The light of his wand illuminated their faces. “Who —”
“Help!” came a weak shout. The voice sounded familiar. “Help, please!”
“Dean?” you said and started walking towards the three people. You couldn’t believe your eyes. “Oh, my God, Dean!”
“Y/N?” said the boy in disbelief. “Y/N, is that you?”
He was kneeling in the sand, not far from Luna and an old, skeleton-like man who you recognised to be Ollivander. Bill got ahold of Dean and helped him stand up.
“What happened?” he asked with distress on his scarred face. Fleur helped Ollivander towards the house. “What is this?”
“Ron told us to come here,” said Luna who seemed to be fine, just a little dirty. “I hope it’s all right.”
“Ron?” echoed Bill, alarmed. “When did you —?”
“They got them,” said Dean who was shaking. “They got us, too, but an elf appeared and…”
“Got you?” you asked in a high voice. “Who?”
“Snatchers. But they took us somewhere… Malfoy was there, too.”
“Malfoy?” asked Bill and looked at you. You both knew what this meant. Death Eaters.
“Where’s Ron?” you asked, your stomach clenched. “And what about…”
You couldn’t finish, for a new group of people appeared about twenty metres from you. One of them had fiery ginger hair and looked as though he was holding someone, someone who looked like…
“Hermione,” you whispered. “Oh, my God!”
“Y/N, take Luna and Dean into the house,” said Bill and he hurried towards the newcomers.
“Come,” you said, still staring at the others. You recognised someone else, with dark hair and glasses. “What happened?”
“It’s really hard to explain,” said Luna. “They put me in that cellar a long time ago, but Dean just arrived.”
“They caught us, me for being muggleborn and Griphook for what he is. Then they found Harry, Ron and Hermione. They only decided after that to take us to the Malfoys.”
“But how did you get here?”
“A house elf appeared. He brought us here.”
You nodded, unable to say anything else. You led Luna and Dean into the house, where they stopped awkwardly, both of them looking dirty and muddy.
“Come,” indicated Fleur. “Eet eez all right.”
You barely closed the door when Bill opened it again, followed by Ron and Hermione. Your mouth opened by the sight of them.
“What the…”
“I need to go,” said Bill to Fleur. “They know Ron’s not sick. They know we lied. We need to evacuate the Burrow, now. They might be coming for them as we speak.”
You took a sudden gulp of air.
“What about the shop?” you squeeked. “What about George and Fred?”
“I’ll get them,” said Bill firmly. “Don’t worry. We might still have time.”
Then he ran out into the garden and disapparated. Your eyes met with Fleur’s. Your own nervousness reflected on her face.
“Where’s Ollivander?” you asked, just to say something.
“‘e eez upstairs. ‘e eez really weak.”
She walked over to check on Hermione who was holding on to Ron’s jacket, shivering.
“I make some tea,” you said and walked into the kitchen. Through the window you could see Harry, digging in the sand. Next to him lied a very small body.
You winced and blinked to clear your eyes. So that was it. Bill had talked about it many times, about how dangerous and unstable the whole situation was in the first place. If the Ministry knew that Ron was with Harry, in hiding, they would immediately assume that the whole Weasley family had been helping the Undesirable Number One. By having that disgusting ghoul pretending to be him, Ron had had an alibi. But now the secret was out. And everyone you loved was in danger again.
Your hands started to shake as you filled the cattle with water and put it on the stove. You kept looking out the window, hoping to see Bill return. What were the chances that he was faster than the Death Eaters? Could he get to the Burrow and to the shop as well? Was everyone all right, or was it taking Bill this long because something was wrong?
When the tea was ready, you put some cups on a tray and walked back to the living room. The first thing you saw was Ron stroking Hermone’s hair. You quickly looked away, for it had made you feel a certain kind of longing. You put the tray onto the table, offering it to Dean and Luna. On the sofa, Fleur was sitting, anxiously glancing towards the door every second.
It took thirty more minutes for Bill to return, which meant thirty more minutes of anxiety for you. When he finally opened the door again, he looked nervous, but pleased.
“They’re okay,” he said, looking at you and Ron. “All of them. I moved them to Muriel’s. They’re protected by the Fidelius charm. They can’t leave the house, but well… They’re safe now.”
