The next few years passed like a whirlwind, filled with moments of joy, heartache, and an ever-deepening connection that grew with each exchanged letter.
Fred's final year at Hogwarts was overshadowed by the arrival of Dolores Umbridge, whose tyrannical reign choked the school's spirit. She dismantled cherished traditions and replaced them with rigid rules and a suffocating atmosphere. For Fred and George, rebellion was second nature, but this year, it felt like more than mischief—it was resistance. Their pranks weren't just for laughs; they were acts of defiance, small sparks of joy in an increasingly oppressive world.
Through it all, Fred's letters to Juliette became a lifeline. He poured his frustrations, his triumphs, and his fears into every word, finding solace in her responses. She was his refuge, his anchor when the world felt too heavy.
Juliette, meanwhile, was across the ocean, trying to adjust to life at Ilvermorny. The American school was starkly different from both Hogwarts and Beauxbations—less traditional, more relaxed—but it didn't challenge her in the ways she had hoped. Her magical and muggle combat skills, honed under Gabriel's strict tutelage, far outpaced her peers. Despite forming a few friendships, she often felt out of place, like a chess piece on the wrong board.
Her letters to Fred were her sanctuary. She confided in him about her frustrations with school and her longing for a purpose that felt just out of reach. She avoided writing about Gabriel, though. Her father's expectations weighed heavily on her, and there was a growing unease in his presence—a sense that he was hiding something. Once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, she asked about her childhood. Gabriel's response had been clipped, his usual warmth replaced by a curt dismissal that left her wondering if the stories she'd been told were the whole truth.
Fred, too, began to notice gaps in the narrative of Juliette's life, though he never pressed her on it. Her letters spoke of her mother in vague terms, and Gabriel's name appeared less and less. Still, he could sense her turmoil, even when she tried to hide it.
As Fred and George plotted their escape from Hogwarts to pursue their dream of opening a joke shop, the darkness looming over England grew more oppressive. Whispers of Voldemort's return grew louder, and attacks on muggle-borns and dissenters became more frequent. Fred tried to shield Juliette from the worst of it, peppering his letters with humor and stories of their latest pranks. But some fears were too big to hide.
Then, in the middle of the year, tragedy struck. Fred's father, Arthur, was attacked at work, his life hanging by a thread after a run-in with a cursed snake. The news shattered the family. Fred was consumed by guilt and anger, unable to shake the image of his father's pale, broken form in St. Mungo's.
He wrote to Juliette in desperation, the words raw and unguarded. "I don't know how to do this, Jules. I don't know how to be strong when everything feels like it's falling apart. But writing to you…it helps. It always helps."
Her response was immediate, filled with words of comfort and strength. She told him he didn't have to be strong alone, that she was with him, even from a distance. She shared stories from her own life, small moments of hope and resilience, weaving a lifeline for him to cling to.
By the time Fred and George opened Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, Fred had found a renewed sense of purpose. The shop became a bright spot in an increasingly dark world, a place where laughter could still thrive. But even as he threw himself into work, he never stopped writing to Juliette. She was his constant, his partner in all but presence.
Until, one day, her letters stopped.
At first, Fred brushed it off, telling himself it was just a delay. But as days turned into weeks, worry began to gnaw at him. He sent letter after letter, each one more urgent than the last, but no response came.
"Something's wrong," he told George one night, his voice tight with fear. "She wouldn't just stop writing. Not like this."
George tried to reassure him, but Fred wasn't convinced. His mind raced with possibilities, each more dire than the last. Was she hurt? Was she in danger? Or worse…had she been taken from him?
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ocean, Juliette wrestled with her own doubts and fears. Gabriel had become increasingly secretive since they had left Europe. He left more and more frequently, and even in America, Juliette found herself being moved from state to state, even though no attacks were occurring. Gabriel's silliness to talk about his wife and Juliette's childhood shifted, and a conversation between them left her questioning everything she thought she knew.
"Papa, Why don't I have any baby photos?" she'd asked one night, her voice trembling with frustration.
"They were destroyed," Gabriel had said, his tone cold and final. "The raid that took your mother's life left nothing behind."
But something about his answer didn't sit right with her. For the first time, Juliette began to suspect that Gabriel's secrets ran deeper than she'd ever imagined.
The silence of Juliette's absence weighed heavier with each passing day. Fred buried himself in work at the shop, his focus wavering as he waited for an owl that never came. George and Angelina tried their best to distract him, but Fred's mind always wandered back to her—where she was, what had happened, why she had stopped writing.
