The common room is buzzing with energy, music pulsing low and seductive. You’re swaying on the makeshift dance floor, lost in the rhythm, when a flash of red hair catches your eye. Fred—shouldn’t he be off guarding the his house’s dorm? Yet here he is, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, a mischievous grin pulling at his freckled cheeks.

Your eyes meet, and he lifts his chin, nodding subtly toward a nearby closet. Curiosity and the firewhisky in your veins push you toward him without hesitation. The two of you slip inside, the door clicking shut behind. It’s cramped and dim, the muffled music and laughter outside turning distant. You can smell the faint scent of oak polish and dust, but mostly you’re acutely aware of him—his warmth, his breath against your cheek.

The alcohol emboldens you both. One second you’re exchanging sly smiles, and the next, his lips crash against yours. It’s all heat and urgency, fingers tangled in hair, muffled moans as you let yourselves drown in the moment. Your heart pounds, and your head spins—not just from the drinks, but from him, from the forbidden thrill of it all.

When you finally stumble out, flushed and disheveled, you expect him to vanish—maybe smirk and slip away into the night. But Fred lingers, his gaze never straying far from you.

“Listen,” he says softly, leaning in as you steady yourself against the wall. “I know it’s crazy, but after what just happened…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want this to be the last time.”

You arch an eyebrow, trying to ignore the flip in your stomach. “Fred, we barely know each other.”

He grins, that easy, confident smile brightening his eyes. “We can fix that, can’t we? I mean, I’ve had a taste now, and I don’t think I can leave you behind. Let me prove I’m not just a one-night memory.”