Photograph | fred weasley x reader

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. The sudden warmth of him pressed against you made your heart skip a beat, catching you off guard. You tried to laugh it off, but there was something different about the way his weight felt on you, the closeness making you unexpectedly feel quite nervous. "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, chuckling, "Serves you right for using her as a cushion, you dolt."

Fred, ever dramatic, gave an exaggerated sigh. "I was simply offering the finest Weasley hospitality. No need to assault me with a boulder disguised as literature." He sat up, rubbing his arm with a smirk. You laughed and pushed him up, making space next to him on the sofa. You sat down dramatically,

"It's a new book for our Care of Magical Creatures class- Charlie recommended this one in his last letter. Did you know he's already moving onto Hungarian Horntails? It's brilliant! Anyway, I've already read 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 know not to ask if you've bothered to check what we'll be studying in Care for Creatures and Divination. At least you two aren't doing Arithmancy too so I can actually keep some of my notes to myself."

"Ugh, it's so gross that we had to pick two more classes than we already had. I swear, it's impossible. And you've chosen three!" Fred groaned theatrically, throwing his hands over his face as if the mere mention of extra classes was too much to bear.

"I don't know how you manage, N/N," George added, shaking his head in disbelief. "Three extra classes plus Quidditch practice if you try out for the team? That's 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'm sure I'll survive. It's called preparation, boys. Something you both should try sometime."

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