Photograph | fred weasley x reader

The First Night

That evening, Mrs Weasley cooked up a warm dinner of potato stew with thick homemade bread and a mixed salad; with the August sun still hanging heavy in the sky, a light glow shone through the kitchen windows, bathing the dining room a soft golden light. You sat opposite Fred, with George on your left and the youngest, Ginny on your right. The youngest brother, Ron, eyed you cautiously next to Fred.

As you tasted the first spoonfull, your mouth was met with an explosion of different herbs and sauces and an immediate warmth spread through your bones- you couldn't help but exclaim in delight.

"Oh, Mrs Weasley, this is fantastic! My dad would love this." You chewed on the soft chunks of hearty potato enthusiastically, smiling as though you could almost hear your father's approving "yum" in your head.

Molly beamed at you, her eyes twinkling, and she clasped her hands together. "I'm so glad you like it," she replied, "if only my children appreciated a good, hearty meal like you. We must have your father over for tea at some point."

"Blimey, Y/N, you haven't been here an hour and you're already Mum's favourite," Fred smirked from opposite you. He quickly scooped a bite of the stew and rubbed his belly with extreme exaggeration,

"Ooooh, Mum! My mouth has been blessed by the heavens! Tell me mother, exactly what year did Godric Gryffindor himself gift you such impeccable cooking skills!"

Laughter erupted around the table, and George nearly choked on his piece of bread as Ginny rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Oh, give it a rest," she teased, "you've been trying to win Mum over with that same act since you were six."

Mrs. Weasley swatted at Fred's arm playfully as she passed him the salad bowl. "Oh, Fred, honestly. You're lucky I don't smack you with this ladle," she said with a smirk, shaking her head.

As the sun slowly began to settle beneath the hilly horizon, a calm settled on the Burrow, and Ginny led you to her bedroom to change into your pyjamas. The ten year old eagerly grabbed your hand and almost tripped you up as she dragged you up the wooden steps.

"Ginny!" George yelled, "try not to tear her arm off would 'ya?"

You laughed as Ginny shot a glare at her brother, "oh, George, it's okay, I'll look after your only friend."

Fred grinned at you both from the sofa that he'd stretched out on, "it's alright Ginny, you can tear both of her arms off if you'd like. As long as she's still got her brain she's perfect."

To your surprise, your cheeks flushed a dark shade of raspberry at Fred's words. What was wrong with you? Just because he'd gotten a little taller, you were suddenly turning into a dewy-eyed mooncalf. As if. Fred was still the same daft boy you'd met two years ago. You shook your head as if to push away the strange feelings that had come up.

Ginny tugged you upstairs, oblivious to the quick exchange, and you tried to shake off the lingering warmth in your cheeks. This was Fred—Fred—the same boy who once charmed a talking toilet seat to scream at anyone who sat on it. And yet, here you were, flustered by his teasing.

You pushed the alien feeling down further as you walked into Ginny's little room, her eyes wide with excitement. She pointed at a cushiony mattress on the left side, covered in F/C knitted blankets and plump cushions. "That's where you'll be sleeping, I hope it's okay," the young girl said, flopping herself down onto a pink-covered mattress opposite. You smiled warmly at her.

"It's perfect, thank you, Ginny," you replied, sitting down on the soft blankets. You brushed your fingers through the fluffy fabric. "This is my favourite colour."