The unanswered questions gnawed at him, especially when he replayed their last letters in his mind. There was nothing in her words to suggest she would stop writing, no sign of trouble or hesitation. It was as if she had vanished without a trace.
"Fred," George said one evening, setting down a crate of Pygmy Puffs with a sigh. "You've got to stop torturing yourself. If she hasn't written back yet, maybe she's just...busy. Life happens, mate."
Fred shot him a glare but didn't respond. He didn't believe it. Juliette wouldn't just stop writing—not unless something serious had happened.
Still, days turned into weeks, and Fred forced himself to push the worry aside. The shop was thriving, and customers filled the store daily, giving him little time to dwell on the absence of her letters. But no matter how busy he was, there was always a moment—when the shop emptied, when the lights dimmed, when the silence crept in—that Juliette came rushing back into his thoughts.
.The shop was quiet, save for the soft bustle of customers here and there. Fred Weasley stood behind the counter, his gaze drifting absently to the door every time it opened. His thoughts, as they had been for the past two weeks, were consumed with Juliette. Her silence was a gnawing ache in his chest. Each day without her letters felt like an eternity, and no matter how much he tried to push it aside, the worry was always there, lurking in the back of his mind.
George was up in the flat above the shop, working on new prank products, and Angelina had gone into the Ministry for the day. Fred was left to man the shop, but his mind wasn't really here. He was lost in thoughts of her—how he missed her laugh, the way she teased him about his jokes, the way her presence seemed to light up everything around her. He had been doing this every day since her letters stopped: pretending to be fine, pretending that everything was normal. But deep down, he knew something was wrong. He could feel it.
The bell above the door jingled, signaling someone's arrival, but Fred didn't look up at first, just calling out the standard greeting. He was lost in thought, hoping for some distraction from the ache in his heart.
A voice cut through his reverie, a French accent he hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime: "Wow, Freddy, after two years, I thought I'd get more than the 'customer line.'"
Fred's head snapped up, his heart leaping into his throat. There, standing in front of him, was Juliette. It was her.
His eyes went wide in disbelief as he took in her in. She was here. In England
She was still the same girl he had fallen in love with, yet somehow, she wasn't. Her appearance had changed in subtle but significant ways. Her blonde hair, once long and flowing, was now much shorter, just grazing the nape of her neck in a sleek, practical cut that seemed to reflect the new life she'd led in the past two years. The style suited her—strong, bold, and no-nonsense—but Fred couldn't help but long for the soft waves that used to cascade down her back.
Her face had matured, just a touch. Her eyes were still that piercing blue, but there was something in them now—an intensity, a depth—that hadn't been there before. Her skin had gained a few more battle scars—tiny ones, but ones that spoke volumes about the experiences she'd gone through in the years they'd been apart. Some of the scars on her arms were faint, and there were newer, less visible ones along her neck and shoulders. Fred's heart clenched at the sight, knowing they had been earned from battles she had fought, some of them alone.
But even with the changes, with the marks of her new life, Juliette was still the most beautiful woman Fred had ever seen. More beautiful than he remembered, in fact. The way her lips curved into a smile, the glimmer in her eyes, the way she stood with her shoulders back, radiating strength—it made Fred's heart skip a beat. She wasn't just the girl he loved anymore; she was someone who had endured, someone who had fought through darkness and come out even more resilient.
Her accent had softened too, the distinct French lilt now blended with the crispness of American influence. It wasn't gone entirely, but the new tinge to her voice only added to the allure, the mystery of her. She was still undeniably Juliette—sharp, witty, beautiful—but she had become something more, something different. And Fred couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride as he looked at her.
She had been through so much, but she had come out the other side, standing before him, strong and whole. And despite the changes, the marks life had left on her, one thing hadn't changed—she was still herself, the girl who had captured his heart from the very first day.
His breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. His mind raced, trying to process what was happening. Two years. Two years of letters, of longing, of waiting, and now, here she was, standing before him as if no time had passed at all.
Juliette crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as he stared at her, but the affection in her gaze was undeniable. "Well? Aren't you going to say something?"
Fred didn't know what to say. All the emotions he had been holding back for so long surged forward in a tidal wave. Without thinking, he dropped everything, vaulting over the counter and rushing toward her. She barely had time to react before he reached her, his hands cupping her face as he pulled her close. The world around them seemed to vanish in that instant.
