Hogwarts Boys: an amateur collection

Fred Weasley - Common Room

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓻𝔂𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓻 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓶

November was always the slowest month of the year, in your opinion. Fresh back to school after the Halloween half-term holiday, there was only a small matter of weeks until you got another holiday for Christmas, but the anticipation made the days drag out like nothing else. Every hour-long lesson felt like an eternity, and not even the mountains of homework you were assigned could occupy your mind. Despite the cold, wet weather and the early sunsets, the quidditch league was still in full swing, meaning your boyfriend was often out on the pitch, practicing with his team. Fred Weasley hated playing quidditch in the pouring rain, forever grumbling about how it obscured his vision and it made the wooden bats hard to grip, but you secretly loved it. There was nothing better than a pouty Fred, stomping into the common room late at night and silently demanding cuddles. 

On the third of November, at roughly eight o'clock in the evening, you had eaten your dinner, finished your homework and had snagged a comfy armchair in the Gryffindor common room to snuggle up in. Situated right next to the fireplace, you had nabbed it quickly and tried to focus on your History of Magic textbook to fill up your free time. Ginny, of course, was out practicing with the quidditch team, and Hermione was sat in a corner of the room, swapping furtive glances with Harry and Ron every few seconds. Not wanting to get involved in their drama, you pulled your patchwork blanket tighter around your body and turned the page of your book. The crackling of the flames calmed you, your heartbeat slowing into a steady rhythm as your eyes scanned the huge blocks of text resting in your lap. Crookshanks mewled at you, gazing up at you through his squashed features. It was an unofficial rule that the ginger cat owned the armchair you were currently sat in. He leapt with a surprising grace onto the headrest of the chair, kneading the squashy red velvet as he purred loudly. Enjoying his quiet company, you settled into reading about one of your favourite subjects: the various ghosts of Hogwarts and their backstories.

'You know what it is,' someone shouted from the portrait hole across the room, 'if I had known that Angelina would work us just as hard as Wood, I would have quit the Quidditch team then and there!'

'Shut your mouth!' Angelina Johnson growled, clambering through the open portrait herself. 

The various Weasley siblings entered the common room, all soaking wet. Their ginger hair looked dark brown from the rain, and was plastered to their pale faces like rats' tails. Ginny just looked bored, but Fred and George looked totally outraged. Although they'd clearly showered in the changing rooms at the quidditch pitch, and had swapped back into their clean school robes, you could see a splattering of mud coating Fred's face, covering up his freckles. 

'I'm going to chuck these in the washing baskets,' George muttered irritably, holding a set of rank quidditch uniform at arm's length. A small pool of water was collecting on the floor as they talked. Fred silently handed his own tattered uniform to his brother and then made a direct beeline for your chair. 

He said nothing; he didn't have to. You knew Fred well enough by now to tell when he was feeling grumpy, and right now was one of those occasions. Rising from the armchair, you grabbed the blanket to stop it from falling to the floor and allowed your boyfriend to take your chair in your place. He silently reached out his arms, pulling you into his lap and curling his grip around your waist. You swung your legs over the arm of the chair, settling into your favourite seat possible.