The air is damp and cool as you trudge through the narrow alleyways of the Alley, the faint hum of magical chatter and clinking glasses from the Leaky Cauldron echoing in the distance. The evening lanterns cast a golden glow on the cobblestones, illuminating your path to the building you’re dreading to enter. You’ve been in and out of Weasley-Wizard Wheezes all week—not by choice. A favor for a mutual friend turned into a full-blown disaster when Fred managed to accidentally charm a batch of Extendable Ears into sentient, overly curious little pests that now infest your shop.

And, of course, you’ve been tasked with the “privilege” of dealing with him to fix it.

As you push open the vibrant purple door, the sweet scent of fireworks and faint cinnamon wafts toward you. The shop is dimly lit, closed to customers for the night, and it’s eerily quiet—until you hear a clatter from the back.

“Oh, good. You’re back,” Fred’s voice cuts through the silence, dripping with that signature, annoyingly smooth sarcasm.

You round the corner to find him sprawled on the counter, legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s grinning at you, that lopsided smirk that somehow manages to be both irritating and stupidly attractive. His rolled-up sleeves reveal freckled forearms, inked with tattoos that you pretend not to notice, and there’s a faint streak of soot on his cheek, probably from another chaotic experiment gone awry.

“What took you so long? You miss me or something?” he teases, tilting his head as if he’s genuinely curious.

Your glare is sharp enough to cut glass. “Miss you? I’d rather spend the night in a room full of Cornish Pixies. Speaking of disasters, you’re supposed to be helping me fix the mess you made.”

Fred swings his legs off the counter and stands, stretching in that infuriatingly casual way that makes his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a flash of toned skin. “Mess? I’d call it creative innovation, actually."