MISCHIEF MANAGED// FRED WEASLEY X READER

014. The Disaster

Fred's Disclaimer: The author of this story does not own Harry Potter, but she knows very well that I planned the whole thing. 

It wasn't the birds that woke me up that morning, though I wished it was. 

No, in fact it was a cloud of red hair brushing against my face and fully obstructing my line of vision when I tried to open my eyes. I attempted to ignore it at first, honestly trying to convince myself it was something in my dream. 

And then I felt a crushing weight against my chest. 

"Merlin's beard, Fred!" I said sleepily, trying to push him off me. Somehow, though the bed was large enough for the two of us to have each side, he had to be directly on top of me. "Fred Weasley!" 

Fred stirred in his sleep, slightly shifting his position. I smacked his arm, trying to push him to the side. I noticed that George's bed was empty, which probably meant we were supposed to be up already. 

He still didn't move. 

I huffed with frustration, shaking him. With an enormous yawn, Fred's eyes fluttered open. He smelled vaguely of wood-smoke and peppermint, which was a strange combination but one that suited him, I guess. Not that I'd thought about it at all. 

Fred lifted his head, turning over onto the other side of the bed. Unfortunately, his leg got tangled with mine, causing me to flip over with him. 

And so, here I was in this terrible situation, with no way out of it. 

His hands were planted on my waist, stopping me from tipping over onto the floor and my legs were on either sides of his torso. 

"I didn't think you liked me that much, Potter," grinned Fred, sitting up against the headrest. My mind went blank and I completely forgot how to use words. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you planned this whole thing." 

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but nothing came out. 

"Well, well, well," George's voice came from the doorway. I sighed inwardly at the unfortunate timing. "If I had been aware of the baby-making going on in here, I wouldn't have let you two be in the same room." 

I climbed off of Fred, crossing my arms and standing on the opposite side of the room. I glared at George. "There's no baby-making going on!" 

Of course, Ron and Hermione chose that exact moment to join Fred in the doorway. 

Ron, who was munching on a piece of toast, raised his eyebrows in a half-interested way. "Who's baby-making?" 

George burst into laughter, doubling over and falling dramatically on the floor. 

Hermione hid a snort, covering her mouth with her hand. 

Mr. Weasley joined us, walking merrily into the room with his backpack fully packed. He faltered slightly at the sight of George dying on the ground, and Fred who had a very mischievous smirk plastered across his face.

"What's going on, you two?" Mr. Weasley placed his hands on his hips, frowning. "Ron, what did you say about baking?" 

Ron happily corrected him, with his mouth half full of toast. "No, I didn't say baking, I said baby-making." And with that, he left the room, taking Hermione with him. 

Mr. Weasley blinked a few times as George heaved for breath between laughs. The sound of him choking made me almost want to laugh, but I was still too angry. 

Mr. Weasley's eyebrows creased with confusion and then horror. 

"Er, we're getting ready to go," Never before had I seen Mr. Weasley leave a conversation so fast. 

I refused to make eye contact with Fred or George all through breakfast and packing our bags. 

I doubted I would ever speak to Fred again. 

I also doubted I would regain the brain cells I lost that morning. 

_

Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running toward us, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

"Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried-"

She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, I saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.

"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive. . . . Oh boys. ." 

Much to everyone's surprise, she seized the twins, hugging them in such a violent fashion that both their heads banged together. 

"Ouch, Mum, you're strangling us!" George said indignantly, pulling out of his mother's grasp. 

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred. . . George. ."

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says. . ."

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders. . . culprits not apprehended. . . lax security. . . Dark wizards running unchecked... national disgrace. . . Who wrote this? Ah. . . of course. . . Rita Skeeter."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans --"

"Do us a favor, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up."

"Fred, and—" Mr. Weasley's eyes landed on me. "Y/N—would you mind grabbing the two briefcases full of files in the living room? I'd like to look over them this afternoon." 

"I don't know if it's a good idea for them to be alone together," George said with a wink. 

Harry's eyebrows creased together and he shot me a confused glance. 

"Why not?" Asked Mrs. Weasley. 

"It's nothing," I said firmly. 

"Hmm," George said mischievously. "Because just this morning, I remember—" 

"George, would you stop teasing Y/N?" Mr. Weasley said exhaustedly. "Ron, Hermione, you two can get the briefcases if it's such a problem." 

"It's fine," Fred said stiffly. "We can get them." 

I could hear the conversation about the events of the World Cup continue on once we'd left the room. 

Fred seemed to be in some kind of stony silence. 

He handed me one of the briefcases, picking up the other. 

"I'm sorry," Fred said suddenly. 

"For what?" I asked, confused. 

"For this morning," He said, and promptly left the room. 

I didn't even have the chance to tell him that I didn't mind it.