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 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.
