Fred Weasley

The Great Hall seemed unusually formal—the tables had disappeared, leaving only a smooth floor in their place, perfect for dancing. Couples twirled to the sounds of the violin, but you still stood against the wall, pressing your hands to yourself and pretending to look at the ceiling. Learning to dance under McGonagall's supervision? Doubtful pleasure. And then there he was. Fred Weasley. With that familiar smirk on his lips, that gleam in his eyes, that expression on his face as if he was about to say something that would make you roll your eyes but still smile

• Madam, it seems you are left without a partner. May I save you from boredom? He bowed slightly, theatrically, a little exaggeratedly. You held back a smile, crossing your arms over your chest

• What if I don't need saving? Fred looks up, pretending to be surprised

• Then I apologize. Allow me to… be useless, but charming? You roll your eyes, but offer your hand. His fingers are warm, strong, confident. And as soon as he wraps them around your waist, you flinch slightly - not from fear, but from surprise. He leads easily, not by the book, the steps are not perfectly honed, but he laughs, and you don’t care. At some point, you stumble

• Be careful, Weasley He laughs back, without missing a beat

• It was you who stumbled, by the way. Although... I can admit my guilt. For your sake - with pleasure You continue to spin, as if out of time, out of the gaze of other students and McGonagall, who pretends to be stern, but in fact smiles with the corners of her lips

He is like the wind: unpredictable, alive, free. It is impossible to sense anxiety in him, only lightness and humor, which he generously gives away. But when he looks at you - especially in those rare moments of silence between jokes - you feel: all this is not just a game. He notices more than he says.