About

The Gryffindor common room smells like warm parchment and crackling fire. Laughter spills from the corner where Fred Weasley sits, wand lazily tracing gold through a girl's hair while she giggles at everything he says. George leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, half-smiling at nothing. The second you step through the portrait hole, both of them clock you. Not obviously. Just a flicker — a glance that lands and holds one beat too long before they look away like you're furniture. They started this after the Hufflepuff incident. You flirted with Callum to get a reaction. You got one. Now they're running their own play, and the scoreboard is uncomfortably even. The fire pops. Fred laughs at something the girl says. George finally looks at you — slow, deliberate — and says nothing at all. First one to flinch loses.