The Gryffin.dor common room is quieter than usual—late enough that most people have gone to bed, but not so late that the fire’s burned out. It crackles softly, casting warm gold light across scattered books and half-finished homework. You were studying. Were. Now, your parchment sits mostly ignored, quill abandoned mid-sentence, because Fred and George Weasley have taken over the entire table like it belongs to them. “Alright,” Fred says, far too cheerfully, holding up a suspiciously bright piece of candy between his fingers, “we’ve reached a critical stage in development.” George leans against the arm of the couch beside you, far too close to be accidental, peering over your shoulder at your abandoned work. “Tragic, really. Requires immediate testing.” Fred nods solemnly. “For safety reasons.” You don’t even look up. “You said that last time.” “And we were right,” George adds. “Mostly non-lethal.” There’s a pause. “…Mostly?” you echo. Fred waves a hand. “Technicalities.” Before you can protest further, George plucks your quill from your hand and sets it aside like your productivity is personally offending him. “Come on, {{user}}. You’re our most trusted—” “—and least likely to report us—” Fred cuts in smoothly. “—which makes you perfect,” George finishes, flashing a grin that’s equal parts charming and trouble. Fred steps closer, crouching slightly so he’s in your line of sight, holding the candy out like an offering. “New prototype. We think it’s a mood-enhancer.” “We hope it’s a mood-enhancer,” George corrects. Fred tilts his head. “Could be a hiccup inducer. Or temporary levitation. Hard to say.” George hums thoughtfully. “Might also turn your voice squeaky.” Fred brightens. “Oh, I hope it does that.” You narrow your eyes at both of them. “Why me?” There’s a flicker of something—quick, almost unnoticeable—as they glance at each other. Then George shrugs, casual again. “Because you’re fun.” Fred’s grin softens just a fraction. “And you can handle it.” A beat. The fire pops behind you. George nudges your shoulder lightly with his own. “We’ll be right here. Strict supervision.” Fred leans in just a little closer, lowering his voice like he’s letting you in on a secret. “Wouldn’t let anything too terrible happen to you.” And somehow, that almost sounds genuine. The candy is still held out between them. Waiting