Photograph | fred weasley x reader

Summer at The Burrow

You yawned quietly as you shuffled down the orange-carpeted stairs, your hand tracing the hard wooden railing as you silently stepped down. You squeezed your tired eyes as a glint of the bright August sun broke through the thick curtains as you passed. As you made your way into the cluttered kitchen, you were careful to tiptoe as quietly as you could, trying not to make too much noise- it was still very early, and you didn't particularly want to deal with five groggy teenagers just yet. Stifling another yawn, you walked over to the speckled counters and filled up the battered kettle. 

The old thing whistled quietly as you switched it on, and you leaned your back against the counter top, folding your arms against your chest. A slight, cool breeze filtered through a slightly-cracked window and you pulled your buttoned pyjama top around you tighter, wishing you'd thrown on a jumper earlier. Impatiently waiting for the kettle to boil, you cocked your head slightly and looked over the assortment of clutter and photos that made this kitchen feel like home. A picture of Mr Weasley and Ginny waved at you, their black-and-white faces etched in joy. Another, a photo of a baby Ron held by a grinning Bill, smiled at you, their young eyes lit up. A light chuckle escaped you as your eyes fell on your favourite- the first photo you'd taken with the twins, on Platform 9 and three-quarters. The three of you stood there, baby-faced and elated, with steam and bustling families rushing by. George's arm rested on your shoulders and you waved nervously, your awful, messy hair brushing against Fred's cheek. The twins pulled silly faces over and over again to the camera. 

The whistle of the kettle suddenly grew louder and you snapped around to switch it off before it could begin to fly up in the air and sing the song that Mr Weasley had enchanted it with. You poured the steaming water into a large green mug labelled "Fred's mug, hands off," in deep brown paint. Smiling to yourself, you added a teabag and a dash of cinnamon, then slowly stirred in the creamy milk. 

The hot tea warmed your bones and you let out a contented sigh, your mind drifting to school. You'd be taking your O.W.L. exams this year, and although you were nervous, you felt a flutter of excitement. After all, this meant that it was also your final year of studying every single subject. After four full years of slimy Snape, you would finally be free of Potions and get to focus on the far more interesting classes like Care for Magical Creatures and Transfiguration. You smiled happily, utterly content in the peacefulness of the morning, your thoughts far away as you daydreamed of Hippogriffs and Bowtruckles and Nifflers. 

"Hey, that's my mug," came Fred's very tired voice from the bottom of the stairs, interrupting your peace. You couldn't help but grin brightly when you met his slightly-puffy eyes. At fifteen, Fred looked more different than ever. His jaw and cheeks were sharper and far more defined, as though his baby fat had dissolved overnight. His brows, like his shoulders, were broader now, and at a solid six feet, he towered over you. He swept a hand through his dishevelled hair, which looked a lot better these days, and smiled sleepily at you. 

He shuffled over in his light grey t-shirt and baby blue bottoms, stretching his arms before dropping into one of the rickety dining chairs. His bright red hair stuck up at odd angles, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at how, even in his messy, tired state, he still managed to look...good. He looked up at you, raising his eyebrow. A sly expression filled his face as though he could read your mind- as though he was saying, I know, I look good. He grinned.

 "You know, there are plenty of other mugs in this house. Mum has one with little gnomes on it. That's far better suited for you, my little gnome." 

You rolled your eyes and took a large sip from y̶o̶u̶r̶  Fred's mug. "Ah, well none of them say 'hands off,' but this one does. That makes it infinitely better. And I like to think I'm more of a hobgoblin."