𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖉𝖞 // ғ.ᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Chapter 5: Winning has its downfalls

Playing a quidditch match seemed like an excellent idea at first, a way to let all of you let off steam and have fun, with a little friendly competitiveness sprinkled in. But as with most of your plans, Fred always seemed to screw up the perfect procedure. The teams were relatively fair, you were confident you could kick Fred, Ginny and Harry's asses.

Before the match you and your team huddled up, discussing game plans. It consisted mainly of the boys getting too greedy for victory, you calmed them down to the best of your ability. Later reminding them that if the opposition even hinted at cheating that you gave permission for you guys to play dirty to win. It was fair that way.

Straight away Ginny caught the quaffle and started advancing viciously towards Ron, you tried catching up to her whilst dodging weakly hit bludgers from a certain redhead. George wasn't helping at all that much which you promptly told him-

"George, fucking help me you knob!" you screamed. This must-have awoken something in him because as soon as the shout left your lips, he sped towards Ginny with his bat. But at this point your attempts were futile. Watching on as she sent the quaffle towards the goal with forceful precision, Ron couldn't reach the goal in time.

It dropped through the hoop- thus signaling that the opposing was in the lead. Ginny assaulted your ears with her cheers of celebration and a sense of violent determination stirred within you. You couldn't let them win, so you wouldn't.

"shove off Gin!" Ron bellowed. His sister erupted with giggles and you turned to see Fred with a smug little smirk on his face, you just wanted to wipe it off.

This was actually the first time you had looked at Fred during the game, and how you wish you hadn't. He was relaxing on his broom upright, a red-t-shirt clinging sinfully to his body, you could practically lick his abs from where you were. Not being able to afford to get distracted, you turned away; this did nothing. The multitude of photos your eyes must have captured in your moment of weakness now flew across your vision. It was him on replay. And from the even smugger smile that tugged across his face, he knew it too.

For the next couple of minutes, you were in possession of the quaffle. You were a decent chaser so you had no trouble getting it in the posts, but there just so happened to be a rather attractive beater chasing you and calling out little taunts to try and make you mess up. Which to be fair, they worked a couple of times.

The pure rage at the feeling of being outsmarted by your own bloody hormones and Fred Weasley were powered into your throw of the quaffle, perfectly sliding through the hoop.

"YES!" you screamed, overjoyed. The smile that took over your face was pure sunshine, not a lot of things compared to winning, and you had a feeling that winning was what you were going to do in this game.

Fred looked a little put-out, that shouldn't have made you feel as ecstatic as it did. George came over and high fived you, pairing a similar smile on his face. Fred watched this interaction, and as soon as the put-out expression had arrived, it left. And what he did next I don't think any of you were expecting. You knew that he played dirty, you used to help him with his pranks in the first couple of years, but this... this was downright torture.

He crossed his mesmerizing arms and lifted up his damp t-shirt and threw it to the ground. He sat back in all of his open, naked glory, obviously pleased with himself as he watched your usually, stony expression turns into one of inner-turmoil and desperation. You melted, under the burning sun and the intense gaze with which you were fixed.

"Why did you do that?" your voice coming out as croaky, fuck sake. He grinned the bastard,

"I'm hot y/n! why ever else?" if it weren't for the twinkle in his eye and the dilatation of his pupils, you might have believed him. Everyone else seemed to. But your frien- relationship was different. You could tell when he was lying without even opening your eyes, or even being in the same room with him. You didn't know what that meant about you guys. Maybe he just lied more to you than anyone else, and as a defense you learned every micro expression and what they all meant.

That's when it hit you. His pupils were dilated, he like this, he was getting off on this- on seeing you like this. So, you decided if he was going to play dirty, then so were you.

You whisper to George and tell him to focus on Ginny- hard. He looks at you, questioning why the sudden willpower to win the game. You fly off, leaving him to question why you're acting so serious.

The next couple of minutes go okay. Okay being a keyword when you realise that you are not just an okay player, you are a great player. There is a certain tension in the air, it's frenzied as you all fly around, bludgers flying everywhere, and shots zooming through the hoops at the ends of the pitch. Despite how much you don't want to lose focus, you can't help but lean your head to a spot where you can see Fred's body.

He's giving you a perfect view of what you have been missing all of these years. The back you see isn't of a boy, but of a strong, well-built man who has worked hard and it shows. Animalistic in the way he grips the broom, flying all around the pitch, trying to knock you off balance as many times as possible.

"Next goal wins!" Hermione's voice breaks through your trance. You realise then that the teams are level. This is your chance to set your plan into place.

"How come?" Fred shouts down, turning away from you.

Gripping the bottom of your top, you pull it over your head and throw it to his back. After finding out that dinner is almost ready, he feels something hit his back. He turns around and... wow.

His face is priceless. Suddenly so glad that you wore a nice bra today, it's a white one with lace detailing. Little did you know he has a slight... thing...a kink if you will... for white. The picture of innocence- of sorts.

You hear Hermione signaling that the final round has started, and as you had suspected, Fred hasn't moved. He's committing the divine picture of you to his memory, whilst his teammates scream at him, because you are already at the other end of the pitch, with George laughing beside you and Ginny shouting obscenities at the outrage she feels. As if she has been deserted by the empty-headed boys that she was teamed with.

Even Harry looks a little shocked, barely defending the brilliantly scored winning shot that you make.

You won. You fucking won.

It's a mess of screaming and shouting, excitement bubbling up through you and Ron and George, spilling out in giggles, bellows of celebration. You are so happy. So, so happy.

Landing on the ground was brief because as soon as you touched down, you were hoisted onto George's shoulders. He ran around, bouncing you and you put your hands in the hair, high-fiving Ron and fake thanking all of your fans.

Fred, unlike everyone else, was not enjoying the view. Even though Harry and Ginny didn't like to lose, they could see it meant a lot to you guys, so they were pleased. But Fred.. he was seething. Seeing your dazzling frame on his brothers' shoulders, dancing around in the bubble of happiness, awakened something within him. Raw, possessiveness growled through his chest. Ripping its way up his throat.

You all turned in unison. George, rather intelligently, let you down from his shoulders. Now you were mad. Maybe the sadistic nature in you was pleased that Fred was becoming jealous. He really should have known that nothing would ever happen between you and George, but feelings often are blind to common sense.

Why not mess with him a bit? He had no claim over you, he hasn't had for years, well not as far as he is concerned. It might have been cruel but the last few years have made you murderous. Grasping George's hand within your smaller ones, you walked into the house together. Fred was being unfair. If the two of you were going to play this game, it was going to be under your rules. Sick of the times you used to roll over and let him take the parts of you he needed for that day. He broke you once, and he wasn't going to do so again without a reason.