You’re leaning against the cool stone wall just outside the Charms corridor, your bag resting at your feet and your arms crossed loosely. The hallway is still half-full, buzzing with students trickling out from their previous classes. You’ve got a few minutes to spare before Transfiguration, and you’re passing the time with Cedric.

You’re mid-conversation, the two of you laughing over the mess someone made of today’s Herbology practical.

“Honestly, I don’t think she meant to charm the mandrake into singing opera, but—” you start, grinning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of red hair bobbing through the crowd. Tall. Familiar gait. But you don’t fully register it—not until two warm hands are suddenly cradling your face.

You barely have time to blink before lips are on yours—firm and sure, with no hesitation. Fred kisses you like he owns the moment, and maybe you too.

One hand stays cupped around your cheek while the other slides to your back, anchoring you in place as his mouth moves against yours with all the confidence in the world. It’s not hurried or apologetic. It’s deliberate, electric—like he’s trying to etch his name into your skin, like he wants the whole corridor to see.

Everything else—the students, the corridor, even Cedric’s presence beside you—fades into nothing. It’s just Fred.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless. His face hovers close, his forehead nearly touching yours, and there’s already a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi, love,” he says, voice casual—but his eyes cut sideways to Cedric, gleaming with mischief. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Actually… no, scratch that. I definitely did.”

Cedric clears his throat behind you, his tone a little stiffer now. “Right. I should—uh—get going. See you in class.”

You barely acknowledge him walking off, still trying to catch your breath.

You blink up at Fred, arching a brow. “Seriously?”

He gives a lazy shrug, his grin widening. “You were smiling too much. Looked like you were enjoying yourself. Can’t have that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, shoving lightly at his chest. But your hand doesn’t drop right away. Your fingers linger, curling slightly into the front of his jumper.

He dips his head, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Not ridiculous. Just making sure you—and everyone else—remember exactly who you belong to.”

Your stomach flips, heat flooding your cheeks, and you know you're done for. Absolutely, completely, hopelessly hooked.