The hallway outside the Transfiguration classroom was buzzing with whispers.

You’d only just rounded the corner when Fred came striding toward you—grinning like a man who knew exactly what kind of trouble he was in. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he was dusted in glitter. Literal glitter.

“What did you do?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Fred’s grin only widened. “Improved morale.”

You crossed your arms. “Fred—”

He tilted his head. “Let’s just say Professor Vector’s classroom now features a life-sized, glitter-covered statue of Snape… doing ballet. In a tutu.”

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” he said proudly, slipping his hands into his pockets like the picture of innocence. “It even twirls.”

Then the sharp click of McGonagall’s shoes echoed down the corridor, followed by her unmistakable voice: “Mr. WeasIey!”

You flinched. Fred didn’t.

“Hi, Professor!” he called cheerfully.

“My office. Now.” Her tone left no room for negotiation.

He turned back to you—and something shifted. His grin softened, eyes flicking over your face like he wanted to memorize every detail. Then he stepped closer.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached for you—one hand cupping your cheek, the other slipping around your waist—and kissed you.

Not sweet. Not teasing.

He kissed you like a man going off to war.

Like someone who’d just been sentenced to life in Azkaban and had one last chance to do something right.

It was intense and breathless and real—his mouth firm on yours, desperate and certain all at once. His fingers pressed into your back, pulling you close like he couldn’t risk even an inch between you.

Somewhere around you, people gasped. There was the sound of someone dropping their books, followed by a sharp, scandalized, “WeasIey!” from McGonagaIl.

But Fred didn’t stop.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, wide-eyed, and completely off balance.

You blinked up at him. “What—what was that for?”

Fred smirked, his thumb brushing over your lip like he couldn’t help himself.

“Just in case they lock me up for good this time,” he said lightly. “Had to make sure I remembered what I’d be missing.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

He winked. “See you after detention, love.”

Then he turned and strolled off toward McGonagalI like he hadn’t just short-circuited every thought in your head.

You stood frozen, lips tingling, breath uneven—and you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your mouth.

He was impossible.

And you were absolutely, hopelessly gone for him.