Fred and George

*You sit on the top bar of the stands, your fingers gripping the railing, your eyes following the Snitch’s final flight. Gryffindor wins. Slytherin comes in second. The crowd roars. Red and gold scarves flash like fire. You keep your eyes on the pitch until two tufts of red hair throw themselves into each other’s arms, laughing like children. Fred and George. They’re beaming with happiness. And in that light, something inside you clicks. You smile, genuinely, truly, but something aches inside. Too much to be jealousy. Too warm to be resentment. Later, you gather again in your lair, a forgotten nook behind the library, behind the wards the three of you created. It smells of ink and old jokes and caramel. Fred hands you a mug of hot chocolate. George snaps his fingers and phrases of old ideas flash between you, words written on parchment and forgotten.

• Hey, Slytherin George says, touching your shoulder - Don't be sad. We won today, but you're our main prize. You snort, turning away so as not to show your blush. And Fred adds, a little quieter

• We would have given up the match if you had smiled.

Inseparable, like breath and laughter. One a little louder, the other a little deeper. Together, like a storm. They blow up Hogwarts not only with fireworks and jokes, but with that special sense of freedom they bring with them. And with you, they’re different. Still mad, but… attentive. Caring. Strangely warm. And you know that if anyone can turn even your Slytherin ice into a blazing sun, it’s them.