You weren’t supposed to be this close to getting expelled today.

But then again… when were you two ever supposed to be doing what you did?

It had started as all the best ideas do—with a dare, a half-sketched plan, and a glint in Fred Weasley’s eye that should’ve told you run. Not from danger. From him.

You never could.

The moment you met him—chaotic, smirking, impossible Fred—you knew. He wasn’t just a Weasley, not just Ron’s older brother or George’s double. He was your person. Same jokes. Same recklessness. Same wild, ridiculous heart that wanted Hogwarts to be more than rules and essays and detentions.

And you? You were younger, yeah. A year behind. A friend of the Golden Trio, with a reputation for charm and cheek and nearly blowing up Snape’s cauldron once because he deserved it.

The two of you together? A disaster. A legend.

George was sick—tragically missing out—and the castle didn’t stand a chance. The prank had been massive. Exploding ink across half the library, Umbridge’s office turned into a literal swamp, and Filch’s cat still hissing blue feathers after passing through that enchanted hallway.

It had been perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Until the shouting started. Until Umbridge’s screech echoed from the floor below. Until Fred grabbed your hand, still breathless from laughing, and ran.

And now—

Now your back slammed into a wall that hadn’t been there two seconds ago, your chest heaving, eyes wide, hand still in his—and you realized…

Room of Requirement.

Fred’s grin was feral. “Always delivers, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were still pressed close to him, heart racing like a snitch had lodged itself in your ribs, and Fred… Fred was looking at you like he felt it too.

“Think we lost her,” he whispered, glancing toward the sealed door. His voice was low, rough from the run. His hand was still around yours. Neither of you moved.

Your laugh was breathless. “We’re actually going to get expelled this time.”

He shrugged, that grin softening just a little. “Worth it.”

Silence settled in the room. Not awkward, just… thick. Like static right before lightning. The walls flickered around you, showing shelves of fireworks, prank tools, spare cloaks. A perfect hideout. A you and him kind of place.

Fred leaned back slightly but didn’t let go. His fingers brushed against yours—like he didn’t realize he was doing it. Or maybe he did. You never could tell with him.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Freckles, flushed cheeks, hair all windblown from the escape. And that spark in his eyes—the one that always matched yours, but right now, it felt like more.

He licked his lips, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second—just one, just enough to make your skin prickle—and then met your gaze again.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you had to say it.

Because you already knew.