The weeks following Fred's gift of the ring were… unexpected.

Something had shifted between him and Addie, though he wasn't entirely sure what. While their interactions in public remained as distant and guarded as ever, behind closed doors, the walls between them had started to come down.

They spent more time together in their shared quarters, usually on the worn-out sofa. Fred would be sprawled out, scribbling notes for his latest prank or half-heartedly working on his homework, while Addie sat upright, her posture perfect, quill in hand as she worked through her assignments with meticulous precision. They weren't exactly cuddling, but their knees or shoulders often brushed, and neither seemed to mind.

And then there were her kisses.

It started small—just a quick peck on the cheek when she was in an especially good mood. The first time, Fred had been so stunned he forgot how to speak for a full minute, much to her amusement. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it left him feeling like the floor had been yanked out from under him.

Still, nothing more came of it. They weren't anything close to what the Ministry expected of them, and Fred wasn't sure they ever would be. Yet, for the first time, he thought that maybe—just maybe—they could be something.

The morning of Gryffindor vs. Slytherin was tense for Fred and Addie. They both pretended it wasn't awkward, but it was. Getting ready in the same space, lacing up their boots in silence, and grabbing their brooms from opposite corners of the room—it felt surreal.

Fred finally broke the tension as he stood in the doorway. "Try not to let too many of our goals through, yeah?"

Addie smirked, her sharp wit returning. "You mean the ones your Chasers won't be scoring?"

He laughed, shaking his head as he left to meet his team.

The match itself was brutal—just like every Gryffindor-Slytherin game. The rivalry between the two houses was always fierce, and the players on both sides gave as good as they got. Bludgers whizzed through the air like missiles, players jostled one another for position, and fouls were frequent, though rarely called.

Fred found his attention divided. While he focused on his role as a Beater, part of him kept glancing at Addie. She was an incredible Keeper, blocking shot after shot with an almost infuriating grace. Every time one of Gryffindor's Chasers thought they had an opening, she was there to shut it down.

Still, he couldn't help but send a few more Bludgers Draco's way than he normally would. His bat had a satisfying crack each time, though he told himself it was purely strategy.

And then it happened.

Angelina had the Quaffle, speeding toward the goalposts. Fred was keeping an eye on Addie, noting how focused she was on Angie, her eyes tracking every movement, ready to make another impossible save. George sent a Bludger her way—nothing dirty, just a calculated attempt to distract her.

But she didn't see it.

Fred's heart plummeted as the Bludger slammed into her face with a sickening crack. Addie's head snapped back, striking the metal hoop behind her, and she tumbled off her broom. The Quaffle soared through the hoop as she fell, unconscious, to the ground below.

"ADDIE!"

Fred didn't remember landing his broom. He was on the ground beside her in an instant, his breath catching as he saw the blood pooling behind her head. She looked pale, fragile in a way he'd never seen before, and it made his chest tighten painfully.

"Addie, come on," he murmured, reaching for her.

Before he could touch her, a sharp elbow shoved him aside. "Beat it, Weasley!" Draco sneered, dropping to his knees beside his sister.

Fred stumbled back, stunned, as the rest of the Slytherin team formed a protective barrier around Addie. They glared at him as if he were the one who had hit her.

"Draco, we need to get her to the hospital wing!" one of the Slytherin Chasers said urgently.

Fred could only watch as Draco scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he carried her off the pitch. The sight of her limp form in his arms made Fred's stomach churn, and his hands clenched into fists.

The cheers of the crowd had barely registered in his ears as Harry caught the Snitch, ending the game. Fred turned to see his team staring at him, their expressions a mixture of confusion and judgment.

Angelina was the first to speak. "Fred… what was that?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't. All he could think about was Addie—her smile, her teasing comments, her kisses on his cheek. And now, the image of her unconscious and bleeding on the pitch.

Without another word, he turned and headed for the castle, his mind racing with worry and anger. What if she wasn't okay?

The Gryffindor common room was alive with celebration. Harry's incredible Snitch catch had secured their victory, and the house was reveling in the glory. Butterbeer flowed, laughter echoed off the walls, and someone had smuggled in a platter of pastries from the kitchens.

Fred sat on one of the armchairs near the fire, staring into his untouched drink. He should have been elated, basking in the win like the rest of his team, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His mind kept drifting to Addie—lying unconscious, blood staining her hair, and Draco carrying her off the pitch.

He'd asked around after the match, but no one seemed to know her condition, and none of the Slytherins were exactly forthcoming. The unease in his chest had only grown as the night wore on.

His final straw came when he glanced toward the sofa and saw George and Angelina locked in a heated kiss. Fred tore his eyes away, his jaw clenching. He had no right to feel bitter—it wasn't as though he and Angelina were still a thing—but it stung nonetheless.

Without a word, he set his drink on the side table and slipped out of the common room, the raucous celebration fading behind him.

His feet carried him almost on their own, down the dimly lit corridors and up the spiral staircase to the hospital wing. He hesitated for a moment outside the doors, his hand hovering over the handle.

What was he even doing here? He and Addie were hardly friends—fiancés, yes, but not by choice. And yet, his worry for her had gnawed at him all evening. Finally, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly in the stillness.

The sight that greeted him made his stomach twist.

The hospital wing was nearly empty save for one bed near the far window, where Addie lay motionless. He had expected to find the Slytherin team crowded around her bedside, as was the school tradition for Quidditch injuries, but there was no one. The curtains around her bed weren't even drawn.

Fred swallowed hard and approached quietly, his eyes taking in her pale face and the thick bandage wrapped around her head. Blood matted her platinum blonde hair, staining it a darker gold in places, and her usual haughty expression was replaced by a vulnerable stillness that unnerved him.

