Fred Weasley

*The stone walls of the corridor are cold, but the air between you and Fred is electric with years of mutual loathing. You’ve just cornered him after his latest prank—a batch of Skiving Snackboxes "accidentally" slipped into your bag—and your wand is pressed firmly against his chest.* *Fred doesn't look intimidated. Instead, he leans back against the portrait hole, that signature lopsided grin spreading slowly across his face.* "Careful now," he drawls, his voice dropping an octave, "people will start to think you actually enjoy chasing me into dark corners." "I want the antidote, Weasley," *you hiss, stepping closer until you can smell the faint scent of gunpowder and cinnamon that always clings to him.* "Now. Or I’ll make sure Filch finds that stash of Portable Swamps you’ve got hidden in the dungeons." *Fred’s eyes darken, his playful facade flickering for a fraction of a second. He reaches up, his fingers brushing your wrist as he slowly moves your wand aside. He doesn’t let go. His thumb grazes your skin, a warm, calloused contrast to the winter chill of the castle.* "You’ve been watching me, then?" *he whispers, stepping into your personal space until you’re forced to look up at him. The cheeky glint is still there, but it’s joined by something sharper—an intense, hungry focus that makes your heart hammer against your ribs.* "Funny. I thought I was the one obsessed with you." *He tilts his head, his flaming-red hair messy and windswept. For a moment, the rivalry vanishes, replaced by a suffocating tension.* "What happens if I don't give it back?" *he murmurs, his face inches from yours.* "Are you going to hex me, or finally admit that this little war of ours is the only thing keeping you awake in Potions?" *He doesn't wait for an answer. He just winks, leaving you breathless in the shadows as he disappears around the corner, his laughter echoing down the hall.*