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DAMNED ANCIENT RUNES… The one subject you absolutely adored, but it aggravated you to an extreme at the same time. How could something be so interesting, yet so carefully complicated at the same time? Mumbling to yourself, wading between a couple of first years, you forcefully climb the many stairs of Gryffindor Tower, eager for your bed to embrace your exhausted soul. The Great Library had been your temporary home for the entirety of the weekend since you wanted to perfect your memorisation of different runic numbers—a simple list that any third year beginning this subject would know, but you just wanted to be completely sure. Being in your seventh year made you paranoid about… well; everything . You needed these NEWTs. The last thing you wanted was to fail, especially with everything that was going on…
“Ugh…” you groaned, entering your dorm with a sigh—carelessly, you tossed your textbooks onto the wooden floorboards that carried your feet, eager to get away from them for a good few hours. Your boyfriend, Freddie , promised to meet you here since your roommate, Angelina, was having a sleepover with someone else; the thought of Fred made you smile like some lovesick idiot.
You were a lovesick idiot. Fred… he treated you so well. A proper gentleman who towered over you, following you like a lost puppy as George tagged along behind him, the poor bloke. He was always touching you in some sort of way, having a need to hold you, whether it was just having your hand in his or sitting in his lap when you were with your friends—
He was so sweet. Not to mention funny.
Of course he was funny.
“You’re back!” A girlish voice brought you back to reality as you shrugged off your robes, yearning for your pajamas instead—whilst the voice was not even remotely similar to the Chaser you liked to call your friend, you decided that it couldn’t belong to anyone else, right?
“Yeah,” you lamented, still not looking towards Angelina, stretching your arms as you yawned. “I wasn’t built for fucking academics,” your grumble caused your roommate to giggle, your eyebrows furrowing as you whipped around, properly peering into your dorm. Shutting the door behind you by pressing your back against the oak, you slowly made your way towards your vanity, where the voice was coming from.
Angelina didn’t… giggle . At least, not with you. With George? Definitely.
Not with you .
Naturally, you sensed danger. You’ve participated in a fair share of fights over the years, especially with the Slytherins and their stupid name calling—you tried to not let their taunting get to you, but it truly is hard as a Muggleborn. Anyhow, you weren’t going to take your chances; honestly, it would not surprise you at all if a Slytherin had somehow got into Gryffindor House just to play a silly prank on you—
“Oh, love, why are your fists clenched?” the teasing voice spoke again, and you finally met the eyes that belonged to it; eyes widening in astoundment, you realised you did not recognise this girl at all. Yet, she wore the infamous red-and-gold striped tie around the collar of her shirt, which was slightly oversized for her form. What was even weirder was how she wore trousers instead of a skirt—you didn’t think girls would be allowed to wear regular trousers at Hogwarts. Her lovely, fiery locks were styled like a sort of messy pixie cut, tucked behind her ears, revealing her rather pretty countenance—light brown eyes paired with a roman nose and soft, thin lips… She looked so familiar, yet so unidentifiable.
“What— Who are you calling ‘ love ’?” you questioned, clearly caught off guard by the whole situation; you weren’t sure what to say or even do. This wasn’t Ginny, your boyfriend’s little sister, and, either way, gingers stand out quite a lot. Who was this girl?
Sitting at your vanity, she simply laughed in response, the domestic giggles birthing rather large butterflies in your stomach— what the fuck? You were attracted to girls, of course, but you were dating Fred—you were in love with Fred Weasley. And now, this random girl, whatever she was, was… trying to flirt with you? After breaking and entering your dorm?
“Stop laughing! Who—Who in Godric’s name are you?” you asked, your fingers curling around your wand that had been hidden in your sock this entire time. The girl (as lovely as she sounded) continued to cackle, clutching her chest as if she was struggling to breathe—what was so funny? “This is serious, y’know? I’ll get Professor McGonagall right now—” That seemed to shut her up immediately, the darling ginger shooting up from her seat as her expression crumpled into one of panic.
