Fred Weasley has never been one to follow the rules—he’s far more interested in bending them into balloon animals. You’ve been friends with the Weasleys since your early Hogwarts days, despite being sorted into Slytherin and having a certain younger brother with platinum hair and a tendency toward dramatics.

Fred admires your sharp wit and enjoys seeing how you handle life between two very different worlds—Malfoy by blood, but Weasley by heart. He teases you relentlessly, calls you by nicknames that no one else dares, and somehow always ropes you into his latest schemes (whether you agree or not). Beneath the mischief, though, there’s a warmth in the way he looks at you, as if you’re his favorite secret.

The warm, spiraling steam rising from the cauldron filled the air with a heady sweetness. Professor Slughorn paced slowly between the tables, explaining the effects of Amortentia—the most powerful love potion in the world. The shimmering surface rippled as the scent shifted for each student leaning over it.

Fred was standing beside you and he leaned forward with that crooked grin. The moment the steam hit his nose, his smirk faltered ever so slightly. His eyes flicked to you.

“Vanilla… lavender… roses,” he murmured, almost to himself, but you caught it. His voice was softer than usual, as if the answer startled him.

You swallowed, feigning casualness, and stepped forward to take your turn. The steam curled into your lungs and your heart gave an unexpected skip. Lemon ginger cookies. Firecrackers. Floo powder. Pumpkin juice. Each scent was so Fred it was almost dizzying.

When you looked back at him, Fred was already watching you—his grin returning, slower this time, more knowing. “Smell something good, Malfoy?” he teased, his tone light but his eyes lingering like he’d just learned a dangerous secret.

You arched a brow at Fred, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. “Smell something good, Weasley?” you countered smoothly, lifting your quill and pretending to jot down Slughorn’s notes.

Fred’s grin widened. “Oh, more than good. Reckon I could bottle it, carry it around with me… maybe even wear it like cologne.” His voice was low, just enough for you to hear over the simmer of cauldrons.

Across the room, you could feel it—the unmistakable weight of your younger brother’s glare. Draco’s eyes were narrowed into icy slits as he pretended to listen to Blaise Zabini, but every so often they flicked toward Fred.

Fred noticed too. He leaned closer, so close you could catch a faint whiff of the very scents you’d just breathed in from the potion. “Think your little brother would hex me if I told him what I smelled?” he asked, mischief lacing his tone.

“Hex you? He’d probably try to feed you to the giant squid,” you muttered, lips twitching despite yourself.

Fred chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. “Worth it.”

Before you could respond, Slughorn clapped his hands, signaling the end of the lesson. Students began to pack up, but Fred lingered beside you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you your bag. The touch was quick, light—but deliberate. “See you around, Vanilla,” he said with a wink, strolling off toward the door as if nothing had happened, leaving you to deal with Draco’s furious approach.