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Chapter Text

It was still dark outside when you set out for the Weasleys’ house. Having always been an early riser, the mornings were your favourite part of the day. The air outside still smelt of dew and cold, but the first rays of sunlight began to spread colour across the nearby mountains. After glancing around your bedroom for any last-minute items you might have forgotten, you closed the door behind you and crept towards the front of your home.

Backpack in hand, you started down the pavement towards the edge of the driveway. The entire setting of the suburb was still bathed in the dark blue hue of nighttime. Bits of dirt and gravel crunched under your feet as you approached your family's parked car. Your mother offered to drop you off this morning and she was already waiting for you outside. You plopped into the front seat and stared out the window. You watched your home disappear behind you as the car drove slowly down the street.

You met Ron Weasley in your first year at Hogwarts after both being sorted into Gryffindor. Both of you took quickly to one another and became quite protective over each others’ safety, especially once Ron began to find himself in ever-increasing danger year after year. This was in no small part due to Ron’s affiliation with Harry Potter, but despite his natural aptitude for stumbling into troubling situations, you never resented Harry. You actually got along well with him and Hermione, and often tagged along with the Gryffindor trio. Nevertheless, you always felt the most relaxed when it was just you and Ron. He protected you like you were his sister and you had never found that kind of connection in another person before.

This summer, before your fifth year, Ron offered for you to spend the holiday with his family. In all your years of friendship, you had never been to Ron’s home before, much less met his family. Sure, you had seen his parents at King’s Cross and his siblings around the school grounds, but you couldn’t recall a time you had spoken to any member of the Weasley family other than Ron. You were nervous to meet them, despite Ron’s assurance that they would all love you.

The quiet scenery of the countryside proved soothing as your car bumped lightly along the dirt road leading up to Burrow. Your mother parked in front of the house and you stepped out with your things. The cool morning air chilled your skin but the slowly dawning sunrise reminded you that the day would only get hotter from there. The sky began to show signs of its signature baby blue colour as you waved goodbye and your mother drove off.

You knocked quietly on the door, unsure if any of the Weasleys would be up at this hour. You knew Ron wouldn’t be, but having never properly met the rest of his family, it seemed rude to make disrupting their sleep your first introduction. After a few moments of silence, the door swung open to reveal Mrs Weasley, dressed for the day and donning an apron.

“Oh, Y/N, dear! How wonderful to finally meet you!” Mrs Weasley said, pulling you into her open arms. You had only seen Mrs Wealsey a few times before, but she had such a warm disposition about her that the intimate welcome felt natural.

“Ron has been telling us all about you, but it is quite nice to put a name to a face,” she laughed. “Where is your trunk, dear?”

“Oh, this is everything, Mrs Weasley,” you said, referring to your backpack.

“Well, should you find that you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Mrs Weasley patted your arm gently and you could already tell that you were going to love her. 

“Well, come in, come in! Wouldn’t want you to catch cold, now,” she said, ushering you inside.

The house smelled sweetly of fresh air and baked goods. The door you had come through led straight into the joint kitchen and dining area, with a long dinner table taking up a majority of the space. Plates and utensils had already been set out, and a few platters of breakfast foods decorated the centre. The bottom floor layout was open and inviting, but the rustic winding staircase in the middle appeared to lead to more complex parts of the house. You had heard Harry talk about how magnificent the Burrow was, but you remained captivated by its unexpected charm.

A girl shuffled down the stairs in a hurry and jogged casually into the kitchen. 

“Morning, Mum,” she said, sliding quickly into her seat at the table. Once she was situated, she noticed you standing in the doorway. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?”

You smiled and gave her a polite nod.

“I’m Ginny. I’m in the year after you.”

You were pretty familiar with Ginny Weasley already, despite never speaking with her before. With how closely integrated she was in both Harry and Ron’s lives, you had become vaguely aware of the kind of person she was.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said.

“Have you eaten yet, dear?” asked Mrs Weasley. After you responded with a small shake of your head, she guided you gently towards a seat near the end of the table and turned back to the kitchen to continue preparing breakfast.

Slow, thumping footsteps descended the staircase next, and having listened to those same sluggish footsteps every morning for the past four school years, you knew immediately who it was. Still in his pyjamas, Ron stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and nonchalantly took his seat next to you. 

“Hey, Y/N,” yawned Ron. “When’d you get here?”

“Just a bit ago.” 

“I would have thought you’d be a bit more excited to see her, Ronald Weasley,” Mrs Weasley said pointedly.

“I just saw her last week! How much more excited do you want me to be?”

Ron put his head down on the table to rest a bit longer and you ruffled his hair as a sign of affection.

Less than a second later, two identical boys apparated into the seats across from you, giving both you and Mrs Weasley a fright. After being scolded for such use of magic, the boys piled their plates with food and whispered indistinctly amongst themselves. They didn’t acknowledge your presence or offer up a quick “hello”. They seemed too enthralled in whatever discussion they were having to notice an extra girl seated at the breakfast table.

“Morning Weasleys!”

A chorus of various responses greeted Mr Weasley as he entered from the kitchen door and sat down at the head of the table. He was still dressed in his work clothes and had just returned from a night shift at the Ministry. Only once completely seated did he take notice of you sitting to his right.

“And who are you?”

The twins, breaking away from their conversation, looked surprised to find you sitting across from them.

 “Y/N, sir. I’m Ron’s friend from school.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr Weasley. “The very same one we’ve heard so much about. Wonderful to have you join us.”

Mr Weasley carried the same enthusiastic and welcoming energy as his wife. He was exceptionally cheery, with the pleasant demeanour of a man who valued his family above all else. You decided that you already liked him as well.

“Did your parents drop you off this morning?” asked Mr Weasley.

“Yes, sir. My mum did.”

“That would explain the vehicle I passed outside,” he chuckled. “Your parents must be muggles then, yes?”

Hesitantly, you nodded in response. It wasn’t a big secret that you were a muggle-born witch, but coming from Hogwarts, where you were occasionally looked down upon for your magical lineage, it wasn’t a fact you openly celebrated. However, to your surprise, Mr Weasley only found the subject matter delightful.

“Incredible contraptions those muggles make. Terribly complex for me to try and sort out sometimes. Which reminds me, Molly–” Mr Weasley’s attention left the topic of your family and redirected towards a conversation with his wife.

Noticing the food begin to dwindle on the serving platters, you decided to be a good friend and filled Ron’s plate with all the breakfast foods you had known to be his favourites.

 “Wakey-wakey. Food’s here,” you chimed, poking him gently with your fork. Ron began to stir slowly, until he saw the plate before him, and quickly straightened up. With a new alertness behind his eyes, Ron hastily ate his meal.

“Well someone’s wide awake now,” you joked, elbowing him. “Where was all that excitement when you saw me, hmm?”

“You know bloody well I’d trade you for breakfast in a heartbeat,” Ron said, smirking.

The banter you shared with Ron took you away from the pressure of the situation for a moment. You forgot about keeping up appearances and enjoyed how nice it felt to be with your best friend again. This refuge was short-lived, however, because Ginny interrupted by posing a jarring question.

 “Do you two fancy each other or something?”

It caught you completely off guard. Ginny looked at you expectantly and the twins had ceased their conversation to glance between you and Ron curiously. Scrambling for a reply, you said, “Oh, no. He’s brilliant, and he’s my best friend, but no.”

Ginny smiled and retorted, “Brilliant? That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

The twins snickered at Ginny’s remark, but Ron did not find it as amusing. Ron and Ginny began to argue, leaving you with no one to talk to and nothing to do but eat.

“Hello, darling.”

You were startled by the use of such an intimate nickname and looked around to see who had spoken. Your eyes met one of the Weasley twins, though, truth be told, you were unsure which one.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly acquainted. Fred Weasley.”

“Y/N,” you said, exchanging a polite nod. You knew the twins had outgoing personalities, but it was still mildly alarming to be on the receiving end of their attention.

“And this ‘ere is George.” At the mention of his name, George looked up from his plate to smile quickly at you.

You didn’t really need the introduction; you knew plenty well who these boys were. Infamous amongst the Gryffindors, not only for their Quidditch abilities but their notoriety as troublemakers, the Weasley twins had made quite the name for themselves. Thankfully, you had never been a target for their harassment, but you suspected this was due to your closeness to Ron.

No further exchanges were offered from either of the boys and the conversations around you resumed, leaving you, once again, out of place and with nothing to say.

Ron swallowed the last of his breakfast and stood up from the table.

“I’m gonna go get changed,’” he said to you. “I’ll be right back.”

You silently begged with your eyes for him to not leave you alone, but being as dense as he was, he left without a second thought.

One by one, the remaining Weasley family members finished their meals and began to excuse themselves from the table until only you, Fred, and George remained. You searched for something to say to them, but nothing came to mind.

The three of you ate in silence, with only the occasional sounds of the utensils cutting through the quiet. A tightness in your chest grew from the awkward tension of the room. The boys didn’t seem to share the same worry you did, however. In fact, they didn’t seem to pay you any mind at all. They continued eating without saying a word, apparently not wanting to risk you listening in on their private conversation. What were they supposed to say to you anyway? You were just another one of their younger brother’s friends. No need to get personal or anything.

Fortunately, George and Fred quickly finished up their meals and dumped their plates in the sink, bounding up the stairs towards their room. You hadn’t realised just how tense you had been until your shoulders relaxed and your eyes looked up from your plate. 

Even with the entire downstairs floor vacant, you found it surprisingly lively. Various knickknacks chittered on shelves, cleaning supplies operated autonomously, and now that the sun had come out a bit more, the windows blew open to allow fresh air inside. Standing up from the table, you wandered about the house, admiring its quirks and appreciating every detail. 

Hanging on the wall, you noticed a peculiar clock with more hands on it than an average one. Upon further inspection, no mention of numbers could be found anywhere on the device, only locations: Home, School, Prison, and the like. The one that made you smile was vaguely titled “Mortal Peril”. It wasn't all that surprising to imagine the Weasley family needing such a label. Each hand on the clock had a family member’s name on it, and presently, all but Bill, Charlie, and Percy’s hands were positioned at “Home”.

Pinned to the wall, right next to the clock, was a photograph you recognized from being shown it in your third year. The complete Weasley family smiled from somewhere in Egypt, the figures in the picture moving about and talking to one another.

There were two older brothers that you did not recognize and could only guess were Bill and Charlie, followed by Percy, whom you had known from your first few years at Hogwarts. Ron and Ginny were easy enough to sort out, but when it came to the twins, you struggled. 

Trying to look for significant differences to tell them apart proved to be difficult: Same height, same eyes, same hair, same face. It made you feel guilty not knowing who was who. They had enough trouble being distinguished from one another by everyone else. The last thing you wanted to do was contribute to the confusion. It felt impersonal; like they were not individual people, but always part of a matched set. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone calling your name.

“Y/N!” Ron shouted from the bottom of the staircase. “Okay, so here’s the deal: Mum said you can either sleep with Ginny in her room or take Percy’s if you’d rather have your own space. Which do you prefer?”

“If I have the option, I’ll take Percy’s room, then.”

Ron led you up the staircase onto a landing on the second floor. Two bedroom doorways sat adjacent to one another, with Ron opening up the one on the right to reveal Percy's room. It was about what you expected for someone of Percy’s nature: a massive bookshelf took up one wall of the space, a desk occupied the opposite side, with a simple twin-sized bed in between. The room was clean and pristinely organised, which you intended to maintain for the tenure of your stay.

“I’ll let you get settled in, then,” said Ron. “You can just come up to my room whenever you’re ready. It’s the one all the way up in the attic.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You spent the remainder of the day lounging about Ron’s room, picking through his stuff, talking about school, and making plans for the summer. His room was far messier than Percy’s but had significantly more personality to it. Clothes were strewn about the floor and an unmade bed sat up against a wall. Quidditch memorabilia decorated shelves and walls, and french doors opened up to a small attached balcony.

