Everyone thought it would be Fred. Or George.

You were their partner in crime, after all—just as clever, just as reckless, just as shamelessly addicted to chaos. Hogwarts had never seen anything like it since the Marauders roamed the halls. The three of you were legends. A walking hazard sign. The holy trinity of detention slips.

But what no one saw coming—not even you, not even him—was Percy.

Uptight, rules-obsessed, holier-than-thou Percy Weasley.

You couldn’t stand him at first.

And he absolutely loathed you.

You were loud, wild, a constant source of “unacceptable disruption” in his prefect rounds. Always smiling, always laughing, always the eye of the storm. You left trails of glitter in your wake, smuggled fireworks into the library, and once enchanted the suits of armor to chant “Weasley is our Queen!” every time Percy walked past.

He nearly had a stroke.

But the real problem?

You were hot.

Not the kind of cute that passed unnoticed in corridors. No—you were stunning in a way that made even the portraits look twice. Popular in the kind of untouchable, magnetic way that Percy hated on principle. Girls wanted to be you. Boys wanted to date you. Professors wanted to suspend you.

And yet, you were always there. In the Gryffindor common room, on the Quidditch pitch, at every prank-filled breakfast beside Fred and George. You were practically family. The honorary Weasley they chose.

Which, of course, made things infinitely worse.

Because Percy couldn’t just ignore you.

You were in his house. In his life. And worst of all, in his head.

It started with snide remarks. You mocked his hair gel. He took points for “unnecessary flirtation with authority.” You hexed his quill to squeak every time he wrote his own name. He reported you for violating eight different curfew clauses in one week.

And yet—when Fred and George weren’t looking, he’d glance at you.

And when you were laughing with your friends, sometimes… you’d glance back.

There was something about him that got to you. Maybe it was the way he bit back every retort with clenched teeth. Maybe it was the way his hands trembled when he caught you charming the portrait of Phineas Nigellus to sing showtunes. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were his worst nightmare—and his biggest distraction.

And things got complicated.

You argued more. Fought louder. The insults became inside jokes. The detentions turned into excuses. The tension was always there, simmering beneath the surface like a spell waiting to explode.

Fred and George didn’t suspect a thing. Not yet. You were careful. Sneaky. Strategic.

Because Percy wasn’t like the others.

He was older. Smarter. Controlled. He saw through your charm, your games. He didn’t fall for you the way others did—he resisted. And that made you want him even more.

And you? You were everything he wasn’t. Bold. Free. Disobedient. You made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to. You shook the ground he walked on. You forced him out of his rules, out of his comfort zone, and into your world.

He hated that.

He needed it.

One night, you were caught out of bed again. No surprise there.

What was surprising was that it was Percy who found you in the Astronomy Tower—alone, leaning over the stone railing, the moonlight painting your skin in silver.

He was furious.

“You know I’ll have to write you up for this.”