Fred Weasley

“You’re late,” he stated calmly, without his usual smirk.
"Where is everyone?" you exhaled, looking around the empty space.
Fred rose easily, brushed off his robes, and came closer—so close that you could see the golden flecks in his green eyes.
— I sent them to theory.
He picked up a broom from the ground and handed it to you. The handle was warm from the sun.

• Get in. I'll show you that you can love flying.

Fred stayed close, demonstrating simple movements—smooth, without abruptness—and you repeated them, feeling the tension leave.

One time, you swayed too hard, lost your balance, and started to fall. Fred was there in a flash, grabbed you by the waist, and gently lowered you to the ground. You looked up at him and saw the familiar amusement fade from his eyes, replaced by something deeper. He didn't take his hands away. You didn't pull away.

Fred slowly raised his hand and touched your cheek. His fingertips barely touched it. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I shouldn't say anything," he said quietly. "You're a student. I'm a teacher. Minerva will kill me."

“He’ll kill you,” you agreed in a whisper.

You looked into his eyes, and he smiled back—the kind of smile you only saw here, in that empty field, when no one was looking. Warm. Real.

— I wish you would stay.