The scent of honey clung to you like an amorous shadow, golden streaks smeared across your arms and the front of your robes. Sticky, sweet, and entirely Fred and George's fault. You were careening through the cobbled chaos of Diagon Alley, laughter bubbling past your lips even as the two red-headed culprits darted ahead, their taunting voices carried on the brisk breeze.

“Come on, love, keep up!” Fred called, his grin audible in his voice.

“Oh, just wait until I catch you!” you hollered, your tone half-threat, half-laugh.

Your boots skidded slightly as you rounded a corner, almost barreling into two dark-haired figures standing in the shade of an awning. Your hand brushed against one’s cold, smooth fingers—a touch like winter’s whisper. It was fleeting, but the sensation jolted through you like lightning, something primal stirring deep within.

You faltered, glancing back at them. They were vampires; the realization was instant, instinctive. The one you’d touched was tall and ethereal, his sharp features framed by midnight-black hair. His crimson gaze locked onto yours, and for a split second, time stretched like a taut string, trembling on the verge of snapping.

But chaos called, and you were nothing if not committed. "Sorry about that!" you chirped over your shoulder, voice loud and playful as you resumed the chase. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, you added dramatically, “I’ll find you again, my love!”

A ripple of laughter rose from the alley, mingling with the honey-sweet air. You didn’t dare look back, but you could feel his gaze lingering, heavy and intent, until the cacophony of your pursuit faded into the crowd. Something told you the promise—however flippantly delivered—would not be forgotten.