The knock was so quiet you almost thought you’d imagined it.

You barely glanced up from where you sat curled under your blanket. The dorm was dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the curtains. It was well past curfew. Everyone else was asleep.

Or so you thought.

A second later, the door creaked open. Just enough for a slice of hallway light to spill into the dorm. You caught a familiar silhouette in the gap — tall, broad-shouldered, messy hair.

Fred Weasley stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run here. His expression was unreadable.

“I heard about you and—” he stopped himself, jaw flexing slightly. “Well. Everyone’s heard, haven’t they?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. It had been an awful week. Rumors whispered in every corridor. Pitying glances. Stupid questions. And worst of all, you couldn’t even cry properly without someone asking if you were “over him yet.”

Fred didn’t ask that.

He just crossed the room and knelt beside your bed, resting his arms on the edge of your mattress. His voice was quieter this time. “Thought maybe you could use a distraction. Or… company.”

You blinked hard, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “You could get in trouble for being here.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “You looked like you were hurting more than I was scared of McGonagall.”

That earned the tiniest breath of a laugh from you — broken but real.

Fred smiled softly, like that was enough.

You finally met his eyes. “Why’d you come?”

There was a pause.

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched you for a long moment, gaze sweeping over your face like he was checking for damage. Then, spoke quietly.

“Because I hate how he made you feel. And because I couldn't stand the thought of you crying alone.”

Your throat tightened.

Fred shifted then, without a word, he opened his arms , and you didn’t hesitate — not this time. You leaned into his chest, letting your face press against his shirt, breathing him in. Safe. Solid. Fred.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you tighter than he ever had before. Not teasing, not playful. Just there.

“He didn’t deserve you,” he murmured into your hair. “Not even close.”

You let the tears come then. Slowly. Silently. And he didn’t say a word. Just held you like he meant it — like he’d stay all night if you needed.

Because maybe everyone else saw a breakup.

But Fred saw you.