“Oh,” Fleur crossed the room and hugged his husband. Bill kissed her forehead, then stepped away from her, facing you.
“I can take you there if you want to go.”
“What?” you said in disbelief. “What are you saying?”
“It’s the same thing as staying here. We’re all hiding now. So if you want, I can take you. Permanently.”
“Are you for real?” you asked, standing up. Bill let go of Fleur and nodded.
“I know how much you miss them.”
“Thank you!” you said. “Thank you! When are we —”
“Now. As soon as we can.”
You nodded and ran up to your room, realizing that you were still wearing your pajamas. You quickly changed, then waved your wand, stuffing everything into your trunk. You were ready in three minutes; then you grabbed your luggage and pulled it down the stairs with loud thumps. Bill was waiting for you in the living room.
“I’m ready,” you said with dry throat.
“Good. I’ve sent a patronus, dad says they’re waiting for you.
He kissed Fleur again, then took your trunk and led you out into the garden. In the distance, Harry was still digging.
“Ready?” said Bill as you reached the border. You turned around and looked at the house. You felt happy to leave this place, but you were sorry for never learning to appreciate its true beauty. Now that it wasn’t your prison, you could really see its natural charm.
“I’m ready,” you said, and stepped over the border.
“Let’s go, then.”
He offered you his hand and you took it. The salty air disappeared and immediately came the well-known feeling of twisting and turning. Then it was over and you smelled freshly cut grass and dew instead. You opened your eyes. You didn’t see anything but a meadow under the dark sky. The morning here was still yet to come.
“Here!” you heard a voice and turned immediately to saw Mr Weasley waving. “Quickly.”
You hurried to him and he gave you a hug that took you by surprise, but at the same time felt really nice. He took your luggage from Bill and took out a piece of paper from his pocket.
“Bill,” you said quickly. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it, Y/N. You’re family.”
He squeezed your shoulder with a kind smile, then turned around and he was gone. Mr Weasley lit his wand and pushed the parchment under your nose.
“Read it, now, quickly.”
You read the short text with the address and looked up. In front of you a huge garden appeared with a fountain and a stone path to an enormous house. Mr Weasley raised his wand, looking around, then burned the piece of paper.
“All clear. Let’s go.”
You stepped over the border, your heart beating really fast. You started walking, being more excited with each step. Then a door burst open with a huge bang and you saw a tall figure running towards you.
“Oh, my God,” you said and ran, too. You fell into his arms like never before, letting all the happiness take you, coursing through you, curing you, tending to the wounds that had been invisible… And you hugged him, kissed him, caressed him, and you laughed in relief and knowing that better times will come…
“Hey,” he said finally, pulling you as close as it was physically possible. “Hey, baby…” he peppered you with kisses from cheek to cheek, on your forehead, on your lips, on your jaw and you could tell that he knew that everything was going to be different now.
“Are you all right?” you said finally, staying so close that your noses were touching. “Is everyone…”
“Everyone’s okay,” said George, kissing you again. “Bill was fast, we all arrived within ten minutes or so. The others are inside.”
Mr Weasley walked past you with your luggage.
“Come inside, both of you. It’s better to…”
“Dear God!” he was interrupted by Mrs Weasley’s yells. She was running towards you, her face pure relief. She pulled you away from George, but hugging you just the same. “Y/N… Oh, dear, let me… come in, come inside, I’ll make you something to eat…”
“Mum, let her breathe,” said a cheeky voice from behind her. You looked and saw your second favorite person in the whole wide world. He beamed. “Well, look who —”
You cut him off, hugging him, and he fell silent, his hands on your back, his face buried into your shoulder. You missed him so much and you could tell that he missed you, too.
“How are you?” he asked after letting you go.
“So much better, now,” you said, smiling. A hand appeared on your waist, pulling you close.
“Let’s go inside,” said George.
“Yeah, Mum’s clearly dying to feed you,” said Fred.
He got a light hit from Mrs Weasley on his shoulder and he laughed. The three of you followed her into the house; on the way George intertwined his fingers with yours and stayed so close that you could barely walk normally. You smiled at him and you saw his eyes twinkling with joy. When you sat down to the huge table, he pulled his chair as close to you as possible and brought your hand into his lap.