His lips found hers in a desperate, passionate kiss, one that spoke of all the longing and the pain he had felt in her absence. His hands slid to her back, pulling her closer, as though he was afraid she would vanish if he let go.
Juliette responded with equal fervor, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back. It was as if they were trying to make up for every moment they had been apart, pouring everything into that single, heart-stopping kiss. Time seemed to stand still, the world around them fading away. It was just the two of them, reunited after what felt like an eternity.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting together, both of them breathing heavily, Fred's hands were still holding her tightly, as though afraid to let go.
"Juliette," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "What—how—what are you doing here? I—I thought something had happened to you. I thought I'd lost you."
"It's a long story, but with graduation being over, I thought I'd leave America finally." Juliette replied, smiling at him
Fred's eyes searched hers, and for the first time in weeks, he felt the weight on his heart begin to lift. She was here. She was safe. And more than that, she was in his arms again, where she belonged.
"I've missed you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Juliette's smile softened, and she lifted a hand to his face, brushing away a strand of hair from his forehead. "I've missed you too. More than you can imagine."
The door to the shop opened behind them, but neither of them noticed. Fred's world had narrowed to just this moment, this reunion with the woman he loved. The man who had been so lost, so worried for so long, now felt whole again.
Suddenly, footsteps from above their heads were heard and someone started down the stairs. This noise caused Fred and Juliette to break their gaze for a moment. They both instinctively turned toward the stairs just as George's voice rang out from the flat above.
"Oi, what's going on down here? It's a bit loud for a customer—"
But then George's words caught in his throat as he rounded the corner into the shop, and his eyes widened in surprise. There, in the middle of the joke shop, was Fred, standing close to a woman with blonde hair—an unmistakable woman. Fred was holding her in his arms, their faces inches apart as they stared at each other, both looking slightly dazed, like they had just stepped out of a dream.
George blinked, doing a double-take, his mouth hanging open for a moment. Then, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Well, well, well," George said, his grin widening as he stepped into the room. "What's this? I know Fred's charm is legendary, but I didn't know it could bring back ghosts from the past."
Juliette rolled her eyes at George's antics, but Fred couldn't help but laugh, his relief evident. He didn't want to let go of her, but he finally loosened his hold, getting a good look at her, almost not believing she was real.
George, noticing the look that passed between the two of them, raised an eyebrow, but he was careful not to pry too much. "Well, guess that answers all my questions. You two look like you've got a lot of catching up to do." His voice softened just slightly, the teasing tone replaced by something more understanding. He had seen Fred go through hell while Juliette had been away, and now that they were together again, he could tell just how much this meant to both of them.
"I'll watch the shop. Let you two be alone for a bit," George said with a wink. "Don't get too carried away in the middle of the apartment, though. We eat at that table." He gave Fred a mock salute, then turned to head behind the counter.
Fred ignored his brother's teasing and gently took Juliette's hand and led her toward the back of the shop, past shelves of colorful joke products, through the door, and up the creaky stairs to the flat above. The space was cozy, cluttered with their inventions and the scent of fresh baked goods from a nearby shop. But Fred's mind was mostly on the girl at his side, the one he never thought he'd see again.
"Do you like it?" Fred asked as he opened the door to the flat, stepping inside and waving his hand in a grand, albeit cheeky, motion. "It's not much, but it's home."
Juliette took in the room, her eyes scanning the familiar chaos that was Fred and George's world. The flat was small, and messy, clearly Angelina had not had time to decorate since she and George got married shortly after their graduation from Hogwarts. She smiled faintly, looking at Fred as she ran a hand through her now shorter, sun-kissed hair.
"I love it," she said, her voice still soft with that faded French lilt. "It's perfect, really."
Fred's relief at seeing Juliette was almost overwhelming, but beneath it simmered a storm of questions. Two years was a long time. Too long. And now, standing in front of him as if no time had passed, she looked the same—but something about her felt different. Her shoulders carried a tension he hadn't noticed before, and her eyes darted around the room as if she were searching for something she couldn't quite name. He watched her closely as she moved around, taking in the mismatched furniture and the cluttered counter.
He leaned casually against the doorframe, though his heart raced. "I'm glad you're here," he said, his voice soft but steady. "But, Jules... why are you really here?" He paused, his gaze sharpening as he tried to read her expression. "You can't just show up after two years and not tell me what's going on."
Juliette hesitated, her hand brushing lightly over the edge of the counter. She turned to face him, her eyes clouded with a mixture of emotions—hesitation, sadness, and something else he couldn't quite place.
