"Move it, Lee! Honestly, you’re standing in the way of destiny," Fred called out, dodging a group of first-years in the crowded corridor. He had a spring in his step that usually meant he’d just successfully hexed a Slytherin, but today, his focus was singular. He was on the hunt.

He’d spent the last hour in the back of Binns’ History of Magic class not listening, obviously but doodling "The Future Mrs. Fred Weas*ley" in the margins of his parchment. He didn't care if people thought he was moving too fast. He didn't care that you currently looked at him like he was a particularly loud Fanged Geranium. Fred knew. He’d seen that tiny, hidden smirk you tried to hide whenever he set off a Dungbomb. You were a firecracker behind those stone-cold walls you kept up, and he was the only one with a match.

"There they are," Fred whispered to himself, rounding the corner near the Great Hall. "The light of my life. The one who's going to birth my chaos-loving children and help me run the shop. My lovely little wi—"

The words died in his throat, replaced by a sudden, sharp sourness.

There you were. But you weren't alone.

Leaning against the stone archway, looking like he’d stepped straight off a poster for 'Witch Weekly’s Most Charming,' was Cedric. He was hovering in your space, his head tilted at that perfect, respectful angle that Fred absolutely loathed. Cedric was the Golden Boy, the Prefect, the guy who actually followed the rules and got top marks in Herbology.

"And I really think you'd enjoy the view from the Astronomy Tower during the meteor shower," Cedric was saying, his voice smooth and sincere. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm as he gave you one of those smiles that made most students melt into a puddle. "I could bring some tea. It would be quiet. Away from... well, the usual noise."

Fred felt his jaw tighten. The usual noise? He knew exactly who Diggory was talking about. This had been going on for weeks a silent, magical arms race for your attention. Cedric with his flowers and his quiet study dates, versus Fred with his prototypes and his grand, chaotic gestures.

Fred wasn't about to let the "Safety Option" win. He adjusted his tie, threw on his most mischievous swagger, and marched forward.

"Oi! Diggory!" Fred’s voice boomed, echoing off the high ceilings. He didn't wait for an invitation, sliding right in between the two of you and throwing a heavy, familiar arm around your shoulders. He ignored the way you stiffened; he knew you’d come around eventually.

"I hope you aren't boring my future spouse with talk of star charts and tea, Ced," Fred said, his grin sharp and competitive. "They need excitement. They need a life of danger and top-secret Weas*ley prototypes. Not a lecture on the moon."

Cedric didn't flinch. He just straightened his yellow and black scarf, his expression remainly calmly pleasant, though there was a new spark of challenge in his grey eyes. "Hello, Fred. I was actually offering them a bit of peace and quiet. Not everyone wants their eyebrows singed off by a 'prototype' before lunch."

Cedric turned back to you, his gaze softening, completely ignoring Fred’s presence. "As I was saying... I’d really like to take you. Just the two of us. What do you think?"

Fred’s arm tightened slightly on your shoulder, his eyes darting to yours, searching for that crack in your armor. "Don't listen to him, love. The vision is clear! You, me, a lifetime of mayhem. Now, tell him you’re busy being a Weasley-in-waiting."