By the time the sun had set and you were well into the night, you hadn’t moved from your spot on the floor in hours and Ron sat in the corner of his bed, flipping through a magazine. The ambient sounds of crickets and frogs floated in from the open balcony doors, and the bright light of the full moon cast moonbeams down upon your skin.

“That reminds me,” you said, rolling over to sit up. “Do you mind if I set up my scope on your balcony? Your brother’s room doesn’t have one.” 

You reached your arm deep into your backpack and resurfaced it with a telescope and tripod in tow. Hermione’s insistence on invisible extension charms proved useful after all.

“What’d you go bringin’ a whole telescope for?”

“To spy on the neighbours, Ronald,” you quipped back, sarcastically.

“You and that bloody telescope. You were up in the astronomy tower every night back in school. I’d find you out there asleep the next morning.”

Ignoring Ron’s snide remarks, you walked over to his balcony and began adjusting the telescope’s various components. “The skies are never this clear around my house this time of year and there’s a meteor shower expected this month. I should take advantage of the opportunities I am presented with.”

“You are just as bad as Hermione sometimes, you know that?” he teased.

You shot Ron a sarcastic glare as you continued tinkering with the device. After around half an hour, Ron was fast asleep and you were surrounded by textbooks, star charts, and an endless open sky. 

Being one of the few studies at Hogwarts that had a muggle subject counterpart, Astronomy had been one of your favourites from the beginning. It was a hobby you could share between the two worlds, which, being a muggle-born witch, made you feel a kindred connection with it.

Beginning to feel the effects of sleep take hold of you, you decided to grab a glass of water before heading to bed. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your footsteps as you crept down the stairs. All the lights in the house had been extinguished hours ago, which is why you were perplexed to find soft candlelight flickering against the bottom of the staircase. You quietly rounded the corner of the steps and peered into the kitchen to see who was there.

Leaning against the kitchen countertop, looking out the window in apparent thought, was one of the twins. His eyes flickered absentmindedly at the scenery outside and his lips moved almost imperceptibly, as if he were speaking to himself without knowing it. His hands supported his weight on the countertop behind him, but his index fingers tapped absentmindedly on the counter’s edges.

You had never seen either of the twins in such a neutral state before. They were nearly always animated with the same radiant energy of the sun; smiling and laughing at one thing or another. 

Your slow shuffling into the kitchen snapped him out of his trance. 

“Hey,” he said softly.

"Hi," you replied. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't think anyone would be down here." You nervously fidgeted with your hands.

"Oh, it's alright," he said. "Did you need something?"

“Just water.”

He must have realised that you would have no idea where the cups were stored because, without a second thought, he plucked one of many mismatching cups out of a cupboard and extended it towards you without saying a word. You accepted it with a quiet “thanks” and turned towards the sink to fill it up.

A soft silence fell between the two of you as you filled your cup from the tap. It was that uncomfortable lack of conversation topics that so often comes with unfamiliarity. The quiet tension you felt at breakfast lingered in the air once more, but the Weasley boy’s determination to carry the conversation steadied your heart just a bit.

“You’re in Gryffindor, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I thought I’d seen you in the common room before. George thought you were in Ravenclaw for some reason. I suspect it was the formality.”

So this one’s Fred, you noted. “Just trying to be polite. Make a good first impression, and all.”

“Aww, you shouldn’t be worried about that. We’re pretty laid back as far as families go.”

Fred continued leaning against the countertop but removed his arms from behind him to cross them over his chest.

“You play Quidditch?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was thinking of trying out for the team this year.”

“Nice. What position?”

You stopped the faucet and simply responded, “Beater.”

Fred chuckled with genuine amusement. “You? A beater? No offence, but look at these scraggly little limbs!” He reached over and squeezed your upper arm lightly. “Bloody bludger would take your whole arm off! And besides, George and I already hold those spots for Gryffindor. Now, if you’d rather go out for Hufflepuff, I’m sure they’d be more than happy to have you. Merlin knows they need the help.”

Being friends with Ron for so many years, you had developed a sibling-like response to affectionate taunting; that is to say, you taunted right back.

“I think you gravely underestimate me, Weasley,” you said, sipping your water confidently. 

“Using that name around here is gonna get real confusing real fast, darling.” 

Fred smiled and the last remaining nerves in your stomach subsided. His snarky remarks reminded you of your friendship with Ron in many aspects, and those similarities were comforting to find.

“I should be heading back to bed,” you said, moving towards the stairs. Fred gave a halfhearted attempt at a nod and you could begin to see the drowsiness settling into his eyes. You whispered a quick “goodnight” as you tiptoed up the steps towards Percy’s room.

You opened the bedroom door and a sudden ache of tiredness engulfed your body. Setting your cup down on the desk, you crawled under the covers and reflected on your first day at the Weasley residence. Although Ron was still the only person you felt comfortable being alone with, you knew, at the very least, you could hold a conversation with Fred, and that surely had to count for something. As your thoughts began to slip into incoherent nothingness, you remembered your self-assigned task of differentiating Fred and George. Struggling to keep your mind awake long enough to think, the last comprehensible thing you recalled was Fred calling you “darling” before you drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The soft coos of mourning doves awoke you from your sleep. You stirred under the sheets for a moment, contemplating leaving the comfort of the warm bed. With a heavy sigh, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet touched the cold wooden floors and you shivered.

The sun had barely started to peek over the horizon, but you decided to head down and have an early breakfast. You shuffled down the stairs of the Burrow, trying to be considerate of the other people still sleeping, but the floorboards creaked beneath you with each step. By the time you reached the kitchen, you noticed you weren’t the only one awake.

Rummaging through the kitchen cupboards was one of the Weasley twins, dressed in his Quidditch uniform and stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth. Irritated that you couldn’t tell who he was, you looked for any clues to give away his identity. That’s when you noticed the number on his Quidditch jersey.

A large golden ‘6’ was plastered across the fabric. Being a fan of your house’s Quidditch team (and seeing both Fred and George as rivals for the Beater position you hoped to take), you knew their respective numbers off the top of your head: George was five, and Fred was six. It felt like cheating being only able to tell it was Fred due to a massive number printed on his back, but it was the only information you had to work with at the time.

Still not aware that you were observing him, Fred opened the door to the house and began to head outside.

“Going somewhere?”

Fred jumped at the sound of your voice and spun around to face you. You smirked at his surprise.

“That’s twice now that I’ve snuck up on you, Weasley. I would have assumed one of the best Beaters Gryffindor has ever seen would have more spatial awareness.”

Fred stuck his tongue in his cheek and chuckled softly.

“And I would have assumed that such a polite-looking girl would have more manners than to sneak up on people in their own home.”

“When it comes to dealing with gits like you, playing nice is the last thing on my mind. Speaking of playing,” you said, eyeing up his uniform. “...a bit early for Quidditch, isn't it?”

“Just figured I’d get a head start,” he stated, shrugging and opening the back door. He went to step outside but hesitated, seemingly having an idea, before turning back to you. “Since you seemed so confident in your abilities as a Beater last night, would you care to join me?”

“Right now? You want me to play Quidditch with you?”

“That’s kinda the whole point of the invitation.”

Never one to turn down an opportunity to play Quidditch, and feeling tempted to put Fred in his place, you sighed dramatically and said, “Let me get my shoes.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The two of you marched through the overgrown grass to a small garden shed about a hundred feet away from the house. The rusty hinges of the door squeaked as it opened to reveal a pile of various Quidditch supplies all haphazardly thrown together. Fred slid a rattling trunk out from the corner of the shed to the floor where you both stood. He grabbed the two Beater’s bats and laid them across the top of it.

“Can I see your hand?” asked Fred, extending his hand out. Confused, you compiled. He turned your arm over in his hands, carefully studying it. 

“Hmm… I think Ginny’s gear might be a wee bit small on you,” he said, bending down to pick up the trunk with both arms. “See if Ron’s fits and meet me outside when you’re ready.”

Fred carried the trunk out of the shed, but turned back, shouting, “Could you grab my broom as well, while you’re at it?”

You gave him a thumbs up and he continued walking. 

You turned back to the pile of Quidditch supplies and sighed. Sifting through the mess, you could not tell whose gear was supposed to be whose. Names had been written on the inside of the arm guards, but were well beyond legible due to smudging and wear. You resigned to trying each glove and guard on and choosing the ones with the closest fit. Grabbing two brooms from the back wall, you trudged over to Fred, who had set the trunk down and appeared to be waiting for you. 

“I was thinking of putting both our Beater skills to the test,” he said, unlatching the jostling trunk, which was now struggling to stay closed. Opening it revealed the quaffle, snitch, and two bludgers still chained down to the case. “No quaffle, no snitch; just a game of volley with the bludgers. Sound good?”

“Fair enough,” you said, leaning on your broom for support. 

Fred grabbed his broom from your other hand and knelt down to the case. He picked up one of the Beater’s bats and extended it towards you. You took it from his hand, and with one last look up at you, he asked, “Ready?” You nodded and mounted your broom before Fred released each bludger. They took off into the sky, giving Fred just enough time to stand and mount his broom before they began their trajectory back towards you both.

The two bludgers slammed into the earth where you and Fred once stood, you both now soaring away into the air. You positioned yourself a fair distance away from one another and hovered patiently. The grip on your bat tightened and a glimmer of excitement flashed across your eyes. One of the bludgers rose from the ground and hurled towards you. You swung the bat violently and made contact with the bludger. The piercing crack of the bat and bludger colliding filled you with adrenaline and you smiled as it sailed towards Fred. He managed to lob it back in your direction but failed to notice the second bludger approaching from his side. The large object knocked into the front end of his broom, sending him into a dizzying spiral. Fred held his head with his hand until the disorientating feeling subsided.

“Feelin’ a bit queasy, Weasley?” you taunted.

“Only from looking at your ugly mug!” he shouted back, grinning.

The game carried on for several minutes, which was mostly a violent frenzy of dodging bludgers and returning them to their sender. You and Fred were having a blast, cackling when one of you would get hit and making snide remarks at one another. At one point, you rolled to avoid an incoming bludger and Fred whistled approvingly. As the game went on, you and Fred began to wear out more and more. Both of you were wiping sweat off of your foreheads and your chests heaved from the exercise. Your arm ached from swinging the bat around and taking the full force of the bludgers repeatedly. 

Fred sent another bludger your way, but your arm gave out with that final swing. The bludger knocked the bat out of your hand, tearing your glove off in the process. You watched as both objects fell to the earth beneath you. You were only hovering around ten feet off the ground, but the fall seemed a lot farther from the air. You looked up again at the sound of Fred calling your name just in time to see the second bludger flying straight at you. Without anything to defend yourself and no time to react, the bludger slammed into your stomach, knocking you off your broom and sending you hurtling towards the ground.

Instinctively, you placed your arms out in front of you to brace for the impact, but they did little to slow your momentum once you hit the ground. You rolled across the dirt until you came to a stop, crumpled in a heap. Stinging pain crept into your hand, but you didn’t dare move yet. Fred quickly landed behind you and rushed over to your side.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you grunted, pushing yourself up into a seated position. “I can still stand.”

Fred turned around to see one of the bludgers coming back towards the two of you.

“Stay put,” he said and ran off to draw the bludgers away from you.

You weakly stood up while clutching your hand to your chest. Your stomach still ached from the blow, but nothing felt broken. You wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in your stomach. You started to trudge back to the house, and once he had the bludgers back in their cases, Fred jogged up to your side.

“Do you need any help?” he offered, holding your back and arm gently.

“I can manage, thanks,” you said, appreciatively.

Fred retracted his arms from you and scratched the back of his head nervously. “I’m really sorry about that. I feel like shit.”

“You look like it too.” You bumped Fred’s shoulder lightly with yours. He looked at you but didn’t smile. “Don’t worry, I have played Quidditch before. I’ve taken worse hits.”

You reached the back door of the Burrow and were led into the kitchen. You took a seat at the table and finally pulled your hand away from your chest.

