You hadn’t thought much of it when Fred suggested the costumes. “You’ll be my victim,” he’d said with a grin, sprawled across your bed in your dorm, twirling the Ghostface mask by its strap. “Hot, yeah?”

It had sounded hot — the kind of dark, playful thing that only Fred WeasIey could make irresistible. You’d nodded, imagining him in the mask, whispering something teasing and wicked against your ear.

You hadn’t, however, realized just how seriously he planned to take it.

The Great Hall was transformed for the Halloween party — floating pumpkins, orange candles flickering against the ceiling, the air thick with the scent of spiced cider and laughter. You’d gone all in on the costume: torn dress, fake blood, and a shaky laugh every time someone commented that you “looked too real.”

Then the lights dimmed for the next song.

A shiver ran down your spine before you even saw him. And when you did—Merlin help you—he looked terrifyingly good. The black robes, the white mask tilted slightly, the fake knife glinting under the candlelight. He was standing across the room, completely still, head cocked to the side. Even from a distance, you could feel his grin behind the mask.

Then he pointed the knife toward you. His voice, low and distorted through the mask, carried just loud enough for you to hear “Run.”

Your heart skipped. The air seemed to thicken around you as the music swelled. You laughed nervously, taking a small step back, but he started moving forward—slow at first, then faster, weaving through the crowd with that smooth, predatory stride that made your pulse quicken.

You didn’t need more encouragement.

And just like that, the game began.

You bolted between groups of students, laughter bubbling out of you despite the pounding in your chest. You could hear him behind you — boots on the stone floor, robes rustling, that low chuckle muffled by the mask.

Every time you dared to glance back, he was closer, weaving through the crowd like a shadow. You could feel the weight of his gaze even through the mask. He was enjoying this. The chase. The anticipation. You.

You reached the far end of the hall, breathless, heart hammering, half-laughing, half-terrified in that exhilarating way only he could make you feel. You spun around — and crashed right into him.

He caught you easily, strong arms locking around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground as you squealed. His mask was inches from your face.

“Still think it’s hot, love?” he whispered through the mask, voice low, teasing, breath warm against your ear.