Photograph | fred weasley x fem reader

Chapter Seven: Third Year Begins

"Crikey, N/N, don't you sleep?" George's tired voice appeared next to you. You looked up to see him standing in his crumpled pyjamas, his ginger hair all fluffed up and unkempt. He flopped down onto the sofa next to you and yawned. You laughed as he stretched out his arms and mimicked snoring loudly. 

The sun had just begun to peek from the horizon, and the warm rays of a warm September morning crept in through the brightly-curtained windows of the Burrow's living room. That morning, you'd gotten up early to send Errol off with a letter to your father, telling him all about the Weasley's Quidditch games, and how you couldn't wait to be on that train again, despite how much you wished to see him. Once Errol had flown out the window (after smacking into it multiple times), you'd gotten dressed into a simple pair of jeans with a cosy jumper and curled up on the sofa with one of your new school books.

"It's Ron's first day of his first year and even he's not up yet," Fred added, appearing on your other side. You glanced at the giant grandfather clock in the living room before you remembered that one didn't tell the time, but going by the sun's position, you guessed it was around 5-6am.

"That's hardly surprising, Fred," you responded quietly, your focus back on your book, "it's Ron you're talking about. Unless it involves food or Quidditch, I don't think he's interested."

Fred snorted. "Oh boy, is it early. I'm absolutely knackered!" Before you could respond, Fred collapsed dramatically onto the sofa—and right into your lap. You let out a loud shriek as the weight of him nearly threw you into the air like a cannon, a warm scent of smokey fireworks enveloping you. He squished you as if you were a fly under a book and the sudden closeness of him made your cheeks flush a very bright red.

"Fred!" you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-flustered, your face turning pink as you scrambled off the seat, landing with a soft thud on the floor. Fred sat up, grinning down at you, clearly enjoying the moment.

"Comfortable down there?" he teased, his eyes twinkling. You shot him a playful glare, swatting him with your book, though you couldn't help but feel your heart race. "Ouch!" He teased, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly.

George leaned over, grinning. "Serves you right for using her as a cushion, you idiot."

Fred threw his hands up. "I was merely offering the finest Weasley hospitality. No need to assault me with a book the size of a boulder." He sat up, rubbing his arm with a smirk.

You laughed and nudged him. "Alright, move over." He made space on the sofa and you flopped down dramatically. "New book for Care of Magical Creatures. Charlie recommended it in his last letter. Did you know he's already moving on to Hungarian Horntails? It's brilliant. Anyway, I've already finished the ones for Divination and Arithmancy. I'd ask about yours, but I'm not sure you two even know what a book is. I also won't bother asking if you've checked our study list. At least you two aren't doing Arithmancy, so I can actually keep some of my notes to myself."

Fred groaned, flopping back dramatically. "Ugh, it's bad enough we had to pick two more classes than we already had. I swear, it's impossible. And you? Three?" He threw his hands over his face as if it were too much to bear.

George shook his head in mock disbelief. "I don't know how you manage, Y/N. Three extra classes and Quidditch practice if you try out? You're basically asking for a one-way ticket to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward."

You grinned. "Well, I'm not saying it's easy, but I'll survive. It's called preparation, boys. Something you both should try sometime."

Fred lowered his arms and gave you a sly look. "Preparation? Please. Sounds like you're missing out on all the fun. And anyway, who needs prep when you're already naturally brilliant?"