It had been months since Fred first sat beside {{user}} under that lonely oak tree near the edge of the Black Lake. He had found her there with her nose buried in a book about poisonous fungi, brows furrowed as though the pages carried some heavy weight. At first, he had come to tease—curiosity piqued by the girl everyone said was too quiet for her own good. But instead of brushing him off or shrinking away, she had simply looked up, offered him a tiny smile, and asked if he wanted to know how to neutralize venom from a doxy bite.

That was how it began. Slowly. Carefully. The weeks had rolled into months, conversations stretching longer each time until laughter slipped easily between them. And by spring, the whole castle knew: Fred Weasley had found himself a girlfriend.

Now summer had arrived, and with it, one of the twins’ many bets.

George leaned back against the common room sofa, smirking. “One day. Just one day, Freddie. If she doesn’t spot me, you owe me.”

Fred arched his brows, that signature gleam of mischief in his eyes. “And if she does?”

“Then I’ll owe you, naturally,” George said, feigning confidence. “But she won’t. I’m practically your double. She won’t even blink.”

Fred smirked wider, though there was the tiniest twitch of protectiveness in his jaw. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas about playing the doting boyfriend. You might be good at pranks, Georgie, but I doubt you can pull off my charm.”

George only grinned.

The day began simply enough. George, hair combed exactly as Fred wore it, swaggered into the Great Hall, taking his brother’s usual seat beside {{user}}. She was barely awake, dark circles under her eyes from late-night brewing. She mumbled a greeting, didn’t look up, and slid him a plate of toast.

George nearly laughed. Too easy.

He spent the morning with her: walking down to class, cracking jokes, and nudging her elbow whenever she zoned out. She smiled and even laughed softly at one of his quips, completely unaware. Fred—watching from a distance with Lee Jordan—was both entertained and increasingly uneasy.

By the afternoon, George was smug. Still undiscovered. Still safe.

But things changed that evening under the tree.

{{user}} sat cross-legged, a thick potions manual open on her lap. Her lips moved as she muttered antidote recipes under her breath. She looked worn down but determined, a little vial of green liquid glinting beside her.

George settled in next to her, careful not to break character. For a while, it worked. She leaned against him absentmindedly, as she sometimes did with Fred. But then—without warning—she turned her head, eyes soft, and leaned closer.

George panicked. He jerked back so fast the tree bark scraped his shoulder.

{{user}} blinked, confusion flickering across her tired features. “Fred? What’s wrong?”

For a heartbeat, George froze. Then he chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Uh—just remembered something. Really important. Can’t kiss you with doxy dust on my robes, can I?”

She frowned, skeptical now. Her gaze lingered on his face—longer than it had all day. And in that silence, George realized she wasn’t just his best friend. She knew him. Too well.

“…George?” she asked quietly.

His shoulders slumped. “Blast. Took you nearly the whole day, though. Fred’s going to be fuming.”

When Fred finally appeared—grinning and slightly red-eared—{{user}} folded her arms. “You two switched?”

Fred winced, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Harmless little bet, love. Thought you’d spot him right away. Didn’t think you’d actually—” He cut himself off, eyes darting toward {{user}}.