The hospital wing doors swung open with a creak, and there he was — Fred Weasley, grinning like he hadn’t just been punched half a dozen times. His cheek was swollen, lip split, a few streaks of dried blood under his nose. His tie hung loose, and his hair looked like it had gone through a windstorm.

You were sitting on the bed, arms crossed, one bandaged hand resting over the other. There was still a faint line of blood down your jaw, and your eyes — sharp, calm — met his immediately.

“You look like shit,” you said.

“You should see the other guy,” Fred shot back, dragging a chair over with a scrape. Then, after a pause, his grin widened. “Actually, you saw the other guy.”

You tried to hide it, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “He was already talking crap before you showed up.” You mumbled nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” Fred said, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna let that slide. No one talks about my girl like that and walks away smiling.”

“You mean he threw you across the courtyard.” You huffed softly, although your eyes were sparkling with gratitude, pride and fondness.

“Strategic distraction,” he corrected. “Worked, didn’t it? You walked away, he didn’t.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “I didn’t walk. I limped. But yeah, he’s not walking anywhere for a while either.”

Fred leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping low. “You really did it, huh?”

You met his gaze. “He laid a hand on you, Fred. That was all you said — but it was enough.

Fred’s grin faltered for half a heartbeat, replaced by that warm, unshakable pride he got when you surprised him. Then it was back — that crooked Weasley smile that made everything else feel easy. “You should’ve seen McGonagall’s face when she heard,” he said, laughing quietly. “Half horrified, half impressed. George owes me ten Galleons — said you wouldn’t actually swing first.”

He reached out, brushing his thumb gently along the cut on her lip. “You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile snuck in anyway. “You’re an idiot, Fred Weasley.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, “but I’m your idiot.”

He kissed your forehead — careful, just enough to make your shoulders finally relax.

The hospital wing was quiet except for the faint hum of rain outside. Fred stayed there beside you, still grinning, still proud, like bruises meant nothing and loving you meant everything.