The palm of your hand was torn up. Bits of rock stuck to the scrapes and dots of blood seeped through the thin, hatched cuts. Fred inhaled sharply through his teeth and turned to grab first-aid supplies from a nearby cupboard. He returned with a rag he had wet in the sink and knelt at your feet. He dabbed the rag onto the cut and it stung in sharp bursts. You winced at the pain.

“Sorry,” cringed Fred. “I really am trying to be gentle.”

After a few more careful pats, the pain was more manageable. Fred continued to clean the cut diligently, smearing small streaks of blood across your palm and picking out bits of rock occasionally. The silence of the kitchen was deafening compared to the laughter and shouting you both had been doing mere minutes ago. 

Seemingly unaware of your gaze, Fred absentmindedly mouthed silent words to himself, just as he had done the night before. You used your unoccupied hand to flick him on the forehead and he let out a soft, “Ow!”. He looked up in shock, having been abruptly interrupted by your gesture.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Thinking too much.”

“Where’d you get that idea from?”

“I can just tell.”

He shook his head dismissively as he resumed his cleaning. After a few more pats to your cut, he paused his movements. With the rag hovering over your palm, he glanced up at you quickly before darting his eyes back to your hand.

“Y'know, you remind me a lot of Ginny when you play,” he said.

“How’s that?”

He paused before looking up at you and saying, “You’re a lot tougher than you look.”

Something flickered inside your chest at his words. You hadn’t expected Fred of all people to compliment you so genuinely, but his words of admiration were not unappreciated.

“Are those my guards?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

You and Fred turned to see George, still in his pyjamas, standing at the edge of the kitchen. You looked down at the Quidditch gear still on your body and realised that you must have grabbed George’s guards without knowing. George walked over to the two of you and a pained expression appeared on his face when he saw your hand.

"Here, I can patch that up, real quick," offered George, taking his wand out from his pocket.

"No, really, I'll be fine—" you started to say, but were cut off by Fred.

"Just go get Mum. She'll make sure it's done right."

"Guys, I'm fine. Really."

George walked briskly out of the kitchen and you sighed, frustrated at being ignored. George reappeared a moment later with Mrs Weasley following behind in a worried hurry. Fred stepped out of the way and Mrs Weasley carefully took your hand.

“Y/N, are you alright, dear?” she asked.

“I’m okay, Mrs Weasley. Just a little scrape.”

Ron and Ginny, clearly having just woken up, appeared behind George, both looking confused at what happened.

Mrs Weasley removed her wand from her dress pouch and prepared to make quick work of healing your hand. "Just hold still, dear."

“Actually,” you interjected, causing Mrs Weasley to stop her motions. “I’d rather just bandage up my hand if that’s okay.”

Mrs Weasely looked confused at your request. The Weasely children looked just as surprised.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded in response.

“Of course, then,” she said, sweetly. “Ginny?”

“On it,” said Ginny, rushing over to the medicine cabinet and returning with an antiseptic and a bandage in hand.

Mrs Weasley cleaned and dressed your wound expertly. The Weasley children only looked on from afar, with Fred seeming the most stressed of the group. Once your hand was completely bandaged, you asked to be excused from the room. You walked past everyone and hurried up to Percy’s room before anyone could say a word. You could hear the distant shouts of Mrs Weasley through the bedroom walls, and you knew Fred was getting scolded. 

You kept to yourself for the rest of the day. Mrs Weasley brought you meals and Ron tried to check on you intermittently, but you stayed inside Percy’s room and politely asked to be alone. You spent the day laying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, and picking at your bandage out of habit. Your mind was racing from one thought to the next and you could only worry about how Fred was doing.

As the day crawled into nightfall, you decided to head up to Ron’s room to stargaze. You turned the doorknob to Percy’s room quietly and stepped out into the hallway connecting your bedroom to the staircase. At the same time, the door adjacent to your room also opened, and a tall ginger stepped out. He looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see him. Now in his pyjama pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head and averted your eye contact.

“Hey,” he muttered.

“Hi.”

Fred, you thought. It wasn’t hard to figure him out this time. The guilty look on his face said it all.

“Look, I really am sorry about today.”

The veil of shame that hung over Fred was one you were not accustomed to seeing. Usually, both of the twins carried such proud expressions. It was odd to see Fred so uncomfortable and it upset you that he was still feeling this way.

“Hey. No worries, Weasley,” you said, punching his arm playfully. “I don’t hold grudges for stuff like that. And like you said, I’m tougher than I look.”

Fred seemed to find a bit of comfort in your reassurance, and for the first time since that morning, he smiled slightly. You patted his back sportingly and started to make your way to Ron's room.

“You still owe me a rematch, by the way,” you said, stopping on the stairs. “I would have kicked your arse otherwise.”

A small semblance of a laugh escaped his chest and he shook his head. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

You smiled encouragingly at Fred and continued up the staircase, a light flutter lingering in your chest after having seen him smile again. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You had been glancing back and forth between your telescope and your star charts for several minutes looking for a constellation, but despite your best efforts, you couldn’t see it. Exasperated, you huffed and sat back against the doorframe of the balcony. The stars were much brighter away from the glow of the city and the moon lit up the entire landscape, allowing you to see everything without the need for a light source. You started to pack up your papers and books, resigned to the fact that now would be a good time to go to bed, but the sound of a door closing underneath you made you pause.

You leaned over the balcony railing to see who was below. A figure emerged from the back door of the Burrow and began to trudge across the field towards a wooded area at the edge of the property. Whoever it was, they seemed to be carrying a box of some kind.

You looked behind you to see Ron asleep in his bed and knew the figure was too masculine to be Ginny. It had to be one of the twins, but the distance made it impossible to tell who. 

Curiosity got the better of you and you headed downstairs to chase after him. Just before reaching the front door, you had the idea to check the Weasleys’ clock to know for certain who it was. Fred’s hand was still positioned at “Home”, but George’s had been moved to read “Travelling.”

George, you thought and ran out the door. 

George had already covered considerable ground in the time it took you to catch up to him. You jogged briskly through the tall grass, feeling the small stings of grass cuts across your legs. Once you were within several feet of George, you called out to him.

“Oi! Where are you going, Weasley?” you huffed, out of breath.

George flipped around quickly. “Y/N? What are you doing out here?”

“I asked you first.”

George shifted the box in his hands. “Had an invention to test out. I didn’t want to wake anyone else up, so I figured I’d work away from the house.”

“Why couldn’t that have waited till morning?”

George shrugged and replied, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, why isn’t Fred with you? Don’t you both normally work on these kinds of shenanigans together?”

“He didn’t seem up for it after today. Figured it was best to let him have some time alone. He’s been feelin’ real guilty about the whole thing.”

You looked down at the ground and shuffled your feet in the dirt. George seemingly sensed your sadness and said, “Since you came all the way out here, you’re welcome to tag along if you’d like.”

You looked up and met George’s eyes. He gestured with his head towards the forest and turned to continue walking. You followed next to him in close strides.

“How’s your hand doing?”

“Better, thanks,” you said. “Sorry about using your gear without asking, by the way.”

“Nah, don’t worry. You would have probably been worse off without it.”

Neither of you spoke for a minute and just strolled across the grassy landscape. George broke the silence first.

“Hey, I know we’re not friends or anything, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but why didn’t you let Mum heal your hand?”

You said nothing and kicked a rock absentmindedly while weighing the consequences of sharing your thoughts with George. It made you weary that you didn’t know him, but perhaps that was the same reason you decided he was the best person to tell.

“When I got my first Hogwarts letter and found out I could do magic, I took so much of it for granted. I used it for everything. Being a kid who grew up in a muggle childhood, I was just so excited that I wanted to use it every chance I got. I mean, of course I did, it's bloody magic!" you laughed.

“Then, during winter holiday in my second year, I took a nasty fall on some ice and split my lip open. My parents are muggles and I wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school, so, for the first time in two years, I couldn’t use magic to solve a problem. It's like I had forgotten how to get by without it. I needed three stitches afterwards and I still have the scar from it.” You pointed to a faint line on the bottom of your lip. “I believe magic is a wonderful tool, but I never want to become dependent on it again. My hand will heal just fine on its own. I don’t see a reason to involve magic if it’s not necessary.”

George continued walking, absorbing everything you were saying. He contemplated his response for a moment and said, “I can understand your hesitance to rely on magic, but we didn’t offer to heal your hand because it’s the only way we know how to get by. Believe me, there were plenty of injuries us kids had growing up that we kept from Mum and had to heal the old-fashioned way.”

He smiled and you laughed quietly.

“We wanted to heal your hand because we didn’t like seeing you in pain. Simple as that.”

George continued walking, but you stopped in your tracks. You hadn’t considered how someone like Ron, your best friend, or Mrs Weasley, a mother, or even Fred, the one arguably responsible for the injury, felt seeing you hurt and knowing they could do something about it, but not being allowed to. As much as you hated to admit it, George had a point.

“George,” you called gently. He stopped walking and turned around. “I think I will take you up on your offer. To heal my hand.”

George perked up at your response. “Yeah?” He set his box of supplies down, grabbed his wand from his pocket, and held out his free hand.

“Are you absolutely positive you can heal it properly, though?” you asked.

“I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to trust me on that.”

“Ah, trusting another one of the Weasley boys; truly, my worst fear.”

You and George giggled before you extended your arm towards him. George held your hand gently and carefully peeled back the bandages. Ruby-coloured scabs had formed over the scrape, but it was still sensitive to touch.

“Episkey,” he said, flicking his wand. The wound slowly healed over with a new layer of skin and the spikes of pain dissipated into nothing.

“Thanks,” you said, retracting your hand into your pocket.

“Sure,” he said, tucking his wand away and picking up his box again. “You never answered my question about what you were doing out here.”

“I was just out on Ron’s balcony when I saw you. Figured I’d see what trouble you were getting up to.”

“Now why would you be up there at this hour?” George said, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

You sighed sarcastically and rolled your eyes. He really is as bad as his brothers, huh? 

“For your information, Weasley, I was looking at the stars.”

“I seem to recall you calling me by my first name a few minutes ago, Y/N.”

“That privilege has since been revoked.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard those words,” George laughed.

To your surprise, talking with George came quite naturally. For how quiet he’d been since you arrived, you never would have expected him to be so much fun to hang out with. It was a different kind of fun than what you shared with Ron or Fred; it was a softer, more gentle sort of banter that was normally replaced with witty quips at the other person’s expense. Not that you didn’t enjoy playful teasing, but this was a new kind of bonding for you, and you very much enjoyed it.

“So,” he said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Any particular interest in the stars or just scrapped for something to do?”

“Oh, I love astronomy. It's probably my favourite hobby if I’m being honest.”

“Better than Quidditch?”

“Far better than Quidditch.”

“And yet you still have the audacity to go after my spot on the team,” said George, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

“And you still have the audacity to be such an ass!” you said, shoving him lightly and laughing. George smiled at you and a comfortable silence, drastically disconnected from the silence you first shared at the breakfast table, filled the vacant space between you.

“Y’know,” you started, unsure if your next words were overstepping a line. “I don’t know if you care all that much for astronomy, but you’re always welcome to join me if you’d like. I’m gonna be out there every night.”

George took a moment to consider your offer and you worried your invitation might have made him uncomfortable; but sure enough, he replied, “Stargazing? That’s a pretty romantic activity, isn’t it, Y/N?”

You became embarrassed by his insinuation and stuffed your hands aggressively into your pockets. George laughed at your response, which only further agitated you.

“Look, if you’re going to be weird about it, you don’t have to show up,” you huffed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said through chuckles. “It actually sounds nice.”

You glared at George, unsure of how serious he was being. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” you said.

“It’s a date,” said George with a wink.

“Piss off, Weasley,” you said, deflecting the embarrassment you felt about his choice of words. You marched back towards the Burrow and George carried on, laughing, towards the woods.

Between the physical injuries and unrelenting provocation, these Weasley boys were going to be the death of you.

