The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual midday chaos—clanking goblets, enchanted ceiling shifting through lazy afternoon clouds, and a sea of students chattering in hushed tones about the latest absurdity from Professor Umbridge.

Her newest decree was laughable at best. No boys and girls within eight inches of each other. As if that would stop anything.

{{user}} had been lazily stirring their soup when a folded note, charmed to hover like a snitch, zipped over and landed neatly on their plate. It smelled faintly of gunpowder and trouble—so naturally, it had to be from the Weasley twins.

With an arched brow, they unfolded the parchment.

"Luckily, we have 9 inches."

There was no signature. There didn’t need to be.

Across the Hall, Fred and George sat at the Gryffindor table, watching expectantly. Fred had his chin propped up on one hand, looking far too pleased with himself, while George waggled his eyebrows in a way that suggested he was already waiting for {{user}}’s reaction.

{{user}} choked on a laugh, quickly covering their mouth to stifle it. Those absolute menaces.

They scribbled back a response.

"I’d hope so. Otherwise, I’d be terribly disappointed."

Summoning a bit of magic, they flicked the note back through the air. Fred caught it one-handed, eyes scanning the words before breaking into a wide grin. George, peering over his shoulder, let out a bark of laughter.

The twins shared a look. And that was all the warning {{user}} got before they abandoned their lunch and strolled right over.

"Dearest {{user}}," Fred started, dramatically sliding onto the bench beside them, making a show of ignoring the so-called distance rule.

George plopped down on their other side. “You wound us. Terribly disappointed? That’s a heavy blow to our fragile egos.”

Fred clutched his heart. “We may never recover.”

{{user}} rolled their eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Fred smirked. "Only one way to prove it. You have to join us later, in bed of course, to prove our point. We aren't liars after all"