𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊║𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

Y/n woke up covered in blankets and her upper-body sinking into soft, cushy pillows.

There were sounds; talking, clinking of dishware, a crackling fire—and they all felt so familiar and comforting. She felt warm, and she knew she wasn't wearing what she wore yesterday; someone had changed her outfit, because she knew she hadn't been awake for a while. The smooth sound of feminine singing was coming from the kitchen, and she could bet Molly was the one playing it.

But she was awake now—she felt safe—and that's all that really mattered to her at the moment. She opened her eyes and she was automatically blinded by the sun rays coming in through the windows. Her hand flung up to cover her eyes, but she quickly remembered how sore she really was and let out a hiss.

Then her eyes focused and she quickly recognized that she was set up in the Burrow's living room on their big, burnt orange couch. There was Harry, dozing off in a mustard-yellow armchair near her, there was chattering in the kitchen with the faucet going, there was Ron's voice sounding from upstairs, and there was—Fred.

Fred's hair was messy and strands falling over his face, he was stretching his arms out wide—like he just woke up. Which he probably just did just a little while ago, judging by the way the sun glowed golden, a beautiful sunrise, and the smell of a delicious breakfast still lingering in the air. But when his eyes fell on her, he paused, then walked over fast.

Y/n didn't have much time to brace herself for him, considering his long strides, and was unprepared for his arms to wrap around her. She yelped, the abrupt pain coming fast and going away the same.

"Oh—shit, sorry!" Fred let go, and Y/n fell back into the pillows supporting her up. She bit back a pained sound, just to save Fred the guilt.

"It's alright." Y/n smiled, hoping it looked natural and not painful.

Fred looked at her for a moment, searching her face with a weird look—like sympathy or worry, whatever it was. She felt like squirming, but she knew that would be the worst decision with how sore she felt.

Then he was peeling back the layered blankets that were piled atop Y/n, and he slid in beside her. The couch was large in size, so it could fit them easily—but she was confused. This was weird—and she felt like it shouldn't be, because they were really great friends...but it was.

"I was really worried about you." She could only see the side of Fred's face when he looked his arm around her waist and pulled her in.

For some reason, she wasn't focusing on the soreness of her body, but instead that Fred was here. He was pulling her in, and he was warm. This was friendly, this was nice—but it was also really intimate, and her stomach went tight and her heart fluttered.

"I saw Harry grab you and I thought you'd be fine." He was whispering to her, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist until his hands were clasped together around her side. "I thought you would meet us at the Portkey and we'd be home and you would joke with me later, and I would laugh."

He was on his side now, and his head was resting on her shoulder near her neck. Y/n hoped that he couldn't hear her heartbeat, and she hoped this would last forever.

"You and Harry didn't show," Fred's breath was hot and flowing over her chest, "so Dad said he'd go looking with the Ministry blokes. I said I would come, too—so did George."

Y/n looked down and to the side, where all she could see was his flaming red hair and his upper body that wasn't under the covers.

"Where did Harry go?" Y/n asked him, still looking at the top of his head.

"We found Harry before you," Fred wasn't whispering anymore, but he was quiet, "and he was somewhere in the middle of the campsite—he said he saw someone cast the Dark Mark."