The storm howled through the dense forest, its gale-force winds flinging leaves and branches like they were determined to start a war of their own. The dilapidated cabin you found yourselves stranded in creaked ominously with every gust, its wooden beams groaning under the strain. A fire crackled weakly in the small stone hearth, its glow barely enough to warm the room—or the two people forced into its suffocating proximity. You and Fred.

Fred sat slouched in the only chair, his long legs stretched out arrogantly, boots crossed at the ankles as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His smirk, however, was as sharp as ever, practically daring you to start an argument.

“So,” he drawled, tossing a stray spark from his wand into the fire with an exaggerated flick of his wrist, “another day, another adventure where you manage to make my life miserable. Tell me, do you plan these, or is it some kind of natural talent?”

You resisted the urge to throttle him. “Oh, forgive me, Fred,” you snapped, leaning heavily against the far wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “I must’ve missed the part where you graciously volunteered to lead us back to civilization. Let me guess, your grand plan involves sarcasm and sitting there looking smug?”

His grin widened, irritatingly unbothered. “You forgot devilishly handsome, but that’s alright. I know you’re distracted by your inability to admit you’re impressed by my charm.”

Your glare could’ve frozen molten lava. “Charmed isn’t the word I’d use.”

Fred’s laughter rumbled low and warm, and despite your best efforts, it sent an unwelcome flutter through your chest. His fingers, strong and calloused from years of Quidditch and tinkering, tapped idly on the chair’s armrest as he leaned forward.

“What’s the matter?” he teased, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “The big, bad storm too much for you? I can hold your hand if you’re scared.”