Photograph | fred weasley x fem reader

Chapter Twelve: Enemies of the Heir Beware

It was Halloween, the day of the feast, and you were curled up in the library with a huge stack of worn leather Arithmancy books. The winter sun had long set behind the sprawling trees of the Forbidden Forest and the shimmering white moon cast a pale, cool glow onto the grounds. Despite the late October weather, the deepened sky was completely clear of clouds, and the tiny golden stars twinkled brightly. The library was much quieter than usual, with most students in the Great Hall for dinner, enjoying warm pumpkin soups and steaming pastries.

You'd been sat at a little round desk for some time now, focusing hard on your complicated homework until the numbers got fuzzy on the page. The questions blinked back at you, the wet black ink shining softly in the dim candlelight. Sighing, you put down your quill. You leaned forward to rest your chin in your hand and your eyes drifted to the wide window next to you. 

The Forbidden Forest stretching out for miles into the distance, disappearing into the shadows of the moonlit grounds. Small puffs of smoke billowed from the chimney of Hagrid's hut and a warm, yellow glow spilled from his open windows, creating a glitter in the damp grass beneath. All was still in the deep blue darkness. It was peaceful here, and you liked it. This world from the window was yours, and you felt utterly captivated by the view.

"There you are, N/N," a familiar voice cut through the silence, light and soft. You looked up, already smiling, to see Fred standing there with a small plate stacked high with assorted sugary treats. His floppy red hair drooped over his brown eyes, his school shirt was wrinkled and his Gryffindor tie was slightly loose. "Thought you might be wasting away up here without the feast."

"Can't a girl study in peace, Weasley?" you teased, though a grin escaped as he dropped into the seat across from you, stretching his legs out under the table. "Or did you just want an excuse to steal half of the dessert table?"

He smirked, his expression nothing short of pleased. "I'd never do such a thing, N/N. Just wanted to keep my favourite person company."

Your heart did a fluttery little flip and a soft warmth enveloped you. "If by favourite person, you mean the entire plate of Cauldron Cakes, you're doing pretty well."

"Caught me," he chuckled, a spark in his eyes as he stole a sideways glance at you. It was the kind of look that made your cheeks feel warmer than they had any right to. "But aren't you glad I saved you a pumpkin pasty?"

"Oh, I'm delighted," you said dryly, reaching for one. "How very noble of you. Bet you only left enough food for everyone else because Ginny made you."

Fred feigned offence, leaning back with his hand over his heart. "Now that hurts. I'll have you know I nearly lost an arm fighting her off. George'll be up in a minute, gone for a quick snog with Moaning Myrtle I think."

You nearly choked on your pasty, quickly covering your mouth to stifle a laugh. "Oh really? I didn't peg Moaning Myrtle for the snogging type."

Fred's voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. "Where do you think she got the name?"

"Fred!" you gasped, though you couldn't help bursting into laughter, the sound echoing through the empty Library. The two of you earned a glare and a very loud "shush" from Madam Pince across the room. You quickly clamped a hand over your mouth, but Fred only grinned wider, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners.

"See, I knew you'd miss me if I left you up here to your own devices," he said, casually leaning back on his chair.

"Who says I missed you?" you retorted, trying to keep a straight face. "I was just fine before you showed up with all this noise."

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. "Right, that's why you're smiling so much."

You rolled your eyes dramatically, and dropped your gaze back down to your homework. Your cheeks burned a bright pomegranate, and you hoped that Fred ignored it just as much as you did. You sighed heavily, massaging your temples as you re-read the questions on the parchment. The complicated numbers seemed to dance around on the page, as if taunting you. You picked up your quill and gently tapped the feather against your chin, intent on rewriting your answer that you knew wasn't correct. Your brow furrowed as the numbers became clearer, and you leaned in closer to scribble your response out. For a moment, the only sound in the library was the quiet scratching of your quill. As you slowly leaned back into your chair, rereading your newest answer, Fred shifted in his seat to bring himself closer to you. Silently, he reached out his hand and brushed the wavy strand of hair behind your ear.