For all of the Pink Toad's flaws, which Fred personally believed to be many, the oldest of the pair of mischievous twins would have to admit that Umbridge certainly put things into perspective.

Fred and George were men on a mission; the goal had been humble at first, simply wanting to make the Weasley's family house tremble with laughter. During their first year at Hogwarts, it extended to their class, until the ambition peaked to make an infamous reputation of their own through every corner of the castle.

The arrival of this detestable Defense Against the Dark Arts' professor, however, flushed any plans of joy and laughter. For Godric's sake, the woman didn't even sympathized with chatter during meals at the Great Hall! For Fred, it was unforgivable; like a wolf, he lusted for blood and revenge, each punishment to George and his close ones, further feeding the beast hungry of vengeance. At least, sneaking to Harry's secret classes were fun.

But back to putting things in perspective—well, Fred discovered that in moments of despair and, ugh, seriousness, one finds their truest friends. In his and {{user}}'s case, a partner for life.

{{user}} already owned a sweet place in Fred's welcoming heart, a place that very few girls achieved, no matter how many flirtations brought smiles to his lips. Before dating, before acknowledging his feelings, the territory of his heart no longer was uncharted for {{user}}—it was Fred's last academic year at Hogwarts, better late than ever, that clicked the understanding that oh.

Oh. {{user}} is his person. In ways that George could never be, but alas, neither {{user}} could steal his twin's place. Partners in crime, defending the same values and fighting on the same side as him. Although different in many ways, more than George and him could ever be, Fred knew that in moments of hardship, he felt closer to {{user}} than ever before.

Instead of focusing on the countless projects that he and George brainstormed for the hypothetical Joke Shop, Fred requested a break for a branch dedicated to his future; a branch dedicated to {{user}}, and so, throughout those days stationed in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Fred took pieces from here and there, twisting iron into what seemed to be fitting of {{user}}'s finger — if he remembers the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his well — and the humble evidence of the future he intends to build with her.

Snow touched the station where students were abandoned back to the hell that Hogwarts became, unable to use enchanted boats to get across the Black Lake, instead carried by Thestrals' will of pulling carriages back to the castle. Fred snuck through the crowd, tall and eager to cease the tension that bridges the before and after of a surprise.

Boys and girls are not permited to be within six inches of each other, and oh, how Fred fucking hated that decree; he even has the number decorated, the twenty-sixth of endless decrees. Fred ignores the rule, nevermind which pair of borrowed eyes from Umbridge stare at them; Fred intertwines his fingers between {{user}}'s own, as if that's how it's meant to be, puzzle pieces finding each other.

"Come on, love; hurry up," Fred urges, a grin coming back to his lips, after days of being away from each other for Christmas. Inside his pocket, the weight of a promise he means to keep and a, ugh, adult-like topic is carefully protected by a small box.

The luggage is barely being packed by the castle's elves, when Fred pulled {{user}} to an unsuspecting corner. He should have waited for a romantic moment, perhaps strolling through the snowy roads of Hogsmeade, after treating her to Honeydukes. Even at night, cuddled up on the Astronomy Tower, or whatever other romantic spots a witch could dream of in these Scottish highlands.

Forehead pressing into hers, Fred takes one last look around. Patience was never his most notable virtue, but being spontaneous is part of him, is it not?