Fred Weasley had been a thorn in your side since you were six years old.

A loud, sparkly, grin-too-big-for-his-face kind of thorn who showed up at the Burrow one summer and declared that he’d found his “partner-in-prank for life.” You were sticky with jam and missing a front tooth. Fred had a frog in his pocket and immediately tried to put it in your hair.

It was love. Obviously.

Since then, the two of you had been inseparable. Chaos magnet meets chaos conductor. Potions class disasters, whispered insults in the library, daring each other to steal treacle tarts from the kitchens—and always getting caught. By sixth year, no one even asked if you two were dating anymore. The answer was written in the way Fred always saved you a seat, how he knew exactly when to tug you behind a tapestry to avoid Filch, and the way your name sounded in his voice—like a joke he didn’t want anyone else to laugh at.

Which is exactly how this mess started.

You were just trying to eat your toast. Normal. Peaceful. No explosions. Then Fred stood on the Gryffindor table with the biggest smirk you'd ever seen.

"Oi! McGonagall!" he shouted. Everyone turned. Including her. Her teacup halfway to her mouth.

You froze. “Fred. Don’t you d—”

“Will you—” he dropped to one knee dramatically and grabbed your hand— “make me the happiest rule-breaker in this castle and agree to be my forever partner in crime?”

McGonagall choked. Ron spit out his juice. Hermione muttered, “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—”

You? You just stared at him.

“Fredrick Gideon Weasley,” you hissed under your breath, cheeks burning.

He leaned in, grin widening. “Say yes, love. Do it for the drama.”