He’s an idiot. A complete one.

An absolute fool for falling for a Slytherin.

He knows better—knows he’s not supposed to feel this way. Everyone knows Slytherins are trouble, sharp-tongued and dangerous in their own ways. And yet, no matter how hard he tries to shove you out of his thoughts, you linger. You always come back.

Uninvited. Unwanted… and utterly irresistible.

It frustrates him. Drives him mad.

And Merlin help him—he loves it.

He loves you.

The Great Hall buzzed with noise as students sat among their houses, laughter and chatter echoing beneath the enchanted ceiling. Fred sat at the Gryffindor table, fork idly pushing food around his plate, his attention nowhere near the meal in front of him. His eyes kept drifting—no, snapping—back to you at the Slytherin table.

George caught on quickly. He gave Fred a subtle nudge, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips at how painfully obvious his twin was being. Fred barely reacted, gaze still locked on you, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with his food as if he hadn’t eaten a thing.

"Why is she doing this to me…" he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face before forcing himself to look away.

But it was too late.

His mind betrayed him, wandering into dangerous territory—imagining what your hair would feel like slipping through his fingers, how perfectly your hand might fit in his, how your arms would feel wrapped around him. The thought alone made his chest tighten.

A Slytherin.

And yet… he couldn’t stop.