“Y/N!” another sharp scream echoed in the kitchen as Ginny appeared, wrapping her hands around you. “It’s so good to see you, I missed you so much!”
“I missed you, too,” you said. “But… Aren’t you supposed to be at Hogwarts?”
“I didn’t go back after the Easter break,” she said, pulling out a chair for herself. “A lot of kids didn’t, actually.”
“We felt it was not safe,” said Mrs Weasley as she put a huge plate of sausages on the table. “Eat, dear, you look like you haven’t had a nice meal for weeks.”
You locked eyes with Fred opposite you then you turned away quickly.
“So what happened?” asked Ginny nervously. “Bill only told us that —”
“He didn’t tell us anything,” said Fred, annoyed, but pale. “Tell us, Y/N.”
“I don’t know much, either,” you shook your head. “Luna and Dean appeared with Ollivander. He looked really bad. Then Ron, Hermione and Harry came, too, and a goblin who seemed unconscious.”
“But were they… all right?” asked Mrs Weasley tensely. You remembered how Hermione looked and did a weird little nod.
“They were… alive.”
“Oh!” Mrs Weasley cried out, tears falling from her eyes. Mr Weasley gently stroke her hair.
“So what happens now?” you asked, looking around the table. “With the shop, with your work, with…”
“Don’t worry about that,” said George. “We can figure out a way to work from here.”
“Yeah, a little change of place didn’t stop us before, did it?” said Fred.
“I can’t go back to the Ministry now,” said Mr Weasley. “And Bill has to stay at home, too. But that’s the least of our troubles. What matters is that we’re all safe.”
Outside the sun was rising and you heard birds chirping. After eight months it was rather nice to hear something else than the ocean.
“When you’ve finished, Y/N, I’ve prepared a room for you on the second floor, dear,” said Mrs Weasley. “Would you like to…”
“No,” said George firmly. “She’s staying with me.”
You casted down your eyes, happy, but still afraid of Mrs Weasley’s reaction. However, she didn’t say anything, just nodded and pressed a motherly kiss on your hair when she took your empty plate away.
“Ready?” asked George and you stood up.
“Yeah.”
You were about to enter the hallway when an old lady appeared in the kitchen and spoke in a grumpy voice.
“Is this that muggleborn girl again?” she grimaced. “The one that put weed in her hair?”
“Yeah,” you said awkwardly. “That’s me.”
Aunt Muriel nodded, her lips forming a weird, not exactly kind smile.
“Careful with that boy while in my house, missy. I don’t want any more ginger kids running around, I’m a hundred and seven, I need my time to rest!”
You flushed. George wheezed.
“Come on, don’t pay attention to her,” he said as he put an arm around your shoulders. He led you through the hallway and stopped at a nice, wooden door. “That’s me, next to me is Fred’s,” he said, pointing at different rooms. “We’ll use that one as an office, I reckon it’ll be all right. We’ll figure it out later, but now I need to sleep.”
He seemed really tired indeed. He led you into the room and you sat down onto the edge of the bed. You looked around, not quite sure what to examine; Muriel’s old paintings, her fancy mirror, or the huge dressing table by the window. You felt so out of place. An hour ago you had been trying to sleep at Shell Cottage.
“What is it?” asked George and he sat down next to you. “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head. You didn’t know how to put your feelings into words. George frowned in concern.
“I’m okay,” you said quickly, choking up. “I just need a minute.”
He nodded and kissed your cheek.
“Do you want to lie down?”
“Yes.”
You quickly kicked off your shoes and climbed into the bed next to him. He welcomed you with open arms, kissing you deeply when your head touched the pillow. He smiled gently. His eyes shined in the color of chocolate.
“We’re together now,” he said when he saw your lips tremble. You sniffled.
“It’s been so long…”
“I know,” he said and you were shocked to see that he was blinking heavily, too. He took a few seconds, then continued. “Sleep now, okay? I can see how tired you are, love.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?” you asked. You were afraid that it was nothing but a dream, and waking up alone was the worst thing you could imagine.
“Of course,” George said, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I won’t let you out of my sight ever again.”