Chapter Text

The only sound in the twins’ shared bedroom was a soft clicking coming from George’s desk. He was trying to work out the kinks on a new invention but was struggling to get the countdown to ignite. Normally George was the more skilled of the two when it came to engineering, but Fred’s unconventional ideas were often the last missing piece to the puzzle. The only problem was Fred was nowhere to be seen.

Soft footsteps approached the door and George stopped working to listen. They didn’t sound familiar to him, but once he heard the door to Percy’s room open and close, he knew it was you going to bed. George shrugged and faced his desk again. He had only briefly met you at the breakfast table that morning. Why you were out of your room at such a late hour was none of his business.

Soon after, heavier footsteps drew closer and George knew precisely who it was. Fred opened the door to their bedroom and smirked as it softly closed behind him.

“What took you so long?” asked George. “I thought you were just running downstairs for a bit.”

“I ran into Y/N.”

“Ickle Ronnie’s girlfriend?” Fred nodded and flopped onto his bed. “How’d that go?”

“Fine, actually. She’s got a bit more of a mouth on her than I expected.”

George raised his eyebrow suggestively. “Is that what kept you, now?”

“Oh, not like that!” laughed Fred, tossing a pillow at George's back. “We just got to talking, is all. She seemed so quiet this morning, I didn’t know if she could.”

George hummed in response but focused his attention back on his desk. He rifled through an array of drawers and shelves, searching for various pieces, while Fred observed quietly from a distance.

“She wants to be a Beater,” Fred eventually said.

“Oh yeah? That’s kinda cool. You don’t see many girls interested in that position.”

“Yeah,” breathed Fred. “She seems really cool.”

“Y’know, if you keep rambling on about her, I'm gonna start to think you fancy her or something.”

“Sod off, mate.”

“I’m just saying, I reckon you’d have a pretty good chance with her if you did.”

Fred paused, perplexed at his brother’s insinuation. “How’s that?”

“C’mon, girls always flock to you. Angelina—”

“That was one girl. I’d hardly call that flocking.”

George resumed tinkering and Fred took notice of George’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Maybe you should try talking to her,” Fred suggested.

“What?” chortled George. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I dunno. I just get the feeling that you two might get along.”

“I can make friends on my own, Freddie.”

Fred was no Legilimen, but he knew his brother well enough to know when something was bothering him. Despite the apparent banter to his words, he knew George was forcing it.

“I think you’d do well to get to know her, Georgie. Good practice, if nothing else.”

“Practice for what?” laughed George, wearily. “I’ve got no interest in that sort of thing.”

“I think you’re just saying that because you’re scared.”

All of George’s movements ceased and Fred knew he had struck a nerve.

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but it might be nice to have someone close to you besides me. If nothing else, Y/N could be someone to practise with. Just for the summer.”

“No, honestly— honestly, I’m good,” stuttered George, shrugging and fidgeting with his fingers. “I just don’t think that sort of girl exists for me.”

“And what'll you do if she does exist?” asked Fred. “A girl who says she loves you?”

“That’s an easy question.”

George turned to face his brother, smiling sadly.

“I’ll ask her if she's bloody mad.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The sound of popping fireworks outside your room made you bolt upright. When you opened your door and stepped out into the hallway, you immediately bumped into one of the twins who was running out of their room. He let out a small “oof” as your bodies collided, but he quickly grabbed onto your arms to ensure you didn’t fall.

“Sorry, love!” he chuckled as he moved you aside and continued running downstairs. A small hint of heat rushed to your ears at the term. You had only been called that by your family or elderly people at the supermarket; never by a boy your age. You didn’t ruminate on your thoughts for long, however, because the second twin jogged past you not a moment later.

“Morning, Y/N!” he said, chasing after his brother. Only awake for one minute and your day was already in chaos. 

The faint shouting of Mrs Weasley’s scolding carried up the stairs, increasing in volume with each step you took down. Only once you were at the bottom could you actually make out her words.

“—inside the house, no less! I’ve told you both, time and time again!”

The twins were standing in the kitchen with Mrs Weasley reprimanding them. Mr Weasley, Ron, and Ginny sat at the table, eating and paying no mind to the situation. This must have been a common occurrence if they were as unbothered as they seemed. As you quietly shuffled into the kitchen and took your seat, Ron slid a full plate of food in front of you.

“You’re up late this morning,” he said.

“Yeah,” you began, laughing awkwardly. “I got caught up stargazing and lost track of time.”

While not a total lie, you quickly took a bite of your breakfast to prevent Ron from interrogating any further. Mrs Weasley, who had finally ceased lecturing, clicked her tongue and gestured for the boys to go, which they obliged by jogging to their seats.

“So much for testing it away from the house, huh?” you teased as they passed.

One of the boys ruffled your hair and smiled as he took his seat across from Ron. Okay, that has to be George, you thought.

“Since when did you two get all cosy?” asked Ron, slightly weary of the way you both were behaving.

“Since last night. She’s quite handsy, this one,” stated George, taking a drink of his orange juice to hide his smile. Any colour in your or Ron’s faces must have drained because you could see Fred struggling to contain his laughter as well.

“Wh— George!” you stammered out.

Your flustered reaction sent the twins over the edge. Fred and George burst out laughing and you scrambled to string an explanation together for Ron. George spoke before you got the chance to, however.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, still heaving from his laughter. “I just had to mess with him.”

You glared at George and muttered, “Piss off.” You took a bite of your breakfast to tear your mind away from the embarrassment.

“Soooo, Y/N,” asked Fred, with a small bit of food still in his mouth. “If your hand isn’t a bother, would you be up for practising again today?”

“None of you will be practising anything this morning,” said Mrs Weasley, appearing behind your seat to overlook her family. “You all have chores.”

A chorus of groans sounded across the table and several heads were thrown back in annoyance.

“Fred and George, I want you two to clean the floors. Top to bottom; the whole house. Ron, you’re de-gnoming the garden.” A small curse was uttered under Ron’s breath. “Ginny, you have laundry.”

“We call Y/N!” shouted Fred, raising his hand.

“Hang on! She’s my friend!” argued Ron.

“Y/N is our guest,” huffed Mrs Weasley. “She is not required to assist any of you unless she pleases.”

All eyes turned to see your reaction, anticipating your reply. You softly spoke up and, as a surprise to everyone at the table, said, “I’d like to help Ginny if that’s alright.”

The Weasleys all had some form of bewilderment on their faces. Out of all the children at the table, Ginny was the one you now shared the least amount of history with. Why you decided to partner up with her of all people was anybody’s guess.

“Well, that’s quite alright,” said Mrs Weasley, clasping her hands together. The boys all stared at you astoundedly. “Now hurry up and get dressed, all of you. The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be done.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“Would you like some help with that?” you offered. Ginny was balling up various garments and sheets into two baskets, and with all the laundry of seven people in a singular household, you felt it unreasonable to make her carry them outside by herself. 

“Please,” she said appreciatively. 

The air of conversation was thick around the two of you and you wondered if all your Weasley introductions were doomed to be this painfully awkward. 

You stooped down and grabbed one of the baskets, placing it on your hip as the two of you marched out the back door towards a clothesline hanging in the yard. As you climbed down the stone steps, you spotted Ron. Already shovelling through the garden boxes, his freckled cheeks were beginning to tint a red hue from the midday sun. You gave a quick whistle and gestured with your head for him to come over.

“Could I have a moment to speak with your brother?” you asked Ginny.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied softly. She gave a quick look between you two and continued towards the clothesline.

Ron made his way over to you, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “I don’t blame you for not wanting gnome duty,” he said, sighing heavily. “Bloody menaces, I tell you.”

You chuckled quietly and Ron smiled.

“Look,” you started. “I just wanted to apologise.”

Ron furrowed his brow. “What for?”

“For the past few days. I’ve hardly spent any time with you and there is no excuse for that. I’m here to be with my best friend, after all.” A small smile returned to Ron’s face. “So, I had an idea: How about you and I make dinner tonight?”

Your proposal sparked Ron’s interest immediately. “That,” he emphasised. “sounds absolutely brilliant.”

“Are all my past transgressions forgiven now?”

“Hey, as long as you didn’t actually snog George, you’re forgiven in my book,” said Ron, raising his hands and heading back towards the garden.

“So, you're saying all your other brothers are fair game, then?” you called.

“Don’t push it!” he shouted, still walking away.

You chuckled softly to yourself and carried on towards the clothesline. Ginny had already started to hang up some of the laundry in her basket. You set yours down and began to do the same.

Socks, shirts, sheets, and trousers slowly began to decorate the line. You could tell which ones belonged to Fred and George because despite their best efforts to distinguish their clothing now that they were older, they always somehow managed to match: Same shirt, different colours. For a while, neither you nor Ginny spoke. You didn’t think she would say anything at all, until…

“Hey.”

You peeked around the sheet you had just strung up.

“I wanted to say thank you for offering to help me with this,” Ginny said. “Though, I’m not entirely sure why you did, to be honest.”

“Well,” you began. “I wanted to get to know you better. It seems like I’ve properly met all your brothers by now, and it only seemed right to meet you as well.”

Ginny smiled but quickly dropped her gaze back to the clothes. “Well, you haven’t met all my brothers, but I’m sure if you plan on being a regular at our house now, you will eventually. They’re just as bad as the rest, I assure you.”

“Just out of curiosity, if your mother is so good at household magic, why does she bother giving you all chores?”

“Teach us responsibility, I think. The boys would get into far more trouble if she didn’t keep them occupied.”

You hummed understandingly and continued draping damp shirts down the clothesline.

“Your hand seems better,” Ginny said, eyeing up your lack of bandages.

“Yeah, your brother patched me up last night.”

“As he should have. Serves him right for hurting you.”

You made no effort to correct her misunderstanding. Another lie by omission, you thought.

“Why were you two pitching bludgers anyways?” Ginny asked.

“I’m trying out for the Beater position this year and Fred offered to practise with me.”

“Oh,” she said curiously, adjusting a shirt hanging in front of her. “Well, for what it’s worth, I really hope you take one of their spots. Just to drive them mad.” A glimmer of mischief danced in Ginny’s eyes and you swore you’d seen that exact look from each of her brothers at some point or another.

“They never let me practise with them growing up,” she continued. “And you might be just the person to knock them down a peg.”

“Why me specifically?” you chuckled.

“I heard Fred talking about you with George the night before last. He seems to think you’re good enough to compete.”

You stopped moving, dumbfounded by what Ginny had said.

“He hadn’t even seen me play before yesterday. Why would he say something like that?”

“Beats me. I’m just telling you what I heard.”

You stared at the ground, your eyes blinking in rapid thought. “Did he say anything else?”

Ginny hesitated for a fraction of a second, but firmly replied, “Nothing important.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“Come on, quit being stubborn and try it!”

You held a spoon up to Ron’s face, but he was insisting on being difficult.

“Y’know, you’re not as good a cook as you like to believe.”

You and Ron loved cooking together. You discovered your shared hobby while living in the Gryffindor dormitories. You enjoyed the mundane and domestic process of making food from scratch, while Ron enjoyed trying new recipes and tasting the results. Despite the process being far more chaotic when the two of you worked together, it was no doubt your favourite activity to bond over. Tonight, you decided to make pancakes in the spirit of having breakfast for dinner. It was a meal you often made after finals as a sort of celebration. You had introduced Ron to pancakes during your first year and had made it a tradition ever since.

After more of your pestering, Ron finally relinquished and tasted the batter. He contemplated his response before saying, “Okay, that’s much better than last time.”

“Last time?" you emphasized, flicking flour at Ron. "If I recall, it was your fault I poured too much sugar.”

“You should have watched where you were walking,” he taunted.

“You shouldn’t have been trying to trip me!”

The kitchen was full of delicious smells and warm laughter. The soft glow of the lights and the cosy environment of the small space enveloped you in a feeling of gentle peace. The Burrow was beginning to feel like your home now, and maybe in some way, it was starting to truly become it.

“I’ve missed this, you know,” said Ron, slowly pouring the pancake mix into a frying pan. “Ever since you started taking advanced astronomy classes last year, I hardly ever saw you in the evenings… It’s just nice to cook with you again, is what I’m getting at.”

