You wake slowly, pulled from sleep by the low morning light filtering through red hangings and stone walls that feel… unfamiliar.

Your head throbs gently, the kind of ache that comes from too much laughter, too much noise, too many stolen drinks the night before. For a moment, you stay still, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments already crowding your mind.

The Gryffindor common room.

Music echoing off the walls.

Warm firelight, blurred faces, red and gold everywhere.

Laughter so loud it felt like it shook the tower.

Memories rush back in uneven waves. Someone spinning you around. Butterbeer sloshing over the rim of your cup. The feeling that the night had gone on far too long to remember properly.

Your eyes blink open.

Red hangings. Deep crimson curtains drawn halfway around the bed, catching the early morning light and muting it into a soft glow. For a long second, you just stare, trying to make sense of it. Your breath catches as the realization settles in.

This is not your dorm.

Your heart thumps a little harder as you lift your head, taking in more details. The familiar chaos of a boys’ dormitory surrounds you. Clothes draped over chairs, a pair of shoes kicked carelessly near the foot of the bed, chocolate frog wrappers abandoned on a bedside table. The air smells faintly of smoke and something sweet.

Slowly, carefully, you turn your head.

He’s there.

Fred Weasley lies beside you, still asleep, one arm resting loosely across the mattress, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him without touching. His hair is a mess against the pillow, freckles standing out softly in the morning light. He looks peaceful in a way you’ve never seen before, like the world hasn’t caught up to him yet.

You stare, trying to breathe quietly.

You don’t remember coming here.

Don’t remember leaving the party.

Don’t remember how you ended up in his bed instead of your own.

Only that the night had been loud and bright and reckless, and somehow led here.

You look at him again, searching his sleeping face for answers you don’t have, your mind looping the same thought over and over as the morning settles in around you.

How did you end up here?