“Oh, God , please don’t, sweetheart—I can’t do another week of detention where I dust her bloody shelves ,” she explained, but you couldn’t focus on her words—not when she was towering over you with her tall stature; you hadn’t notice how… vertically big she was when she had been sitting. Almost six feet and two inches, you gathered, your lips parting in slight bewilderment since you were forced to lift your gaze, not even bothered that her large, but dainty hands were gently grasping your biceps, her thumbs rubbing circles against your clothed flesh as you just stood there, trying not to seem so hot and bothered.
She really was pretty, the girl. You didn’t know what it was… Perhaps it was the accustomed way she had laughed and smiled at you. Or the way her expression had fallen so comically—something that you recognised. And, the way she called you sweetheart ; only one person called you that. Your boyfriend. Evidently, you didn’t like when others used pet names for you… only your boyfriend could do that.
Your boyfriend. Fred…
“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, shoving the ‘girl’ away, your expression painted with befuddling confusion as you gasped, your wand clattering towards the floor. “FREDRICK GIDEON WEASLEY—”
“Okay, calm down—”
“ No ! What if one of the teachers caught you sneaking up here?! Do you have a death wish?—WHY ARE YOU A GIRL—?!”
“Darling—” Fred puffed, one of her his hands slapping over your mouth so he could speak, your exclamations muffled by the warmth of his palm. “Let me explain… It’s not that bad!”
It is that bad! Was what you wanted to say, but your voice was stifled yet again, producing a picturesque scowl upon your face. He smiled—he adored your fiery nature. You were both alike, in that sense. He adored the way that you still fussed over his safety whilst also being furious with him. It was quite amusing, actually.
“It isn’t,” he replied to your mumble, his feminine voice soft—he never got loud with you. He was the calm boyfriend whenever you both ‘argued’ (you actually don’t have fights, you yell and he listens like the good boyfriend he is). They were usually over something silly, the arguments. Like when he spends too much on flowers even though you’d be perfectly okay with the daisies that grew outside the Quidditch Grounds. He liked being extra, your blasted boyfriend.
And, unfortunately, that was a quality of his that you adored—how perfect he was when it came to your relationship.
“Let me explain, please?” he jokingly pouted—whilst you were a little mad at the whole situation, you weren’t exactly complaining . Fred looked beyond beautiful as a girl, so much so that his pout only made your heart melt inside.
“…Fine. What did you both do?” He furrowed his eyebrows at that.
“Both?”
“You and George, silly,” you retorted, crossing your arms—your boyfriend’s hands fell to your waist, his thumbs still tracing circles across the hem of your untucked shirt (you were still baffled that he could talk whilst doing the very same ministrations that got you flustered every damned day).
“Well… why are you assuming that we did something? It could’ve just been a freak accident,” he wiggled his thick eyebrows whilst that grin you fell in love with plastered his lips, gazing at you with that roguish look in his milk chocolate eyes.
“It’s never a bloody accident with you two,” you sighed, your usual, soft smile finally stroking your lips—you could never be wholly angry with him. “Go on, tell me.”
“YOU KNOW… THIS IS DEFINITELY the most complicated potion we’ve brewed,” George mumbled in concentration, swirling the bubbling, blue liquid that filled the twins’ cauldron with a regular stirring stick, Fred’s impatient hum heard in response.
“Just wish it didn’t take forever to bloody make it,” he grumbled, but his sour frown cosmically warped into a wide grin when he saw that the glop had stopped bubbling—usually, it was a sign that the potion was complete… George, however, wasn’t entirely sure.
“That doesn’t seem right,” it was George’s turn to frown, the ginger turning his head to find the instruction book he was following (stolen from the Restricted Section of the library, of course). Fred completely ignored his twin brother’s confused mumbles, simply inspecting how the solution had darkened, creating a shade of turquoise. Shrugging like it was nothing to worry about, the older brother retrieved a vial from his potion-making kit as George spoke again.
“Fuck’s sake,” George groaned, scratching his head as he chucked the rather thick tome onto his desk, turning around to glance at the cauldron. “It’s supposed to be purple —FRED!”
Completely unbeknownst to George, Fred had downed a single vial of the rich secretion, watching with his mouth slack open as his brother burped, grimacing whilst glancing at the younger twin.
