You had transferred to Hogwarts for your seventh year, arriving with a swirl of curiosity and whispers in your wake. You had been placed in Gryffindor, much to everyone’s surprise—given your polished, graceful air from years at Beauxbatons. But it didn’t take long for you to settle in.

With your sweet demeanor and kind heart, you quickly became close friends with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Fred and George Weasley weren’t far behind. The twins were immediately intrigued by your wit, and your ability to roll with their antics only earned you more of their admiration. It didn’t hurt that your arrival sparked more than a few heads to turn in the corridors, but you never let the attention get to you. You stayed grounded, brushing off the flirty comments and lingering stares with practiced ease.

Now, three months into the school year, the castle was beginning to shift into winter—windows fogging over, scarves wrapped tighter, and the fires in the common rooms crackling with comforting warmth.

You were curled up on the worn red couch near the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, chatting with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Laughter echoed off the stone walls as you shared stories and complaints about homework, your legs tucked beneath you and a mug of cocoa balanced on the armrest.

The portrait hole creaked open—and in strolled Fred and George, cheeks pink from the cold, scarves dangling loosely around their necks. The moment they spotted you, Fred’s smile curved into something undeniably mischievous.

Without hesitation, he strode over and flopped down beside you on the couch, claiming the spot to your right. George took the seat on your other side, sandwiching you between them in classic twin fashion.

Fred draped one arm lazily across the back of the couch behind you and leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting with playful charm.

“Good afternoon, gorgeous,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped your lips. “Good afternoon to you as well. You too, George.”

George chuckled, shooting Fred a smug look. “At least someone remembers I exist.”

Fred gave a mock gasp. “You wound me, brother. She only has eyes for me!”

“Tragic, really,” George quipped.

You shook your head, trying not to smile too wide as you took another sip of your cocoa.

“So,” Fred said, finally turning to the others. “What are you lot up to? Plotting to take over the world? Or just another thrilling discussion about Transfiguration essays?”

“We’re talking about Snape’s latest essay prompt, actually,” Hermione said dryly. “So—yes. Absolutely thrilling.”

Fred let out a dramatic groan and leaned closer to you, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Save me. I’ll trade you three dungbombs and a chocolate frog if you sneak me out of this conversation.”

The fire popped in the hearth as you raised a brow, pretending to consider it. “Only if the chocolate frog isn’t from your last failed experiment.”

Fred grinned. “No promises.”