The problem, Fred Weasley decided, was not dragons, Death Eaters, or even his mother when she found experimental products under his bed.

The problem was you.

You—Harry’s older sister, which somehow made it worse—sat three tables down in the Great Hall, laughing at something Angelina said, your head tipped back just enough that Fred could see the curve of your smile. Your hair caught the floating candlelight, and for a brief, traitorous second, Fred forgot he was holding a fork.

George nudged him. Hard.

“Close your mouth,” George muttered. “You look like a stunned flobberworm.”

Fred snapped his jaw shut and scowled. “I was thinking.”

“You were staring.”

“Thinking while staring.”

George followed his gaze, then grinned in that knowing, infuriating way that only a twin could manage. “Ah. Her.”

Fred stabbed his potatoes with unnecessary violence. “Don’t.”

“You’ve only been pining after her since, what, second year?”

“Pining is a strong word.”

“You invented a Skiving Snackbox called Heartbreak Nougat after she smiled at Cedric Diggory.”

Fred opened his mouth, closed it, then pointed his fork accusingly. “That was market research.”

George snorted. “Sure it was.”

Across the hall, Harry glanced up from his plate and met Fred’s eyes. Fred immediately looked away, suddenly fascinated by a gravy boat. Asking you to the Yule Ball was one thing. Asking you when your little brother was the Boy Who Lived and could absolutely, definitely murder him in his sleep? Entirely another.

Fred had rehearsed it. Merlin knew he had. Fancy going to the Yule Ball with me? No, too casual. Would you do me the honor of attending— No, sounded like Percy. I was wondering if you— No. Cowardly.

He’d planned to ask you after Charms last Tuesday. You’d smiled at him. He panicked and asked Flitwick about homework he already understood.

Yesterday, in the corridor, you’d bumped into him—actually bumped into him—and apologized even though it was entirely his fault for not watching where he was going. You’d laughed when he made a joke about explosive hallways, and Fred’s brain had promptly short-circuited. He’d waved. Waved. Like a complete idiot.

Now the Yule Ball loomed closer every day, whispers and excitement buzzing through Hogwarts like a live wire. Girls were being asked. Partners were being chosen. Time was running out.

Fred glanced at you again.

This time, you caught him.

Your eyes met, and instead of looking away, you smiled—small, warm, familiar. Like you expected him to be looking.

Fred’s chest did something alarming.

George leaned in. “Go on,” he said quietly. “Ask her. Worst she can say is no.”

Fred swallowed. His palms were sweaty. His heart was pounding like a Bludger. He stood halfway from the bench—

Then Harry turned fully around, grinning at something Ron said.

Fred sat back down.

George sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Fred exhaled shakily, forcing a grin. “Couple more months,” he said. “Plenty of time.”

But his eyes drifted back to you, and this time the thought hit him hard and sharp

If someone else asks her first, I’ll never forgive myself.

And that, Fred Weasley knew, was far scarier than any dragon.