Photograph | fred weasley x fem reader

Chapter Thirteen: The Three Broomsticks

"Did they ever find out who wrote that nonsense on the walls?" You asked as you trudged through the heavy layer of snow that had settled. Today you were visiting Hogsmede, and it was early November. You were heading into the quaint little village with Fred, George, Lee, Selene, Ishani and two of the twins' Gryffindor friends, Angelina and Maria. It had been about a week since you'd seen the strange, cryptic message written on the stone walls with Mrs Norris' stiff, unmoving body beneath it. Since then, rumours had spread about who the heir was and what it would mean. 

As of right now, nothing else had occurred. Most students got bored and moved on, rhapsodised by the shimmering snow that soon fell and the promise of festivities and Christmas that it brought. 

You walked next to Fred, and he beamed at you, excited to get to Zonko's joke shop. Angelina piped up from next to Lee. 

"I heard Ron and Harry say that they thought it was Snape and that rotten Draco Malfoy. Those boys seem to think Snape is an evil mastermind."

"That's 'cause he's a git," said George. "And definitely an evil one." 

Your group burst out into laughter, muttering about your moody, brooding Potions professor. 

"I wonder how he still has his job. Do you think he's employed just to bully a bunch of children?" Ishani added. You shrugged.

"I think Dumbledore was high on Gillyweed when he interviewed him. Actually, I think Dumbledore is always high," you sighed. Fred snorted. 

"What makes you think that?" He asked, as he kicked a lump of snow at Lee. Lee screamed and grabbed Angelina, using her as a human shield. As she smacked him with her handbag, you grinned and turned to Fred. 

"The other day, I walked past him on my way to the Library. He stopped me and said: 'I've chosen a rather lovely robe today don't you think?'" You began, gesturing with your hands to paint the picture. "I said "yes, it is lovely, Sir." Then he responded with "10 points to Dumbledore" and skipped off, singing a song about sherbet lemons as he went." 

Fred chuckled loudly at your story and you beamed at him. 

You hadn't discussed the library once and you were glad. You could both put it behind you and act like nothing happened. Because nothing happened. And you were glad. Yes, very, very glad.

"He's a crackpot, that man," he laughed. 

Your group continued to chatter on, as you walked up the snow-dusted hill to Hogsmeade, the conversational topics branching from the type of underwear that Dumbledore wears (that was Lee) to studies and spells and charms. 

You gasped as the village came into view. It looked as though it had jumped right off the cover of a Muggle Christmas card; there was a large, carved stone pathway that branched out to collections of pointed-roofed buildings, each one beautifully dusted with pure, white snow and dripping with tiny flickering lights. Short evergreen plants protruded from the white-blanketed ground, creating a natural barrier around the stone walls that were covered in growing ivy. Christmas decorations in shimmering shades of red and gold hung from the eaves, and plush holly and berry wreaths hung on each wooden door. Laughter filled the chilled air, and the snowy sky created a perfect, still background. As you looked over the perfect scenery, you felt a small pang of longing for your father. You wished he could see this.

Fred leaned into you, "it's beautiful isn't it."

"Oh, it's magical. I don't think I can never get used to this, it looks so much more beautiful than last year," you exclaimed, with the joy of the wintery season and the opportunity to finally get away from the whispers about muggleborns and heirs and whatnot. You couldn't help but squeal with excitement. Fred chuckled and gently tapped you on your nose, and you looked up at him, your cheeks flushing from both the snowy chill and his light, gentle touch. As the two of you smiled at each other, you reveled in the peace of Christmas.