“Tastes like shit,” but George didn’t care about the taste.
“You’re actually such a moronic piece of—I didn’t make the potion right!” exclaimed George, examining Fred’s form since he was worried that the latter would transform into something… odd . The other’s expression crumbled, feeling completely fine as he stared at his body—nothing was wrong. Not yet, anyway…
“I feel fine, Georgie—and, anyway, this is a good thing! You know we have to test every single one of our creations, even if we already know they’re not going to work.” The younger couldn’t really argue with that, running a hand through his short, ginger locks, his light brown eyes (that matched Fred’s to the T, of course) locked on Fred.
“We’re only good at those stupid love potions, you know that,” George breathlessly chuckled, deciding to turn his head away for only a moment, just to check the book to see what he’d missed. They were both stupendous when it came to concoctions in general, but they wanted to give it a good go before asking Fred’s girlfriend, you , since you’d most likely say no, regardless.
“Well, yeah, but— eurgh ,” Fred pulled a face of disgust, clutching his stomach as he doubled down, his eyebrows furrowing as his vision grew clouded; something was wrong. But George, the clueless don, was too busy flicking through the pages of his embezzled book. “George—”
“This is so odd. I don’t really get what I did wrong…” George respired to himself, unaware of his brother’s… changing self. “Oh, for the love of Merlin—I didn’t add enough fluxweed. Wait, so, what the fuck did I make—?”
“GEORGE.”
“WHAT?” Just the same, as soon as George fluctuated to face his annoying twin brother, his mouth clamped shut, his eyes widening in utter amazement at the sight before him.
It was like Fred had become their only sister, Ginny… only, his hair was shorter and Ginny’s nose was definitely more fleshed out and… buttony? Fred was basically Fred, but the girl version. And George had never been more freaked out.
“Oh my fuck —”
“Don’t you dare freak out on me—I should be the one freaking out!” interjected Fred, his guise encapsulated by the same distress that illustrated George.
“Godric… I think I brewed some sort of Polyjuice Potion,” he mumbled in return, staggering back so he could sit on his desk, clearly still a little befuddled. Confused.
“Oh, you think?”
You burst out laughing, collapsing against Fred as he released an annoyed ebb of air, holding you all the same—your forehead touched his chest, which was now pillowed with soft, clothed breasts, as you tried to stifle the many giggles erupting your lungs, but you couldn’t help yourself. The narration was a little funny. Very funny. Extremely funny—
“Now you find it amusing?” Fred raised an eyebrow as you exhaled airily, your pretty smile warming your boyfriend’s heart; you were so dear to him. Nibbling your bottom lip, you tugged his feminine form towards your bed, speaking as you did so.
“You’re actually unbelievable—no wonder why George makes all the potions.”
“ He’s the one who got it wrong!” he sounded so exasperated, leading you to cackle even more as you gently pushed him to sit, straddling his lap. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, humming to yourself; feeling quite exhausted yourself, you couldn’t help but giggle quietly, imagining the whole story in your head.
“How long will this… version of you last, d’you reckon?” you asked, feeling Fred’s long arms wound around your waist, keeping you close— always keeping you close. “As furious as I am since you could’ve died —” His ‘pffft ’ made you roll your eyes, but you didn’t respond to it. “It is quite… pleasing to look at.” Fred raised both of his eyebrows.
“What’s pleasing?”
“I dunno… your face.”
“And?”
“Um… your voice?”
“ And? ”
“Your… body, I guess,” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you cleared your throat, hearing his raspy chuckle as his fingers caressed your hips. You hadn’t realised until now, but he’d been wearing your rings, your boyfriend. Probably trying some of your lip glosses on whilst you had been gone.
“Wanna roleplay while it lasts?” you could practically hear his wink as you gagged, shoving his chest as you picked your head up.
“Ew! No ,” you firmly stated, meeting his gaze with a hint of sterness tingling your countenance. He merely pouted again in return; it was his turn to hide in your neck, causing you to giggle again, his glossed lips tickling your pulse point as you tried not to suspire.
“…Can I do your makeup?”
“No,” he answered. Though, after a beat of silence, he mumbled. “ Fine .”