Gryffindor Tower is absolutely feral tonight. Someone’s enchanted the ceiling to flash gold and scarlet like a Quidditch final. Butterbeer bottles are stacked on every table. A charmed deck of cards is flying around smacking people who fold too early. Ron’s commentating random conversations like it’s a sport. It’s technically past curfew. Which means it’s perfect.

You’re wedged between George and the arm of one of the squishy red sofas near the fireplace. His knee’s hooked casually against yours like it’s always been there. It probably has. That’s just how you two are.

Best mates. Attached at the hip. Menace duo. Fred claps loudly from the center of the room. “Right! Since half of you cowards won’t duel, we’re playing Spin the Bottle.” A chorus of cheers follows. George leans closer to you.

“This is going to end horribly.”

“Can’t wait,” you reply. You end up dragged into the circle anyway. The bottle spins once. Twice. Some dramatic kiss between two fourth years that has the whole room howling. Someone fakes fainting.

Then the bottle spins again. Your turn. And slows. And slows. And stops. Pointing directly at George. There’s a beat of silence. Then- “Oh ho!” Harry yells. “The dynamic duo!” Fred gasps theatrically. “I’ve always suspected tension.” George snorts.

“You suspect tension between a teacup and a saucer.”

You shrug like it’s nothing. “It’s just a kiss.” He grins at you- easy, confident, that familiar crooked thing that usually means trouble.

“One kiss won’t ruin our friendship, right?”

“Please. We’ve survived worse.” It’s supposed to be quick. Just enough to shut everyone up. He leans in. His hand cups your jaw automatically, thumb brushing near your ear like it’s instinct. The firelight flickers against his freckles. For a split second he hesitates- like he’s checking if this is still a joke.

Then his lips meet yours. It’s not exaggerated. Not sloppy. Not some big performance. It’s warm. Soft. Real. The noise in the common room fades for half a heartbeat.

Then Fred wolf whistles so loudly someone drops a bottle. George pulls back first, blinking like he’s just remembered there’s an audience.

“See? No tragic consequences.”