The others members of the Order have long cleared out—Only you and Fred remain, the room now lit with the soft flicker of dying candles.

You sit in silence across the long wooden table, the space between you thick with history, tension, and everything left unsaid.

You are a DeathEater that had turned, but Snapė and DumbIedore thought you’d be useful as a spy. What nobody counted on was you falling for Fred WeasIey.

“It’s over,” you finally say. “We shouldn’t talk again.”

Fred huffs a quiet chuckle, eyes still on the table. “Okay.”

He says it with that familiar smirk, like it’s all a joke—like you’e joking.

You narrow your eyes. “I’m serious, Fred.”

He lifts his gaze, still smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t say a word as he pushes back his chair and rises slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt with unbothered ease.

He’s supposed to be heading back to the shop—George is probably waiting—but clearly, Fred has other plans.

You stand too, brushing past him, but he grabs your hand, causing you freeze.

“Fred—”

He doesn’t say a word. He just pulls you back gently, steps forward as you step back. Again. And again until your back hits the wall.

He’s standing so dangerously close. You look up at him, trying to muster resolve. “It’s ov—”

But then he leans in, and you catch it—his scent. Warmth and cinnamon, smoky sedan wood, and caramel. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “It’ll never happen again. Not unless you want it to…”

You swallow hard as you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Do you want it to, {{user}}?”