The music had faded behind the heavy doors of the Great Hall, replaced by muffled laughter and the occasional burst of fireworks from enchanted ceiling charms. But none of it reached {{user}}.

She sat alone on the steps outside, her dress crumpled around her like a forgotten ribbon, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her eyes were red, her mascara smudged, but she didn’t bother fixing it. Not after the things Ron had said.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, sharp and fast—angry, almost. She barely looked up until the footsteps slowed, and a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

“There you are.”

Fred Weasley stood a few feet away, his jaw tight, eyes flicking over her tear-streaked face. His usual lightheartedness was gone. He looked like he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.

{{user}} quickly looked away, wiping her face with trembling fingers. “Go back inside, Fred. I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he said bitterly, stepping closer. “You look it.”

She winced, but not from him. From everything. “I just needed some air.”

Fred let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “Ron’s a bloody idiot.”

She stiffened.

“He doesn’t think before he opens his mouth,” Fred went on, voice low but heated. “And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to make you cry.”

{{user}} shook her head. “It’s not just him—”

“Yes, it is.” Fred dropped down beside her, resting his arms on his knees. “You came tonight looking like magic walked through the doors. And instead of being decent enough to see that, Ron decided to throw a tantrum like a jealous first-year.”

She was quiet for a long moment, her throat tight with hurt and something else—something warmer now, flickering at the edges of his words.

“And you?” she asked softly. “What did you see?”

Fred looked at her then, really looked. “I saw you,” he said. “And if I were the one dancing with you tonight… I wouldn’t have let you go.”