Your heart warmed with happiness at Ron’s words. “I’ve missed this too. With all the trouble someone had been getting into these last couple of years, I’ve hardly been able to see my best friend outside of class.”

“Hey! A majority of all that stuff was Harry’s fault, alright?” You and Ron chuckled softly. “It was nice of you to help Ginny today. She seemed happier after spending time with you. Fred and George too, actually. I think you just have that kind of effect on people.”

“What are you two lovebirds making?”

You and Ron turned around to see Fred, George, and Ginny entering the kitchen. The twins quickly slung their arms over your shoulders and peered into the frying pan.

“Lookin' good, love,” said one of them.

“Oh, and the food does too,” said the other with a wink.

You grunted and shrugged both of them off of you. “I could let you both starve, y’know.”

“She sounds like mum when she says that,” said one twin to the other.

Ginny and the twins sat down while Ron set silverware and dishes out. Mr and Mrs Weasley entered soon after.

“Y/N dear, this is absolutely wonderful,” said Mrs Weasley, squeezing your shoulders with affection.

“How delightful to try a muggle delicacy,” said Mr Weasely, taking his seat.

You began serving each member of the family while they excitedly waited to try your food. Once everyone had been served, you and Ron finally sat down and joined them. You waited anxiously for their reactions, and slowly you began to see them. Fred raised his eyebrows in delighted surprise, while Ginny praised your cooking as immensely better than Ron’s.

“I helped make it!” he defended.

The family’s chatter slowly began to grow at the table and the delicious meal was enhanced by the delightful company.

“Hey, Y/N,” asked George. “Got any embarrassing stories about Ron we should know about?”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve got plenty.”

“You better watch what you say 'cause I have dirt on you as well,” replied Ron.

“Now, that sounds more interesting,” said Fred, leaning in.

“Don’t even try it, Ronald Weasley.” Your hand reflexively covered Ron’s mouth, which he retaliated by licking. Your hand stayed firmly glued to his face. “That trick won’t work on me and you know it.”

In a moment of quick thinking, Ron abruptly dove to tickle your side, forcing your grasp away from his face. Your chairs squealed as they scraped across the floor and a tangle of limbs fought in the space between you two. You tried to shove him away, laughing and telling him to stop. When Ron finally yielded, you both sat gasping for air with lingering giggles floating among you both. If you had thought to look across the table, you would have noticed Fred and George share a curious look with one another, before promptly returning to their meals.

The rest of the dinner flew by with a myriad of stories, jokes, and lighthearted arguments. Everyone at the table involved you in the conversation and never once did they ignore your input or forget you were there. The connection you shared with this family was far deeper than that of a normal houseguest. You were beginning to feel right at home with the Weasleys, almost as if you had known them your whole life.

At some point, all of the Weasley children had excused themselves to get ready for bed. You lingered behind and offered to do the dishes. When Mr and Mrs Weasley emphasised that it wasn’t necessary, you insisted, and they thanked you thoroughly for your kindness.

You rolled up your sleeves and retrieved a dish towel nearby. You started to rinse the dishes by hand and lay them out on the drying rack.

“Hey.”

A boy’s voice came from the dining area behind you. You stopped the faucet and turned to see one of the twins walking into the room. He proceeded to cross his arms and lean nonchalantly against the wall. While you weren’t absolutely positive, you were fairly certain he was Fred. The confident way he carried himself and the saunter to his step clued you in.

“Hey.” You turned back to the sink and ran the water again.

“You don’t have to worry about that, you know,” said Fred. “Mum can just use her magic.”

You looked back at Fred, smiling. “I know.”

You rinsed the plate you were holding once more before setting it out to dry. Fred propped himself up from the wall and walked over to your side, rolling up his sleeves in the process.

“You don’t have to help me,” you said.

“I know,” he replied with a smirk. “Tell you what: If you wash them, I’ll dry them.”

You hummed, pretending to consider Fred’s offer, before teasing, “So you get the easy part of the job and I still have to get my hands dirty. I see how you’ve worked this out.”

Fred smiled slyly at you and took the dish currently in your hands. You both worked in near silence with the clinking of dishes and the sound of running water filling the dead air between you. Fred was not one to leave well enough alone, however, and after a few quick glances to gauge your suspicion, he decided to cause trouble. His hand swiftly grazed the surface of the water just enough to splash you lightly with the soapy water. You flinched in surprise.

“Fred!” you cried. A grin quickly spread across his face.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say my name,” he said.

“If you keep that shit up, it’ll be the last,” you teased, splashing water back onto him.

“Ooo,” he said, feigning surprise. “Such vulgar language for a young lady.”

You beamed at him and he bumped your hip with his. You shouldered him in response and giggles erupted from both of you.

“See, you’re at a disadvantage now,” Fred said. “I know you’re ticklish.”

“Try any of that and you’ll get a swift kick to the stomach.”

“I dunno, Y/N. I am a fair amount taller than you. I bet I could pin you down if I tried.”

“I can aim lower if you want to keep pushing it.”

Fred’s face scrunched up in imagined pain. “Noted.”

Unbeknownst to you, a persistent smile lingered on your face, and, to your dismay, Fred took notice.

“Now, what’s with that look, darling?"

"What look?"

"You look like... you're absolutely infatuated with me.”

You scoffed at his insinuation and rolled your eyes playfully. “In your dreams, Weasley.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of another voice. For a brief moment, you feared it was Ron, although you weren’t sure why that idea made you nervous. However, in the most ironic turn of events, the person standing behind you was not your best friend, but someone you dreaded seeing even more.

You and Fred looked over your shoulders to see not Ron standing in the dining area, but George.

Chapter Text

George was standing expectantly on the threshold of the dining space, his expression unreadable. You and Fred stood frozen at the kitchen sink. Your eyes glanced between the two of them before Fred smiled and responded.

“Not all,” said Fred, drying his hands on the towel. “We were just finishing up here.”

Fred leaned over to you and whispered, “Was he expecting you for something?”

“He just agreed to stargaze with me.”

Fred studied his brother curiously for a moment before saying, almost to himself, “Huh.” He turned back to you, patting you sportingly on the back. “Best not keep him waiting, then.”

Fred strolled past his brother towards the staircase and the two shared a knowing look; one of silent communication, but mutual understanding. This interaction, however, was one you could not interpret. Once Fred was out of sight, you joined George by his side and the two of you ascended the staircase.

The only source of light you carried was your illuminated wand. You couldn’t risk any brighter lights in fear of waking Ron. Cautiously, you pushed the door to his bedroom open and peered inside. Ron was peacefully dosing away, snuggled up in his bed. You quietly ushered George into the room and the two of you crept over to the balcony. Crickets chirped softly from the grass fields below. The moon was still full enough to provide adequate light for your escapades, so you whispered a quick “Nox” and stowed your wand away.

“Wow,” said George, admiring your array of textbooks and papers scattered across the floor. “You brought home the whole Hogwarts library, did you?”

You sarcastically elbowed him and took your seat in front of your telescope. George sat down beside you and picked up a protractor from atop a stack of books.

“I actually have a project to complete before the start of the new term. It worked out nicely that Ron invited me for the summer.”

“What sort of project?” asked George, who was only half listening because he was busy fiddling with the protractor, making circles on a blank sheet of parchment.

“A composite portfolio of all the midsummer constellations of Britain.”

George stopped drawing and looked up at you with bewilderment and pity. 

“Yikes,” he said. “Sorry you have to waste your summer on that.”

“Oh, it’s hardly a waste,” you defended. “Constellations are lovely. The stories behind them, the complicated star patterns, the maths involved in calculating their movements; it’s all wonderful.”

“You’re starting to sound like Granger,” he said, laying the protractor down and turning fully towards you. “Which constellation’s your favourite?”

Your eyes looked up in a moment of thought. “I couldn’t tell you, to be honest. Maybe my zodiac constellation, but that’s only because I’m biassed.”

“Zodiac constellation?”

“Yeah, it’s the constellation assigned to your zodiac sign… Y'know, one of the twelve constellations along the ecliptic?”

George looked completely lost.

“Honestly, didn't you take astronomy last year? Here,” you said, flipping through your notebook. “When is your birthday?”

“April 1st.”

You paused. “Are you joking?”

George grinned. “Always.”

“Is that really your birthday?” you asked with a laugh.

“Yeah!”

“Somehow I don’t find that the least bit surprising.” 

You and George chuckled softly. 

“Your zodiac sign is Aries. Not all that surprising either,” you continued. “Which means your constellation is right…” You trailed off while leaning over to search through the telescope. “There. See? It’s a ram.”

You moved over to let George peer through the scope and he leaned in with one eye closed to look into the lens.

This was the first time you had gotten a proper look at George. You had never been this physically close to him before and the lack of distance between you two was growing increasingly noticeable. No surprise to anyone, he looked nearly identical to his brother, but that being said, he was very nice to look at.

Anyone would assume he was fit just based on the Quidditch position he played, but it was never something you noticed under the uniforms and equipment. Now that he was sitting in front of you with nothing but a nightshirt obscuring his torso, you saw just how defined his chest and arms were. Freckles decorated nearly every inch of his skin, giving him another Weasley signature touch alongside the fiery, incandescent hair.

He’s a very handsome boy, you thought.

“I have no idea how you’re getting a ram out of any of that,” George laughed, pulling away from the telescope. “It all just looks like stars to me.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a ram. It’s more like…” You looked around for something to help you make your point. “Let me show you.”

You extended your hand towards George and gestured for him to do the same. Cautiously, he gave you his hand and you turned it over so his arm was prone. Grabbing a muggle pen from your pile of star charts, and after examining the countless freckles that spanned across his skin, you started to draw connective lines between various marks. You worked slowly and delicately, pausing now and then to reevaluate your work. George sat quietly fixated on your movements, too intrigued at what you were doing to crack a joke.

After a minute, you pulled back from your work, satisfied.

“There,” you said, returning George’s arm to him. An outline of a heart had been traced out of the freckles on top of George’s arm.

“Your freckles are like the stars. The shape of the heart is made out of the lines in between them. If you take away the lines, you have to use your imagination but there is a picture there. Does that make more sense?”

George looked down at his arm and laughed softly. “Yeah, a bit. Thanks.”

You carried on about various celestial bodies for what felt like hours. The entire time, George seemed to hang on to your every word. He would ask genuine questions, make jokes, and tease you whenever you started to sound too nerdy.

After a while, he could see your energy was waning and he suggested you two call it a night. You reorganised your things and George took your hand and helped you to your feet. The two of you crept out of Ron’s room and descended the stairs back towards the lower landing. 

Once in front of both of your doors, you and George turned to face one another.

“Thank you for tonight, George. I had a lovely time.”

“Of course. It was nice to hear you gush about the things that make you happy.”

You both hesitated for a moment, neither one of you wanting to be the first one to turn and leave. You had to make a decision quickly, so, awkwardly, yet bravely, you opened your arms for a hug.

George, slightly taken aback by your gesture, soon realised what you were hinting at and swiftly closed the gap between you two. His hug was much gentler than you anticipated, his strong arms reaching across your entire back and folding over themselves. He breathed in deeply and you closed your eyes as your arms tightened around him.

You yelped slightly as George picked you up in the hug and spun you around, both of you laughing at your surprise. He set you down gently as your laughter subsided and you both caught your breath.

You turned to your door, placing your hand on the doorknob, and looked back at him.

“Goodnight, Weasley."

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Chapter Text

The following day was shrouded in rain clouds. There was no use in practising Quidditch with a storm on the way and the possibility of stargazing tonight was thrown out the window. You had moved all your textbook materials inside to protect them from the storm and sat at the kitchen table to work on your project. Bits of parchment were scattered about and your eyes were busy skimming through your textbook. Now and again, you would break away to write something down.