He lowered himself into the chair beside her bed, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees. For a while, he just sat there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, trying to convince himself that she was going to be okay.

But then his resolve broke, and he found himself reaching for her hand. It was cold against his own, and his fingers instinctively tightened around hers, as if anchoring her to the present.

"You've got to wake up, Addie," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I can't—I can't sit here and not know if you're okay."

Time passed slowly, the silence of the hospital wing pressing down on him. Fred wasn't sure how long he sat there, but eventually, he felt her hand twitch faintly in his.

His heart leapt as her icy blue eyes fluttered open, hazy with confusion at first but quickly sharpening.

"Fred?" she croaked, her voice weak but laced with her usual dry humor. "Don't tell me you're here to keep me company. That's a new one."

Fred let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. He blinked quickly, trying to clear the tears that threatened to spill over, but her eyes caught them anyway.

Her lips curved into the faintest of smirks. "Tears, Weasley? You're going soft on me."

Fred laughed, a sound of pure relief, and kissed her fingers gently, surprising even himself. "Shut up, Malfoy. You scared the life out of me."

Addie tilted her head, her smirk softening into something more sincere. "You're too easy to tease."

Her voice was quiet, but Fred didn't care. She was awake, alive, and that was all that mattered. For now, the rest of the world faded away.

The weeks following the Quidditch match brought yet another shift in Fred and Addie's relationship. Ever since he'd rushed to her side during the game, things had changed—not just between them, but with how the rest of the school treated them.

The Gryffindors weren't outright hostile, but Fred could feel the difference. His friends still talked to him, still laughed at his jokes, but there was a strain in their interactions, an unspoken judgment lingering in the air. The fact that he and Addie Malfoy—of all people—seemed to be growing closer didn't sit well with most of them.

Fred found himself gravitating toward Addie more and more, seeking her out in classes and sitting beside her whenever he could. They didn't talk much—just the occasional word or glance—but there was an unspoken understanding between them. Fred found comfort in her presence, and he liked to think she felt the same.

Still, he couldn't resist trying to make her laugh. He began slipping her notes during lessons, scribbled quips and sarcastic comments that would earn him the occasional smirk or even a soft giggle. He lived for those moments, the rare instances when her icy demeanor melted just a little.

But his efforts backfired spectacularly during a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

Fred had passed her a note, something cheeky about Umbridge's nauseatingly pink cardigan. Addie read it, and while her lips twitched into a faint smile, she also rolled her eyes—right as Umbridge turned to face her.

"Miss Malfoy," Umbridge's sugary-sweet voice cut through the room, dripping with malice. "I do hope you aren't finding my lesson boring."

Addie's face went blank, her Slytherin mask sliding into place. "Of course not, Professor," she said smoothly.

But Umbridge wasn't satisfied. "Detention. Tonight."

The entire class froze. Everyone knew what detention with Umbridge entailed by now, and Fred's stomach dropped. This was his fault.

When the lesson ended, Fred hurried after Addie as they left the classroom. "Addie, I'm so sorry," he said, guilt clawing at him.

"It's fine, Fred," she replied shortly, her pace brisk as she headed down the corridor.

"No, it's not fine. I shouldn't have—"

"I said it's fine," she interrupted, her voice tight.

But Fred couldn't let it go. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Addie whirled around to face him, her eyes flashing. "Fred, stop!" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to make him take a step back. "It's a little cut on my hand. You think that's the worst thing I've dealt with? Trust me, it's not."

Fred stared at her, stunned into silence. She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed with frustration, and again, he saw the cracks in her armor.

She shook her head and turned away, her voice quieter now. "Just let it go, Fred."

And with that, she walked away, leaving him standing alone in the corridor, his stomach knotted with worry and guilt.

The castle was unusually quiet that night, the kind of stillness that made Fred's nerves feel stretched thin. George and Lee had tried to rope him into a prank earlier—a classic dungbomb-in-the-entrance-hall sort of thing—but he couldn't focus. His thoughts kept circling back to Addie, sitting in Umbridge's office enduring Merlin-knew-what.

So instead of joining his friends, Fred found himself loitering near Umbridge's office, pacing back and forth in the shadowed hallway. He hated feeling so helpless, hated that there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. He checked the time constantly, growing more restless with each passing minute.

Finally, the door to Umbridge's office creaked open, and Addie stepped out.

Fred hurried toward her, relief flooding his chest when he saw that she looked...unbothered. Her expression was calm, her steps steady, and for a brief moment, Fred thought maybe, maybe it hadn't been as bad as he feared.

But then his eyes dropped to her hand, and his heart plummeted. Blood was dripping from the back of it, pooling in crimson beads around the freshly carved words: I will remember my place.

"Addie," he breathed, his voice thick with horror.

She glanced at her hand, then back at him, shrugging as though it were nothing. "It's fine," she said, her tone dismissive.

"It's not fine," Fred snapped, reaching into his pocket for the bandage he'd brought, just in case.

"I don't need—"

"Just let me take care of you," Fred cut her off, his voice firm but gentle as he took her injured hand in his. She stilled, watching in silence as he carefully wrapped the bandage around her hand, his touch surprisingly soft for someone so used to swinging bats and breaking rules.

Her icy blue eyes studied him, something unreadable flickering in their depths. When he finally finished, tying the bandage in place, she spoke, her voice quieter than usual. "You're an enigma, you know that?"

Fred let out a soft laugh, his lips quirking into a smile as he met her gaze. "I'll take that as a compliment."

For a moment, they just stood there, the tension of the night easing into something warmer, softer. Then, Fred gently took her uninjured hand in his, his thumb brushing over her fingers. "Come on," he said, his voice light but steady. "Let's get back to our room."

Addie didn't protest. She let him lead her away, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as they walked side by side through the dimly lit corridors. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like she wasn't entirely alone.