Harry stayed at the Burrow for the last few weeks of summer, and before long, the tiny boy felt like the brother you never had. During his first year, you'd been so caught up with new subjects and definitely not blowing up toilets with the twins that you hadn't really gotten to know him. But as the lazy summer days drifted by and you helped him with his homework or sneaked him pieces of Felice's Fizzing Fudge from your secret stash, you truly grew to care for him.
It was during those quiet evenings that Harry began sharing snippets of his life with the Dursleys. One night, you and the twins had built a sprawling fort from Mrs. Weasley's blankets in the living room and the three of you lounged beneath the fabric canopy with Ron and Harry (Ginny was still too shy to join). Harry had been fiddling with a bright orange tassel when he casually mentioned that his birthday had been completely forgotten the week before. The offhand way he said it only made it more heartbreaking.
You shared a look with Fred and George and without a word, the three of you dashed to the kitchen. While you scrambled for ingredients, Fred grabbed brightly-coloured candles, and George found Mrs Weasley's hand-written cook book. Together, you cobbled together a lopsided but heartfelt birthday cake. It was supposed to be a nice tall one, but it came out a bit squashed. Fred laughed as he splattered on the red icing, covering you and George in buttercream. After the twins had very messily covered the whole sponge in the frosting, you tried your best to write Harry's name in gold sprinkles.
Back under the fort, you sang "Happy Birthday" in hushed whispers, trying not to wake the rest of the house. Fred set off two tiny fireworks that painted the room in soft, flickering light.
Since you had already finished all your homework in the first few days on the Summer break, any time not spent playing Quidditch in the yard was spent in Fred and George's room. There, the three of you experimented with various potions and brews, the familiar sounds of explosions and fizzing echoing through the house.
At dinner, you would sit between Fred and Ginny, stifling your laughter as Mr Weasley bombarded Harry with all sorts of questions about real muggles— the Dursleys were apparently as perfectly normal as you could get thank-you-very-much.
About a week after Harry's arrival, you shuffled into the kitchen early in the morning, your hair a tangled mess and your pajamas slightly rumpled. Ginny glanced up from her bowl of porridge, and you returned her look with a sleepy grin. The twins, unsurprisingly, were still fast asleep, snoring loud enough to shake the walls—after all, the three of you had stayed up until the early hours scribbling notes on a potion designed to produce explosions of purple smoke. You murmured a grateful thanks as Mrs. Weasley set a steaming cup of tea and a plate of toast in front of you
Ginny chatted away eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement as she rambled about her anticipation for the trip to Diagon Alley. That morning, the school letters had arrived, adding to the buzz. Just as she was mid-sentence, Harry and Ron stumbled down the stairs, looking groggy.
The moment Harry stepped into the kitchen, Ginny, who had become rather prone to knocking things over in his presence, let out a small squeak and accidentally sent her porridge bowl crashing to the floor with a loud clatter. Her face turning as red as her hair, she quickly dived under the table to retrieve it.
Harry, bless his kind heart, acted as if he hadn't noticed a thing and quietly took his seat. You couldn't help but snicker, earning a sharp whack on the leg from Ginny under the table. You retaliated with a nudge of your foot.
"Letters from school," Mr. Weasley yawned, handing identical envelopes to Harry and Ron.
Your grin widened as Fred and George shuffled in, their hair sticking up worse than usual. They grinned back and Fred dropped into the seat next to you, reaching for the letter his dad had slid across the table.
YOU ARE READING
Photograph | fred weasley x fem reader
Fanfiction"Give me your hand," Fred murmured, his familiar crooked smile playing on his lips. He slipped his fingers into yours and gently lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his chest. "Do you feel that? My heartbeat? Hit me there. Hit me where the heart...
