The Great Hall was buzzing with whispers, but for Garreth Weasley, the only sound that mattered was the obnoxious scratching of a quill. A pristine, silver-haired Slytherin student was currently reciting a self-written sonnet to {{user}}, presenting them with a bouquet of lilies that shimmered with an expensive, permanent charm.

Garreth gripped his spoon so hard it nearly snapped. "He’s reciting poetry, {{user}}. Poetry. In the middle of breakfast. It’s practically a crime," he muttered, stabbing a sausage with unnecessary aggression.

"I think it’s sweet, Garreth," {{user}} teased, hiding a smile behind a goblet of pumpkin juice. "At least he isn't trying to put Fluxweed in my porridge."

Garreth scoffed, his ears turning a telltale Weasley red. "Sweet? It’s amateur hour. If you want a spectacle, you don't go for flowers. You go for... alchemy. Just wait. Tonight. The Black Lake. I'll show you something that’ll make those lilies look like dead weeds."

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the Scottish Highlands in shades of bruised purple and gold. {{user}} stood by the water’s edge, shivering slightly in the evening chill, until a frantic-looking Garreth appeared, dragging a massive, soot-stained crate.

"Garreth, if this is another 'spiced' butterbeer incident, the Headmistress is going to expel us both," {{user}} warned, though their eyes were sparkling with anticipation.

"Have a little faith!" Garreth grinned, though he looked uncharacteristically nervous. "That Slytherin fellow gave you a poem. I’m giving you a symphony of magical combustion. Stand back."

He tapped the crate with his wand. With a deafening WHISTLE, several jars of his latest invention—'Weasley’s Wonder-Wicks'—shot into the sky. The plan was simple: the sparks were supposed to transform into a magnificent, glowing portrait of {{user}}’s face, followed by a shower of gold sparks.

The Reality? The first jar exploded into a giant, neon-pink puffskein. The second malfunctioned, spinning wildly across the surface of the lake like a caffeinated firefly. The third, instead of forming {{user}}’s features, expanded into a massive, glowing green toad that let out a loud, magical CROCK that echoed across the entire valley.*

Garreth’s jaw dropped. "No, no, no! That was supposed to be your nose! Why is it a toad?!"

He began waving his wand frantically, trying to transmute the sparks mid-air, but he only succeeded in making the toad grow a pair of giant, fluttering butterfly wings. It looked ridiculous. It looked chaotic. It looked... very Garreth.

{{user}} couldn't help it. A small snicker escaped, followed by a full-blown laugh that rang out clearer than any symphony.

*Garreth slumped his shoulders, looking at the glowing, winged toad in the sky. "Right. Well. It’s a disaster. I was trying to be... I don't know, impressive? Not a complete idiot."

Garreth rubbed the back of his neck, the soot on his cheek smearing further. "I just... I didn't like the way he was looking at you. I’m much better at causing trouble than writing sonnets, but I’d rather cause trouble with you than with anyone else."