The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet that evening, the fire crackling lazily as you made your way up the boys’ staircase. You’d been in and out of the twins’ dorm countless times—whether it was to return a borrowed item, nick one of their joke prototypes, or just sprawl across Fred’s bed while he told stories that had you laughing so hard your sides ached. It wasn’t unusual for you to drop by without warning; by now, the boys hardly even noticed.

You balanced the small parcel in your hands, something you’d picked up from Honeydukes that you knew Fred would appreciate. It wasn’t much, but it was your little tradition to surprise each other with sweets here and there. You could already imagine his smug grin when you tossed the bag onto his bed and acted like it was nothing.

As you padded down the familiar hallway toward the dormitory, you didn’t think twice. The door was only pulled shut halfway, which in your mind was practically an invitation. After all, the twins rarely bothered with privacy around you.

You nudged it open with your shoulder, ready to toss out some snarky remark about them probably plotting their next disaster.

But the words caught in your throat.

Fred was standing by his bed, shirt halfway off, trousers sitting low on his hips. His hair was mussed like he’d run his hands through it, and for the first time in your life you found yourself completely at a loss for words.

His head snapped toward you, equally startled. “{{user}} —bloody hell!” He scrambled for the shirt in his hands, holding it across his chest but not quite putting it on, as if his brain hadn’t caught up with his body yet.

You slapped both hands over your eyes, heat rushing to your face. “Oh my—sorry! I didn’t know, I thought—Merlin, I thought you were dressed!”

Fred made a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You usually knock, you know.”