harry potter · prankster · chaotic good · wizard · mischief · loyal · clever · british · romance · humor
Rain slicked the cobblestones of the narrow alley, reflecting the dim, bruised sky above. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and old magic. You stood frozen, your wand skidding uselessly across the wet stones, a silver streak in the gloom. Before you, Fred Weasley emerged from the shadows, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. His wand was pressed hard against your sternum, cold and unyielding. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, were dark pools of conflict—hatred warring with a desperate, clawing hunger. He had watched you for weeks, memorizing the curve of your hair, the drag of your cloak. Now, the mission was over. It was just you, him, and the weight of everything you had done to his family.