Your head was full of buzzing thoughts, not only about your project but of last night. The hug you shared with George was still on your mind and you dreaded what the implications of that could mean. You were starting to lose focus, the words on the pages blurring together. Your head was so scrambled at the moment, but you just wanted to finish your assignment.

Footsteps drew nearer to the dining area, but you paid them no mind.

“Good morning, darling.”

Your eyes never left the page, but you knew it was Fred. He was the one that always called you “darling”.

“Hi Freddie,” you said, maintaining focus on your parchment.

“Where’s Ron?” he asked, rifling through the kitchen cabinets.

“Visiting Harry today.”

“And you didn’t go with him?”

You heard the kitchen sink start running and the sound of the stovetop being turned on.

“Harry and I were never all that close, to begin with. Besides, I’m sure he appreciates the alone time with Ron.”

Fred hummed in response, with what sounded like dishes clinking from his vicinity.

“Where’s George?” you asked.

“Zonko’s. He’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him.”

“And miss spending alone time with you? Never.”

His last comment, although seemingly a joke, made your chest tighten a bit. Surely, he was just poking fun at you. He couldn’t really mean that… Right?

The whistling of a kettle pulled you back to your senses. Fred poured the liquid contents of the kettle into two mugs and set them down on the kitchen table. He pulled out the chair across from you and pushed one of the mugs in your direction. It was a thoughtful gesture, and with how cold the house was from the weather outside, one that was greatly appreciated.

Fred leaned his head on his hand and stared at you from across the way. You stopped writing, sighed, and looked up at him. He had a goofy smile on his face, which you knew was never a good sign.

“Do you need something?” you asked, pulling your mug closer and taking a sip.

“Yes. I need you to take a break.”

“What for?”

“Because,” he began, snatching your quill out of your hand. “You look like you need it.”

You started to protest and reach across the table for your quill, but Fred held it out of your reach.

“I swear to Merlin, Weasley,” you huffed as you stood up to grab it. He only had to stand up as well for it to be out of your reach again. You ran around the table and leapt at his arm, but he only chuckled at your attempts.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

You glared at him and sighed. As much as you wanted to be done with this project, your head was beginning to hurt and a break did sound nice. 

“Fine”, you caved, and Fred’s triumphant smile only grew wider. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, tapping your nose playfully with the feather of the quill.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Fred led you up to the landing that housed both of your bedrooms. Once he made it to his and George’s door, he opened it for you and ushered you inside. Each boy had a bed on either side of the small bedroom, with a bookshelf, window, and shared desk in between. The boys’ Hogwarts trunks sat at the foot of each of their beds, their initials inscribed on them in gold paint. Looking around, you could tell where the twins had decided to distinguish their halves of the room from one another.

Fred’s side of the room was much messier, with clothes draped across his bedposts and his bed unmade. His duvet colours were seemingly sewn to match the autumn season. George’s side of the room, while still messy, was much tidier by comparison. His bed was hastily made, but he too left stuff everywhere. His duvet was decorated in cool-toned versions of purple and blue. Both boys had Quidditch posters and photographs plastered on the walls, and various parcels and joke product packaging were strewn about the floor. Scorch marks were burned into the walls and ceiling, no doubt from their various shenanigans.

Fred walked over to his bed and moved a bunch of laundry onto the floor. 

“Take a seat,” he said, his attention on tidying up the rest of his space.

You sat down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, unsure what he expected you to do up here. Because of the cold weather outside and the draftiness of the loft, you crossed your arms over your chest and shivered.

“Are you cold, Y/N?” asked Fred. “Here.”

He handed you a red sweater with a larger golden ‘F’ on it. You knew immediately this was one of Mrs Weasley’s sweaters. You watched Ron get one every year for Christmas and you knew the assumptions that would be made if anyone saw you wearing Fred’s.

“No, honestly, I’m fine,” you said, handing the sweater back to him. Fred refused to take it.

“You’re shivering,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, I promise it’s clean.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the sweater over your head and instantly felt warmer; Whether that was from the fabric or your blush, you didn’t know. Fred looked back at you and chukled.

“It looks cute on you,” he said.

“Don’t patronise me,” you teased back.

“I’m being serious!” he laughed. “It’s massive on you, I’ll give you that, but it’s cute!”

Your eyes nervously drifted away towards the floor, but Fred didn’t seem to feel the same tenseness you did. Suddenly, Fred flung himself at you, tackling you into the mattress. You tried to wrestle him off of you, but that only encouraged him further. You both rolled around on the bed, laughing and tossing each other around. Fred grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand while the other tickled your sides.

“Fred! Fred!” you cried between laughs. “Freddie, stop! I’m gonna kick you, I swear!”

Fred relinquished your arms and sat back on his knees while you both caught your breath. His cheeky smile never faltered, but a part of you didn't mind the smug look. You loved seeing his smile. His hands were planted on his legs for support giving you an ample view of the scars that decorated them. You never noticed them before. They were seemingly all from various accidents and injuries, some gashes across his knuckles and thick lines across his upper arms. You never noticed the scar on his face, either. A tiny mark, nearly unnoticeable, was scratched onto his cheek. 

You pushed yourself up into a seated position and cocked your head to the side in curiosity. Your eyes scanned him up and down before you reached out and took his hand. Carefully turning it over in yours, you let your fingers trace him gently.

“What are these from?” you asked.

He looked down at your hands and cleared his throat.

“Well,” he began, pointing to scars on his hands and arms. “This one was from a Whiz-Bang prototype, this one was from a bludger grazing me, this one was from a different Quidditch accident… That’s new. Not sure where that one came from, and this one was from Ginny. Don’t ask.”

He answered all your questions with a smile. You turned your attention back towards the mark on his cheek.

“What about that one?” you asked, poking his face.

His smile faltered a bit. 

“A fight.”

“A fight?” you repeated. “Never took you for the scrapping kind. With who?”

“George.”

You hesitated, surprised by his answer. “About what?”

He paused.

“Something stupid,” he answered, laughing wearily. 

You could sense that he didn’t want to elaborate so you decided to drop the subject.

With the sound of a small pop, George was instantly standing in front of you and Fred, bundled up in his coat and scarf, his arms full of Zonko’s products. You always forgot the twins were old enough to apparate now. His eyes blinked in surprise, not expecting to see you in his room.

“Oh, hello,” he said, eyeing how close you and Fred were seated. “Sorry to intrude.”

Something about the implicative way he said that irritated you.

“Speak of the devil,” said Fred. George walked over to the desk and set down the packages in his arms. “You’re back early.”

George looked back at the two of you.

“A little too early it seems,” he remarked smugly. Now he was getting on your nerves. “Oh my, even wearing my brother’s sweater. I’ll be sure to tell Ron—”

George was cut off by a pillow smacking his head. He turned back to see you, glaring at him with rage and embarrassment. You could usually handle teasing; Hell, you normally revelled in it. So why were his comments getting under your skin so much?

“Now you’ve gone and pissed her off,” teased Fred.

You inhaled deeply and calmed yourself down.

“I should be going,” you said, standing up and reaching for the door.

“Hold on, love,” said George, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards him. He tilted his head down so his eyes were closer to yours. Suddenly you had a very hard time remembering to be angry with him. His irises had little flecks of gold in their brown which decorated them in shimmering streaks of honey and sunlight.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, snapping you out of your trance. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but it felt much longer in the moment.

You rolled your eyes playfully and taunted, “You’re just lucky you’re cute.” You shoved him gently away from you and he stumbled back with a grin.

“There she is,” said Fred, smiling.

“You hear that?” asked George. “She thinks I’m cute.”

You scoffed sarcastically and turned your attention back to the parcels George placed on the desk.

“What did you grab this time?” you asked.

George turned around to look at the items before turning back to you and saying, “Allow me to show you.”

The twins had a blast showing you all their joke supplies. Their eyes lit up with passion and their speech tended to overlap. Both boys had the habit of cutting each other off out of excitement. You wondered if this is what you looked like when you were talking about the stars. If you did, you could see why George said he enjoyed listening to you. For you, listening to Fred and George was endearing, and simply watching them be happy was more than enough.

You ended up spending far longer in the boys’ room than you initially anticipated. You started to ask questions about the objects in the room and they were delighted to share their backstories. George showed you prototype packaging for items they hoped to have in their own joke shop someday. Fred had a guitar on his side of the room, which he willingly offered to play for you. After a while, you three found a comfortable seating position with your legs stretched across Fred’s and your head in George’s lap. 

Your eyes drifted around the ceiling above you.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said. “Why don’t we all do something together? Like, us three, Ginny, and Ron.”

“Like what?” asked George.

You hummed in thought. “I was thinking a campout of sorts.”

Fred and George looked at each other to gauge the other’s reaction. Neither seemed opposed to the idea.

“Sure,” said Fred. “Sounds fun.”

“But,” you groaned while sitting up. “I will have to finish my assignment before then, so, as much fun as I’m having with you boys, I really do have to get back to work.”

You stood up from Fred’s bed and looked back at the twins. You gave them a two-finger salute along with a smile before opening their door.

“Don’t work too hard!” you heard one of them shout behind you, and you chuckled to yourself.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Thunder rumbled softly outside the Burrow. Tiny pellets of rain pattered against the kitchen window only aiding in lulling you to sleep faster. After spending the afternoon with the twins, you had gone back down to the kitchen to work on your project. You sat at the table for so long that the day had crept gingerly into the night. Your only light source was a small candle on the table. You didn’t want to turn on all the lights and risk waking anyone up.

At some point in the evening, you had fallen asleep. Your face was pressed against your textbook with your quill slipping out of your lax hand. You breathed softly during your well-needed rest.

Someone was making their way down the stairs and their approaching steps pulled you out of your sleep. You were still heavily drowsy, but you were aware that someone was there.

Whoever he was, he chuckled softly once he was beside you. He shook your shoulder lightly and whispered your name. You only turned your head over and groaned.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Based on his voice, you knew it was either Fred or George. With your eyes still closed, you turned in your seat and reached out for him to pick you up. He tucked one arm under your legs and the other across your back.

“Up you go,” he whispered, scooping you into his arms.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and nestled your head softly into his chest. He smelled so good, like a mix of cologne and smoke. His body was warm and comforting; a protective presence you didn’t know you were missing. You sighed as he carried you out of the kitchen.

As he brought you up the stairs, you nuzzled further into his neck and whimpered softly from your sleepiness. You felt so safe in his arms and desperately wished he would hold on to you forever.

Merlin, this boy made you so happy, but… which boy was he exactly? Your mind was too groggy to think clearly. You hadn’t the faintest idea which of the twins was carrying you at that moment, although, you knew deep down that whether he was Fred or George, it made no difference when it came to your feelings.

The boy pushed open the door to your room and was about to lay you on the bed. Because of your sleep-induced brain fog, you were in no frame of mind to think clearly, yet something brave inside you told you to speak.

“Weasley?” you muttered softly. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest.

Tell him.

He hummed back in response. Your breathing was growing more rapid and shallow.

Tell him!

“I think I like you.”

The room went deathly silent. It took him a moment to register what you had said, but once he did, you felt his chest shake with silent, gentle chuckles.

“I know. I like you too,” he whispered.

He set you down carefully on the bed, but the lack of his body warmth made the blankets seem cold by comparison. He bundled you up in the duvet and brushed your hair out of your face, his calloused hands gently moving across your skin.

“Get some sleep, Y/N. I hope you’ll remember to say that to me again in the morning.”

He slowly stepped away from the bed and all you heard was the soft click of the bedroom door behind him.

Chapter Text

You rose swiftly to the early morning sounds of the Burrow. Propping open the window, the cool morning air crept into the small bedroom. You inhaled deeply and stretched as the smell of dew and grass filled the space. The sky was a beautiful lilac purple and the beginning hues of blue were starting to creep across the sky.

You got yourself dressed for the day and crept downstairs. Your books and papers were still sprawled across the kitchen table, but you were relieved to find that you had managed to finish your work as planned. After making yourself a cup of tea, you took a seat and revelled in the slow morning. The house was so peaceful early in the day and the quiet calm offered a much-needed comfort. Soft yellow light filtered in from the back door’s window while dust particles danced gracefully about the room.