"I—I don't really know how to explain it," she started, her voice faltering before she straightened and tried again. "After Ilvermorny Graduation, Papa got called to a mission in Germany. He said it was important, that he needed to go undercover for a while. We came back to Europe, but... he's been different, Fred. Distracted. Secretive. It's like he's shutting me out of his life."
Fred frowned, his relief giving way to a twinge of concern. "What do you mean, different?" he pressed, his voice low.
Juliette sighed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the countertop. "I don't know. He's always been intense about his work, but this time... it's like he's carrying something heavier. Something he won't tell me about. We've always been close, but now it's like he's hiding things. It's been driving me mad trying to figure it out."
Her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken tension. Fred stepped closer, gently taking her hand in his. "And that's why you're here?" he asked softly.
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Part of it," she admitted. "The truth is, I couldn't stay away any longer. I needed to see you, Fred. You're the one thing that's felt... right."
Fred's chest tightened, the mix of love and unease twisting inside him. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "You don't have to do this alone, Jules," he murmured. "Whatever's going on with your dad, we'll figure it out together. But you've got to let me in this time."
Her smile wavered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll try," she whispered. But Fred couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her story—more she wasn't ready to say.
"I'm so glad you came back," he murmured. "I've missed you so much."
Juliette's eyes softened, and she stepped closer to him, closing the distance between them. For a moment, they both just stood there, silently soaking in the presence of each other after so much time apart.
"I've missed you, too," she whispered, and then, without another word, she reached up to kiss him. The kiss was tender at first, the kind that spoke volumes of everything left unsaid. Fred wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, his heart racing as he felt her warmth against him.
The kiss deepened, and Juliette's hands moved up to Fred's chest, pushing him gently toward the couch. Without breaking the kiss, Fred guided her down with him until they were sitting, her legs straddling his lap, both of them consumed by the heat of the moment.
The world outside seemed to disappear as they lost themselves in each other, the sensation of reconnecting, of touching again after two years, filling them with an intense longing. Fred's hands traced the sides of Juliette's face, his fingers grazing the new scars she wore, the traces of the battles she had fought, and he kissed them away gently, as though the very act would make her feel safe, whole again.
Juliette's hands slid under his shirt, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin, and for a moment, all the words, all the fears that had built up over the years, were gone. It was just the two of them. Just the kiss. The way it felt to finally be in each other's arms after so long apart.
Her heart raced in her chest, every second feeling like a lifetime of waiting, and yet she couldn't help but smile against his lips, breathing out softly. "Fred…" she murmured, the sound of his name caught between breaths.
Fred pulled back slightly, his hands gently cupping her face. His eyes searched hers, as if asking for permission—asking if this was right, if this was what they both wanted.
She smiled softly, nodding, her eyes locking onto his with such intensity that he couldn't look away. "Yes, Fred. I'm yours. Always."
With that, he kissed her again, this time deeper, more urgent, the emotions flooding back as he kissed her with everything he'd held back for two long years. He pulled her into his bedroom, locked the door behind them, and pushed her onto his bed.
As their bodies pressed closer, Fred's hands worked gently, lovingly, to undo the barriers between them. This moment, this reconnection, was more than just physical—it was a promise, a pledge to never let go again.
Juliette let out a soft sigh, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, her breath catching in her throat as the heat between them intensified. Fred kissed her like he needed to breathe her in, the soft moans and sighs between them growing louder, their passion evident. He entered her and everything felt complete.
And as the night wore on, the rest of the world didn't exist. It was just Fred and Juliette—reunited, lost in each other's arms, sharing everything they had missed and longing for more.
It was her first time. But for Fred, it wasn't just about that. It was about her being back in his arms again, about the two of them finally being able to pick up where they left off, after all the time, all the hurt, and all the distance between them.
The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Fred and Juliette lay tangled in the sheets, their bodies still entwined, the world outside completely forgotten. The air was heavy with the remnants of their passion, but it was the tenderness between them that filled the space now—gentle, soft touches, quiet whispers, the kind of closeness that spoke louder than words.
Fred's hand rested on Juliette's waist, his fingers lightly tracing small circles across her skin. Her head was nestled against his chest, her hair slightly tousled, still holding the lingering scent of him. Her fingers played absentmindedly drawing shapes over his chest as she let out a content sigh.
"I never thought I'd wake up like this," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. She lifted her head slightly, her blue eyes locking with his. "It feels like a dream."
Fred smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I know what you mean," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's not. It's real."
