Fred claims he can make any girl fall for him. You, who hates him, laughs in his face. So, the bet is made: he has one month to make you fall in love.
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@HannahRiddleThe Gryffindor common room was, as usual, in a state of controlled chaos. It was a Friday evening in late September, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth, and a group of fourth-years huddled around the wireless in the corner, trying to decipher the latest Chudley Cannons match through the static.
Fred Weasley was sprawled across one of the squashy armchairs, his long legs dangling over the armrest, a half-eaten jam tart dangling from his fingers. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, which, given that it was Fred Weasley, was arguably the default state.
Fred Weasley
—and what I'm saying is, it's not a matter of if I could charm someone. It's a matter of who.
George Weasley
from his perch on the arm of the sofa, a deck of Exploding Snap cards hovering lazily in his hand Is that so.
Fred Weasley
It is so. I could make anyone at this bloody school fall for me. Anyone.
Lee Jordan
leaning back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face like he'd just heard the opening chords of a particularly good song Anyone, you say?
Fred Weasley
gesturing expansively with the jam tart Anyone. Name them. Go on. Give me a challenge.
Ron Weasley, who had been attempting—and failing—to beat Hermione at a game of wizard's chess, looked up with a skeptical expression.
Ron Weasley
Pansy Parkinson.
Fred Weasley
with a theatrical shudder Too much effort. She'd have my family tree vetted by breakfast. Next.
George Weasley
Cho Chang.
Fred Weasley
tilting his head thoughtfully Sweet girl. Absolutely mad for Cedric, though. I'd have to write a very persuasive letter. I'd say... a fortnight. Maybe three weeks.
Lee Jordan
Millicent Bulstrode.
Fred Weasley
pausing, genuinely considering Now that would be a project. I respect the confidence, but I'd need hazard pay.
The conversation drifted, names tossed around like Quaffles—Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, a Hufflepuff sixth-year whose name no one could pronounce. Fred dismissed each with a wave of his hand, a joke, a theatrical sigh.
Then, Ron—who had just lost his queen to Hermione's knight and was sulking accordingly—muttered something under his breath.
Ron Weasley
What about Y/n?
The common room went quiet. Not the good kind of quiet. The kind of quiet that happens when someone has just said something monumentally stupid and everyone is waiting to see if they realise it.
Fred Weasley
slowly lowering his jam tart What about Y/n?
Ron Weasley
shrugging, oblivious to the sudden tension You said anyone. She's anyone.
George Weasley
grinning slowly Oh, that's brilliant. That's the challenge, Freddie.
Lee Jordan
leaning forward, elbows on his knees I'd pay to see that. I'd pay good money.
Fred Weasley
his expression flickering between irritation and something almost like genuine offence You're taking the mickey.
Ron Weasley
I'm not! You said anyone. She hates you. You hate her. It's the perfect test of your so-called charm.
Fred Weasley
for once, momentarily speechless
Because Fred Weasley did not hate Y/n. That was the problem. He wanted to hate her. It would have been so much simpler if he did.
But she was infuriating. She never laughed at his jokes. She rolled her eyes at his best material. She called him out in front of people, dismantled his arguments with a single raised eyebrow, and refused to be charmed by the effortless wit that worked on everyone else.
She was judgmental, rigid, and entirely too pleased with herself.
And Fred Weasley had never, not once, met anyone who was immune to him.
Fred Weasley
a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face Y/n.
George Weasley
trading a look with Lee Uh oh.
Fred Weasley
Y/n Y/l/n. The one who thinks she's too good for fun. The one who looks at me like I'm a stain on her shoe.
Lee Jordan
That's the one.
Fred Weasley
standing up, abandoning his jam tart on the armchair You're on. One month. I'll have her admitting she likes me before the Halloween feast.
Ron Weasley
snorting You'll be lucky to get her to say two words to you without it turning into an argument.
Fred Weasley
Arguments are conversations, Ronald. And I'm very good at conversations.
George Weasley
dryly That's one word for it.
Fred Weasley
ignoring him, his eyes gleaming with determination She thinks she's immune to me. She thinks I'm nothing but noise and trouble and bad jokes.
He paused, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—something that wasn't quite the cocky confidence of a boy who had never been told no.
Then it was gone, replaced by the familiar grin.
Fred Weasley
She's about to find out how wrong she is.