You noticed the feeling of your breathing, the slow thrum of your heartbeat in your chest. Something told you today was going to be good; You could feel it. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Ron slowly began to stir in his bed, groaning as he squinted toward the light coming from his balcony. He propped himself up on his elbow and slowly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Blinking in the daylight, he scanned his room absentmindedly. When he glanced over at a figure sitting at his desk, however, he flinched with a fright. It took him another moment to realise it was only you, but once he did, he sighed with relief.

“Bloody hell, Y/N,” he muttered after recovering. “You cannot be doing that this early.”

You smiled mischievously and moved over to sit on his bed, shaking his leg to wake him up more. “I need your help with something.”

Ron groaned and fell back to the bed, covering his face with his pillow. “Give me a minute, will ya?” he said, muffled.

You rolled your eyes and lifted the pillow from his head. “Your dad still has that tent from last year, right?”

Ron opened his eyes and looked at you with confusion. “The one from the Quidditch World Cup?”

“No, the smaller one.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can I borrow it?”

Ron continued staring in bewilderment, his mind still trying to fully wake up.

“The weather is supposed to be good tonight and I wanted to camp out with everyone,” you said. “Y’know, just have some dumb fun like we did when we were kids.”

Ron considered the idea. “Okay,” he said. “Give me, like, five more minutes of rest and I’ll be up.”

“Yes!” you celebrated, springing up from his bed. You jogged excitedly from his room and down the stairs.

After Ron had managed to crawl out of bed, you both were standing outside, struggling and failing to set the tent up. Ron assured you that the two of you could do it without his parents’ help, but after having it repeatedly fold and collapse, you both were starting to lose it. You and Ron were laughing so much that any progress that might have been possible was no longer being made. 

“Hold your post straight!” laughed Ron.

“I’m gonna beat your arse with this post,” you giggled back.

Eventually, the tent was able to stand on its own and you and Ron stood back to admire your work, squinting into the bright sun.

“This would have gone faster if we had your parents do it,” you said.

“Yeah, but this was more fun,” he grinned.

“I’m gonna run back inside and grab our things.”

“Sounds good,” replied Ron as you started making your way back towards the house.

Once you stepped back inside the Burrow, you noticed no one else in the kitchen or living area yet. You thought with all the time it took to get the tent set up that Fred and George would have come down by now. Nevertheless, you made your way up to Ron’s room. As you climbed higher, you passed Ginny’s door on one of the landings. Remembering that you intended to invite her, you knocked gently on her door and stepped back, admiring the ceiling while waiting for a response. After a pause, Ginny opened the door and a pleased expression crossed her face when she realized it was you.

“Oh, of course it’s you,” she said, chuckling. “No one else in this house is so polite.”

The both of you giggled as she leaned against the door frame. She seemed so much more relaxed around you than before. “What’s up?”

“Well,” you said. “Your brothers and I are having a campout tonight and we would like you to join us.”

Her eyes lit up with intrigue. “Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good.” You smiled at her and turned back to the staircase. A flicker of a memory crossed your mind and you turned back to Ginny. “By the way, have you seen Fred or George today? I don’t think they’ve come down yet.”

An odd expression crossed Ginny’s face. Her smile faltered just enough for you to notice and she averted her eyes while she came up with her reply.

“They might still be sleeping,” she eventually said, shrugging.

You looked back at Ginny, perplexed by her sudden uneasiness. Her answer wasn’t as sure as you would have liked, but you were in no place to question her about it. 

“Okay,” you said, cautiously. “I’ll see you later then.”

Ginny nodded as you turned back to the stairs and carried on to Ron’s room.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The day drifted into the evening as the sun dipped below the horizon. You hadn’t seen Fred or George all day, which was a bit odd as they always appeared to seek you out on their own. Perhaps they needed some time to themselves, you thought as you dropped the last of your camping supplies on the floor of the tent. Or maybe you had done something to upset them, but you couldn’t think of anything apparent.

“I think that’s the last of it,” said Ron.

Five sleeping bags were laid out across the ground with pillows and snacks strewn about the space. There wasn’t much room, but you and Ron figured it was enough for everyone to sleep comfortably. Light was minimal in the tent, however, with a single lantern strung from the centre of the ceiling. 

“We’re here!” you heard a voice call from outside the tent.

You and Ron ducked outside to see Ginny making her way over from the house with a pillow in her arms. Following close behind were the twins. Both dressed in matching pairs of striped yellow pyjamas, they appeared to be as cheerful as always. Nothing about their demeanour told you they had any ill feelings against you, so you banished the worried doubts from your mind.

“Is everything ready?” asked Ginny as she approached you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s all good to go.”

You stepped aside and she crawled into the tent, Ron following her back inside.

“Evening, Y/N,” said one of the boys. The sun was nearly gone and you already were having difficulty seeing, but having them in the exact same outfit was not helping your judgement. You weren’t as confident as you would have liked to be, but you had a pretty strong inclination that you were talking to George. He seemed more mellow than his counterpart, which was always a safe trait to rely on.

“I haven’t seen you two all day.”

“It sounds like you missed us,” teased George.

“Maybe just a little,” you said with a smile. “Like, a tiny amount.”

George ruffled your hair as he passed you and ducked into the tent. Fred followed closely behind, but held the flap to the tent open and said, “Ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes jokingly and ducked into the tent. Ron, Ginny, and George were already sitting down and talking together. You sat down next to George with Fred on the other side of you. The night was full of laughter and fun. Everyone played card games and wizard’s chess, took turns telling scary stories, and you even convinced Ron to let you bring your telescope out and let everyone look at the stars. Everything was perfect. For the first time in your life, you felt like you had a group of friends you had only ever heard about in films and stories. Here, with this family of outgoing mischief makers, you found a place where you felt you belonged.

Just before you all decided to go to bed, you suggested one last game; a muggle one you had brought from home. You pulled a box out from underneath your pillow and revealed it to the group.

“Twister?” asked Fred.

You nodded excitedly.

“Oh, no,” laughed Ron. “This is going to end so badly.”

“What? What is it?” asked Ginny.

“She used to bring this to school and play in the common room with Harry, Hermione, and me,” said Ron. “It’s a nightmare for my back.” 

“But it’s fun for me,” you giggled.

“How do you play?” asked George. 

You explained the rules about turning the spinner and placing your limbs on the corresponding coloured dots on the mat. Ron described the many instances of the Gryffindor trio and you collapsing on each other and the ridiculous hilarity that ensues from this game. 

“I’m down to play if everyone else is,” said Fred, excitedly. You looked around for confirmation from everyone else when George spoke up.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” he said, halfheartedly. He looked like he was getting tired, so you didn’t want to pressure him into playing. No one else objected to the idea, though, and everyone made room for the colourful plastic mat in the centre of the tent.

Everyone stood around the mat except George, who found a spot to sit in the corner of the tent and observe, as well as flick the spinner and announce the results. The game started off as tame as any game of Twister can go. You had one foot on blue, Ron was unfortunately already on the ground with one hand on red, Ginny was standing on yellow, and Fred made a point to stand next to you when he received the same spin you did. 

It carried on until the colour combinations became more complicated. The game evolved into people reaching overtop each other to get to their dots and people being forced face-to-face when there was no easier way to stretch across the mat. Everyone was laughing at the absurd positions they were confined to and the delirium from the growing tiredness was taking hold of everyone present. George would chime in now and again to cheer or taunt everyone depending on the current arrangements. When you had to lean over Fred while he was crab walking to reach your colours, both of you were giggling into each others’ faces.

“Hello, Y/N,” he laughed, your faces inches away from one another.

“Stop making me laugh,” you said, smiling.

Fred’s eyes glanced quickly at your mouth before looking back into your eyes.

“Y/N,” called George. “Right hand on green.”

You considered the options you had to move and decided to stretch farther across Fred. As you did, your foot slipped out from beneath you and you fell on top of him, starting a chain reaction that ended with everyone collapsing into a tangled pile. You all laughed and tried to get off each other when you saw that you completely crushed Fred underneath you.

“Sorry, Freddie,” you chuckled, as you crawled off of him.

Fred’s smile dropped instantly. “What did you just call me?”

You looked at him with confusion before your stomach dropped and your heart started to sink. This was not Fred; it never was. This was George.

The guilt began to creep in instantaneously. You had been so careful, so determined to be the one who could tell them apart, and yet you couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a test and you completely and utterly failed.

Ron and Ginny didn’t say a word. The twin you now recognised as Fred didn’t look hurt, but rather disappointed. George, however, looked devastated. He stared straight into your eyes, tears pricking the corners of his own with pain and contempt, before quietly standing up and storming out of the tent.

“George, wait!” you called out, running after him.

Ron and Ginny quickly stood to follow, but Fred calmly said, “Wait.” They spun around to look at him. “Give ‘em a minute.”

When you got outside, George was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he must have apparated somewhere, but Merlin only knew where. Sprinting as fast as you could, lungs burning from exertion, you burst into the kitchen of the Burrow. You searched the downstairs areas and came up empty. You bounded up the staircase and into his room; Nothing. You took a moment to think and breathe, your mind racing from one thought to the next, when you heard the soft sound of music fading in from behind you. You turned back to the window of the boys’ bedroom and opened the latch. Music poured in from the outside. Leaning out over the window and staring into the inky darkness of the night sky, you realized there was a decently sized ledge just below the window opening. It appeared to be the roof of some room on a lower floor of the house. 

Looking down onto this ledge, you could see a portable radio perched near the edge, and sitting next to it with his back facing towards you, was George.

Chapter Text

The radio crackled softly as oldies music drifted through the air. You crawled through the window and onto the landing, but George didn’t turn around. You could still make out his distinct copper hair in the moonlight. You hesitated for a few moments, unsure of what to say, but George cut you off before you could speak.

“I’m not mad, y’know.” He paused. The air was thick with tension. “It’s not like this hasn’t happened before. I guess I just thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

He picked at the skin around his fingernails as he trailed off. 

The knots in your stomach were continuing to tighten. You cautiously approached George and sat down beside him. Neither of you looked at the other and you didn’t know what to say. There was nothing you could say.

“Do you know our own mother still can’t tell us apart most days? Do you know that we still get a single birthday card addressed to both of us? Do you know that people treat us as if we’re interchangeable?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. His voice cracked ever so slightly when he spoke.

“Fred was so sure you were different. No one had ever tried as much as you before. You treated us like individuals; Not just parts in a matched set… and it felt so nice…”

You finally gathered the courage to look over at George. A single shimmer of a tear fell from his cheek and he shook his head gently.

Without a single word, you pulled George into a hug. He didn’t flinch or recoil from your touch; He simply nested his face into your shoulder and wept quietly. You held him close while he cried and petted the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. 

His chest moved with sharp inhales as he gasped for air through his sobs. His grip on your back tightened as he pulled you closer. Eventually, George’s breathing started to settle again and he looked up at you, his eyes red and his face blotchy. You reached up and brushed away the tear tracks running down his cheeks.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said through his sniffles. “It’s alright, honestly. I think I just built all this up in my head and it finally came crashing down.” He forced a laugh as he wiped his eyes, but you knew this was George’s way of playing it all off.

“I appreciate you coming after me. You’re a very kind person, Y/N. I know you never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I’m still sorry it did,” you replied. You looked down at your hands and played with your fingers. “For what it’s worth, you’ve never been interchangeable to me. You and Fred may look similar, but you two are very different people.”

George looked up at you. “How so?”

“Hmm?”

“How are we different?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re a lot quieter than Fred. You tend to be a better listener and you’re just a tiny bit more serious.”

He chuckled at your comment.

“Not by much, mind you,” you laughed. You clasped your hands awkwardly together. “Your handwriting looks neater, your favourite colours are darker, and you tease me just a little more gently than he does… and you’re much more honest about the way you’re feeling.”

You shook your head softly and smiled. 

“There’s a lot to love about you, George Weasley.”