They were both silent for a moment, simply enjoying the quiet comfort of each other's presence. The whole night had felt like an eternity of unspoken feelings and lost time, but now, in the light of day, everything seemed to fall into place. They were together again, no more distance between them, no more waiting.
Fred's thumb stroked her arm gently, and Juliette smiled up at him, her lips curving into something more playful now. "So… about last night…" she started, her voice teasing.
Fred laughed softly, pulling her closer so her body pressed up against his. "We don't need to talk about it. But…" he trailed off, his voice deepening. "I'm definitely not complaining."
She laughed lightly, her breath tickling his skin. "No," she agreed, "me neither."
Fred's hands roamed down her back, the warmth of her body making him feel alive in a way he hadn't known he could. His lips found hers once more, slow and gentle, savoring the sensation of her lips against his, of finally having her back where she belonged.
Their kisses deepened again, as if their bodies couldn't get enough of each other, a hunger to make up for all the lost time. The outside world ceased to exist as they locked themselves away in their own little universe. They didn't need anyone else. They didn't need anything else.
The morning passed slowly, their love making up for every moment they had spent apart. Again and again, they discovered each other anew, every touch, every kiss, a reaffirmation of how right it felt to be in each other's arms. Time didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that they were together, and nothing else in the world could take that away.
Later that morning, Juliette slipped out of bed, the soft cotton of Fred's shirt falling to just above her thighs. She paused for a moment to take in the quiet of the flat, the familiar smells of early morning brewing coffee wafting from the kitchen. With a soft smile, she padded down the hallway, the floorboards creaking lightly beneath her bare feet.
As she entered the kitchen, she saw Angelina standing by the counter, sipping a mug of coffee in her pajamas with her dark hair pulled back into a messy bun, her engagement and wedding rings shining in the morning light. Angelina's eyes flicked up as Juliette walked in, and for a moment, there was only surprise—before the corner of her mouth curled into a teasing grin.
"Well, well, well," Angelina said, raising an eyebrow, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "I thought you two were supposed to be catching up. But it looks like you kept George and me up all night instead."
Juliette froze, her cheeks flushing. "Angelina," she said, her voice soft and a little embarrassed, but her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I—"
"Don't worry," Angelina interrupted with a grin, her tone still teasing. "George and I have a whole list of complaints about the noise level. But I'm sure Fred doesn't care, does he?"
Juliette let out a breath of relief, laughing softly. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't," she admitted, remembering the way he'd kissed her like it was the only thing that mattered.
Angelina gave a mock sigh. "Guess I can't blame you two. After two years, I think it's safe to say you were long overdue."
Juliette chuckled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. "You could say that."
There was a comfortable silence between them as they shared a knowing look, the bond of friendship still as strong as ever, despite the time apart. Angelina leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms and studying Juliette with a smile that softened. "So," she began, her tone lighter. "How've you been, Jules? It's been ages."
Juliette sighed softly as she filled a glass with water, her mind wandering to the two years spent in America. "It's been... interesting. Different, really. But I'm glad to be back. I've missed you," she said with a genuine warmth, setting the glass down and stepping closer.
Angelina's eyes softened as well, and she reached out to pull Juliette into a quick hug. "I missed you too," she murmured. "I'm so happy you're here."
Before Juliette could respond, Fred wandered into the kitchen, his hair a mess and his shirt wrinkled, looking very much like he had just rolled out of bed—because he had. He blinked at the sight of the two women standing together, a grin creeping onto his face as he caught the tail end of the conversation.
"Well, well," he said, his voice still groggy but amused. "Look at you two. Ganging up on me already?"
Angelina raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, her playful smile never wavering. "We were just talking about how you and Juliette kept us awake last night," she said, her tone completely serious.
Fred's eyes widened in mock shock. "What? You didn't hear anything, did you?"
Juliette couldn't help but laugh, her cheeks still flushed. Fred walked over to her and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before grabbing a cup of coffee from the counter.
"Angelina," he said, giving her a pointed look. "You can't possibly be complaining about this after I have been dealing with you and George for two years. Can you?"
Angelina chuckled. "Complain? No. But if I ever need tips on how to keep a couple entertained all night long, I'll know who to ask."
Fred quipped back, smirking. "Just don't ask George. He won't give you the best advice."
At that, all three of them burst into laughter, the easy camaraderie filling the room. It was as if no time had passed at all, and Juliette felt a warmth in her chest—finally back with the people she cared about, in the place she was meant to be.