Photograph | fred weasley x reader

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Hogsmeade Date

After the argument with Fred, the two of you didn't speak for a few days. You ate breakfast silently beside Selene and Ishani, who often ranted about some kind of homework or book, while you avoided looking over at the Gryffindor table. You pushed your food around with your spoon, barely tasting what you were eating.

Whenever you did have to glance up, your gaze would stay fixed on George, who waved enthusiastically, or on Ginny or Hermione, who offered small, sympathetic smiles. You'd return them briefly, then drop your head again, letting your hair act as a curtain between you and the one person you didn't want to think about. It was the same at dinner. Eventually, as school resumed and you shifted seats to let Lee sit between you and Fred, those days quietly turned into weeks.

As much as you tried, you couldn't deny the butterflies that still lingered whenever you thought of Fred or accidentally caught his eye. But you ignored it. You ignored him. You silently walked through the corridors between classes, books in hand, trying to block out the sounds of his laughter. You acted as though you were distracted by your studies or by your own Quidditch practice, pretending you weren't anxiously hoping Fred would try to say something to you.

Truthfully, a few mornings after the fight, you woke up feeling lighter. The pale sun streamed through your window, streaking your duvet with soft gold. The anger had ebbed away, leaving you with a quiet sense of clarity. You'd replayed the argument endlessly, dissected every word and shared it with Selene, Ishani, Hermione, and Ginny. Each had their take, but none gave you the answer you were looking for. Your words had come out all wrong as they mixed with anger that rainy afternoon, and you really didn't want anything to get in the way of your friendship with Fred- he was your best friend, and a part of you. Maybe it wasn't ever going to be anything more than that. But that was okay, you supposed, if you really could move on. 

You weren't mad at Fred anymore, and it seemed he wasn't mad at you either. But the silence lingered, stubbornness keeping you both in its grip. Deep down, you weren't sure if it was pride or fear that kept you from speaking first. Maybe it was a little of both. 

Sometimes, you'd lie awake at night, unable to sleep, and your heart would ache with the longing for his voice or his warmth. You silently concocted new prank ideas or strange sweets they could invent, smiling to yourself as you stared at the ceiling. But as the misty winter sun rose over the stretching forest, you'd roll over with a sigh, forgetting it all.

The weeks of November slowly rolled by, and the wind grew colder. The clouds turned whiter and fuller, promising the familiar fall of thick, fluffy snow. One morning, after the ground had become dusted with shimmering snowflakes and the air had turned bitter, Oliver reached out to you.

"No, no!" Ishani cried, throwing her head into her hands at the Ravenclaw table. "I can't believe you said that to Snape," she continued, her voice high with horror. Selene snorted, wolfing down a bowl of honey-covered porridge.

"You should have seen his face, Shan. Such a shame you're too good for detention," she replied, her small blue eyes twinkling. She grinned, her pale face breaking out into a wide, pretty smile. A moment passed as Ishani shook her head disapprovingly.

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the cold wood of the table, eyes heavy as you contently read the battered pages of Jane Eyre. Your mind was lost in the familiar book, when Selene's sudden nudge broke your thoughts. You glanced up, curiosity flickering across your face, and she nodded toward the Gryffindor table. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Oliver Wood's staring at you," she said, her voice low and teasing. "I think he's trying to get your attention."

You followed her gaze, your eyes landing on Oliver just as he caught your look. He grinned widely, giving you a casual wave and a wink that made your stomach do a small flip. Selene gasped dramatically beside you, and before she could make some kind of dirty comment over him, Oliver picked up a neatly folded piece of parchment and tossed it toward you with expert precision. It landed perfectly in front of you, the edge just grazing your goblet.