The tops of George’s ears became dusted with pink blush and you smiled at his embarrassment. It was too easy to get to him when you were being serious. You and George sat together in silence while taking in the view from the rooftop. The radio continued to sing its soft melodies and the cool night breeze helped you both breathe a little easier.

“I had forgotten about this song,” you said as the radio continued playing.

George listened to the music and nodded when he recognized the tune. 

“Do you know how to dance?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “I’ve never been to one before.”

George’s face bunched up in confusion. “You didn't go to the Yule Ball last year?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “Never asked, never got asked.” 

“What, Ron didn’t offer to take you?”

“Well… Sort of.” You adjusted to sit more comfortably. “You know about the whole Hermione-Ron situation that was happening then, right?” George nodded and you continued.

“Well, I knew that Hermione had feelings for him ages ago, but I also knew that Ron was planning to ask me. Not because he fancied me or anything, but just because I was there. So, I lied and said someone had already asked me. I tried to direct him towards Hermione instead, but he asked her in the most… moronic way possible and destroyed any chance of that happening. She at least had Viktor as a backup date but I never actually did find someone to go with.”

George stared back at you with sympathy in his eyes. “Damn. If I had known that I would have taken you instead.”

Your heartbeat flickered for a second, although you weren’t sure why that statement meant so much to you.

“I’m not sad about it,” you clarified. “I just always wondered what it might have been like, y’know?”

You and George sat together for a moment, taking in the silence of the air. He looked like he was searching for something to say, and eventually, he seemed to find it.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

George stood up and extended his hand out towards you. 

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Dancing with you.”

Hesitantly, you took his hand and he lifted you to your feet.

“You know if Ron catches us out here we’re both dead, right?” you asked, jokingly.

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied with a smile.

George placed his hand on your waist and your stomach tensed underneath his grip. 

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You nodded and placed your hand on his shoulder. He took your available hand, and suddenly you realized just how small your hand was when it was held in his. The quiet crackling of the radio was the only thing you could hear as you and George began to sway. It felt a little silly to be dancing—you had never been one for sentiment—but it did feel nice. 

George released your waist and spun you under his arm. You both giggled as you came back together. You slipped your hand out of his and wrapped both your arms around George’s neck; His free hand now joined the other at your waist. You were even closer than before and now you were staring directly into each other’s eyes.

Your gaze landed on a mole on the right side of his neck. You ran your thumb over it softly and met George’s eyes again. 

Merlin, he really is a lovely boy.

You caught yourself in this daydreamy haze and forced yourself back to reality. You were alarmed to realise that you had been staring at him for quite some time, but it seemed like George hadn’t noticed in the slightest. He appeared to be just as transfixed on you, his golden-brown eyes locked onto yours.

“Something on your mind, Georgie?” you asked softly.

His breath hitched slightly. Were you not supposed to call him that?

“Your scar,” he said, his eyes moving down to your mouth. “I can see it a lot better now.”

For the first time, you noticed your heartbeat in your chest. It felt louder and faster than it usually did. Your breathing was quickening and your eyes drifted to his mouth, when—

“I told you they’d be here!”

You and George instinctively jumped back from one another.

It was Ginny who had called out. She was leaning out the window to the boys’ bedroom and shouting back to Ron and Fred, presumably, behind her. 

“Are you two alright now?” asked Ginny, turning back to face you.

“Yeah,” you said. “We’re alright.”

“Well, come on then,” she said, ducking back inside.

As you started to approach the window, you felt George grab your hand and you turned around to see what he wanted. He gave you a delicate smile and slowly brought your hand up to his lips, planting a kiss on the knuckles of your fingers. Immediately flustered, you shoved his chest playfully.

“Piss off!” you hissed, with a giggle. "Do you want them to see you?"

"Maybe a little," he chuckled. “It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to not properly thank a young lady for dancing with me."

You scoffed in pretend annoyance, but inside you were secretly elated. 

George helped you back through the opening and you were greeted by Fred, Ron, and Ginny on the other side. 

“All good?” asked Ron.

“Yeah, all good,” you replied.

“This wasn’t just some excuse for you two to get some alone time, now was it?” asked Fred, teasingly. 

After everything that had happened between you and George, you were feeling extra bold. You approached Fred until you met each other eye to eye with a smile on your face, almost daring him to speak again.

“And what if it was?”

You backed up confidently and led the way back down the Burrow. Fred was left in disbelief as Ginny and Ron hurried off after you, Ron bombarding you with questions about what had just happened. George looked at his brother and chuckled as he moved to follow the group.

“Oi, George.”

He turned back to Fred.

“Are you actually okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he said. “I think you really were right about her... She’s something special.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

After all the high emotions of the evening, everyone decided that sleep was probably in order. All the lights in the tent had been extinguished and everyone had found their space to lie down. The only sound now was the soft breathing of the people around you, the occasional rustling of shifting blankets, and the crickets chirping outside in the grass. You had ended up tucked neatly between Ginny and Fred. 

After what felt like an hour, you were the only person still awake. Your eyes were fixated on the tent above you, swaying gently in the night breeze; The lantern strung from the ceiling swinging ever so slightly. That’s when Fred turned over to face you.

“Y/N?” he whispered.

“Yeah?” you whispered back.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were awake.”

You turned onto your side to meet him and could barely make out the delicate features of his face in the darkness. “It’s alright. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“I just wanted to thank you for talking to George today.”

“Oh, of course. You don’t need to thank me for that.”

Fred fell quiet and it made your heart beat faster knowing his face was inches away from yours. You couldn’t see his expression in the darkness and had no idea what he could possibly be thinking. 

“Can I ask you something?” he said in a hushed voice.

“Sure,” you replied.

“Can we talk about what happened last night?”

You had no idea what he was talking about.

“What happened last night?”

Fred paused. “You don’t remember?”

Anxiety was growing in the pit of your stomach. What happened last night?

Fred exhaled through his nose, his eyes scanning yours for the joke hidden in your expression, but failed to find it. He rolled over onto his other side, saying kindly, "Forget it. We can talk about it some other time."

"Fred? Fred?!" you hissed out, but he was pretending to be asleep.

You had no clue what he was referring to, but you were not in ideal circumstances to question him further about it. A bit annoyed, but mostly confused, you turned back over onto your side and cosied up to sleep.

What happened between you two last night?

Chapter Text

The crisp morning air and the peaks of sunlight shining into the tent told you that it was time to get up. As per usual, you were the first one awake. You inhaled as you sat up into a deep stretch and gazed at the sight around you.

Everyone else was breathing softly, apparently still deep in sleep. Ron’s hair was sticking to his forehead, and his mouth hung wide open. Ginny had her blanket balled up in her fists. George had an arm draped across his forehead and Fred… Fred was exactly right where you left him; his back still turned to you and his expression hidden from view.

The guilt and confusion you felt from last night returned in a sudden wave. You couldn’t remember what 
had happened between you two that made him so concerned to talk to you and it was eating you up inside. 

You gathered your pillow and blanket and solemnly dragged them back to the house. After you changed clothes, you made your way back down the stairs when you bumped into Ginny. She was still in her pyjamas and was heading to her room to do the same thing.

“Good morning,” she offered with a sleepy smile. 

“Morning,” you mumbled.

She caught the tone in your reply and it made her stop dead in her tracks. 

“You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

Ginny raised her eyebrow, unconvinced by your response. You paused, unsure if this was something you wanted to trouble her with. Normally you’d go to Ron for this sort of thing, but your gut told you that was probably not the best idea. George was out too, leaving Ginny as the safest option you had at the moment.

“Actually, can I talk to you about something?”

She seemed pleasantly surprised at the trust you were affording her.

“Of course.”

Ginny plopped down on a nearby window seat and motioned for you to join her. You sat down and after a deep, heavy sigh, you looked to her.

“I think I’ve messed things up somehow.”

The confusion on her face told you she didn’t understand what you meant.

“I thought you and George had sorted everything out?”

“No, not George,” you corrected. “With Fred.”

“What, did he say something to you?”

Your eyes shifted to your hands as you watched them fiddle awkwardly with the fabric of your shirt.

“He mentioned that something happened last night. Last, last night. Something that he and I needed to talk about. Only thing is I have no idea what he meant.”

Ginny glanced at the floor while you continued.

“And when I told him that I didn’t know, he seemed… sad, and he wouldn’t even talk to me after that.”

Ginny looked up from the floor with an air of forced neutrality, but you could see the cracks in her facade. She looked like she had something she wanted to say.

“What is it?” you asked.

“What?”

“What’s that look for?”

Her conflicted expression and odd behaviour tipped you off. Like a light switch flipping on, you realised what was happening.

“You know something.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do, and you’re not telling me.”

Ginny struggled to balance her inner turmoil, the opposing nature of her feelings showing on her face. 

“It's not my place to tell you.”

You gave a short, frustrated sigh.

“Ginny,” you pleaded. “I have to know how to fix this. Fred means… a lot to me and I don’t want our friendship ruined over something as stupid as this. If you know something that you think I should know, please tell me.”

Your desperate eyes begged for a reply, but Ginny seemed set in her conviction. Your gaze left hers and you sat back in defeat.

“It wasn’t stupid…” she muttered.

“What?”

“It wasn’t something stupid,” she said. “Not to him.”

You stared back at her, willing her to elaborate. 

“Oh Merlin, you’re just as bad as he is,” she muttered, looking to the ceiling for help. “What do you like about Fred?”

“Huh?”

“What do you like about him?”

“What does that have to do with—”

Her stoic look told you that you weren't getting around the question.

“I don’t… think I can answer that.”

“Why not?”

You inhaled, prepared to speak, but found no words to accurately convey your feelings. After another moment of silence, you replied.

“It’s not like it’s tangible things about him. I don’t look at him and see a list of qualities I can pinpoint, I just see… him. He’s just him. When I’m with him I feel… happy. Safe. Myself. It’s not anything in particular he does. It’s just who he is.”

A grin had appeared on Ginny's face as you spoke. You looked up and noticed her smug expression; one seemingly filled with a knowledge you did not possess.

“What?”

“You like him,” she realised.

Your voice caught in your throat and you spat out a guffaw.

“No, no, it's nothing like that—”

“You do, don’t you?” Ginny cut off in an excited interjection.

“No, I don’t!” you defended in a hushed whisper. “And keep your voice down!” 

Ginny smirked at you with smug confidence. 

“It’s not like that at all,” you clarified. “We’re just friends.”

“You're joking. Y/N, come on, your feelings are painfully obvious.” 

“Look, my feelings about Fred have nothing to do with him not speaking to me, so can we please get back to that?”

Ginny seemed like she wanted to push this topic further, but with a lingering smile, she carried on.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Here’s what I think: I think you need to talk to him. Not about any of this, just… be honest and see where that takes you. You both have worked things out in the past. They only get better if you talk about it.”

As much as you dreaded that answer, you knew she was right. Nothing was going to change if you continued to avoid each other for the rest of the summer. It sounded so simple, but you just had to talk to him.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

You spent the rest of the day up in Ron’s room, trying to simultaneously keep your mind off the looming conversation ahead of you as well as searching for the right time to initiate it. You were going mad, stewing in all your pent-up emotions. Ron could tell something was off about you, but he knew better than to get close to you when you were in such a fragile state. 

The sun had gone down once again and, as per usual, you were out on his balcony. Anxiously trying to read your astronomy textbooks, the words began blending together in an illegible manner and you slammed the cover closed in a panic-induced frustration. You had to talk to Fred soon.

Suddenly, from below you, voices and laughter could faintly be heard. As they started to grow nearer, you stood up and peered over the railing. Fred and George were trudging through the tall grass, heading out to the edge of the property.

Your body leaped into action before your mind could allow it to hesitate. You were flying down the stairs, desperate to catch up to them. You threw open the backdoor of the Burrow and ran out into the yard. Fred and George were too wrapped up in their conversation to even notice.

“Frederick Weasley!” you called out.

He paused mid-laugh to turn and face you.

“We need to talk.”