The sky stretched out like a shroud of leaden grey, so thick and stifling that Fred couldn't help but wonder if the very clouds that had aided their clandestine entry into the forest were now more of a curse than a blessing. The scant sunlight that managed to pierce the heavy canopy above was swallowed by the encroaching gloom, offering little solace or direction. In the dim haze of the Forbidden Forest, Fred, George, and Fiona were unmistakably lost.

It had taken Fiona only three days to forgive the twins for their earlier prank, though the process had been hastened by Zacharias Smith's relentless reminders about the potion he had requested at the start of the term. Coupled with her growing difficulty in evading him and a few other impatient customers, Fiona's need to gather the proper ingredients from the Forbidden Forest had become an urgent necessity.

They had secured all the ingredients hours ago, yet somewhere in between a shortcut here and a detour there, they'd drifted from the path Fred and George used to know like the backs of their hands. Now, no matter which way they turned, the forest loomed darker and more disorienting, and their confidence in finding the way unraveled as fast as the light fading through the treetops.

Fred gestured toward a dim sliver of light breaking through the tangled branches. "It's that way," he said, injecting his voice with forced confidence. He shot a grin at George, but the silence that followed was deafening, swallowing his smile whole.

He tried to cover his unease with a shrug, pushing down the gnawing feeling in his chest. "Come on, Georgie. Lighten up. If the sun sets in the west and the forest is east of Hogwarts, then obviously we go this way," he said, throwing a mock salute toward the fading light, though there was a slight crack in his voice. He could feel it, the mounting pressure to keep Fiona and George calm, to keep everyone moving. But for once, it was getting harder to hide his own doubts.

George's frustration flared. "Fred, do you see the bloody sun?" His voice wasn't just annoyed anymore—it was taut, almost brittle. "Because I don't. That light could be anything—a trick of the trees, or worse. We can't just keep following whatever looks good. We need to actually think."

Fred's easy-going facade faltered for a brief second, his grin slipping before he caught himself. He hated that George was right. He dropped his arm with an exaggerated sigh, trying to force his usual banter back into his tone. "Think? That's your plan, is it? Alright, I'll stand here and think about the fact that we're lost in the middle of the bloody Forbidden Forest. That ought to help," he said, the words sharp and a little too fast. There was humor, but it came with a bite he didn't intend.

George shot him a look, his jaw tightening. "You're not helping," he snapped, his voice low and serious.

An owl hooted somewhere above, its eerie call cutting through the thick silence. Fiona, leaning against the gnarled trunk of a dead cedar, sighed heavily, her exhaustion matching the weight of the knapsack slung over her shoulders.

Fred noticed and nudged George, his voice dipping into something more playful, more personal. "Cheer up, mate, or Fiona's gonna think we've lost our touch," he whispered, casting a glance at Fiona as if she were a judge watching them fail miserably. He winked at her, his attempt at lightening the mood falling flat.

George wasn't in the mood for games. "She already knows, Fred," he muttered, his voice raw with a frustration that bordered on bitterness. It wasn't sharp or mocking—just painfully honest, as if the weight of their predicament had worn away any pretense of bravado.

George rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the knot of frustration there. "Let's just... think. We've been through this forest before—there has to be something familiar. We can't just chase after every sliver of light like a band of idiots."

As the twins bickered, their voices rising and falling in the still air, Fiona shifted uncomfortably. The weight of her knapsack pressed into her back, and her legs ached from the hours of wandering. The forest felt thick and claustrophobic, every rustle of leaves making her more aware of how hopelessly lost they were.

Then, something subtle tugged at her attention—a faint, unpleasant smell, damp and earthy, but with a sharp edge, like something decaying nearby. Fiona paused, focusing on the soft snap of twigs somewhere beyond them. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the oppressive quiet like a warning.

"A-are we still alone?" Fiona asked, her voice soft but tinged with unease. She couldn't place the feeling, but something about their surroundings felt... off.

Fred and George halted their argument mid-sentence, their eyes scanning the area as if expecting something to leap out at them. But the forest around them remained still, its shadows shifting as the wind howled through the branches, a low, eerie whistle that made the hair on Fred's arms stand on end.

George scoffed, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "What makes you say that?" George asked, glancing at her with brows drawn, a forced lightness in his tone betraying the tight set of his jaw.

"I don't know," Fiona murmured. "Do you smell that? And listen..." She tilted her head, straining to hear the faint sounds that had caught her attention.

The twins fell silent, their usual banter replaced by alertness. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the wind stirring the leaves. But aside from the creaking of old branches and the distant hoot of the owl, there was nothing.

"Can't hear a thing," Fred said, though his tone was more cautious now. His skepticism couldn't completely mask the growing tension. He glanced at Fiona, searching her face for an explanation, but she shook her head.

Frustration settled over her as the forest seemed to twist around them, its winding paths all blurring into one disorienting mass. She rubbed her palms together, trying to shake the sense that something was just out of reach.

Then it came again—the soft crunch of twigs and the low rustle of leaves brushing against something solid. The steps were slow and deliberate, as if whatever was there was circling them, assessing. The sound was too heavy for a deer, too measured for a wild boar. Fiona's pulse quickened, a knot tightening in her stomach. The air around them felt different, charged with an almost electric tension that prickled against her skin.

She turned her head, focusing intently on the direction of the noise. The gentle tread of hooves moved closer, then paused, as though whatever it was had taken an interest in them.

"There!" Fiona's voice sharpened, and she lifted her hand to point toward the sound. It was unmistakable now—the slow, purposeful steps of something large, something cautious, hidden just beyond the veil of shadows and trees. Her heart thudded in her chest as she took a tentative step forward, drawn inexplicably to the creature's presence, even though she couldn't see it. She sensed it—a quiet, curious energy.

The twins froze, their eyes scanning the darkness, but there was nothing. Fred's brow furrowed, his grip on his wand tightening. "There's no one here, Princess. Just us, the trees, a few dozen Acromantulas... maybe a banshee or two." He leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper. "And who knows what else..." His voice was tempered, wary of disturbing whatever lingered just out of sight.

Fiona swallowed, straining to make sense of it. "Something's there," she murmured, a thread of certainty woven through her words. "I can feel it... It's watching us."

Fred exchanged a glance with George, skepticism mingled with unease. "Watching us?" he repeated. "There's nothing there, Fiona. No one."

But Fiona shook her head, the knot in her stomach tightening. She could almost picture the creature—an ethereal presence, lingering just beyond the edge of her senses, curious yet cautious, a specter among the trees.

"It's close," she whispered, the air around her thickening with the weight of its gaze. "It's right there."

George shot Fred a skeptical look. "We're not chasing after something we can't even see."

Fred paused, glancing between his brother and Fiona. He hadn't heard it at first, but now the crunch of hooves reached his ears. It wasn't loud, but it was there—slow and steady, a sound impossible to ignore.

"You hear it now, don't you?" Fiona asked, her voice quiet but insistent.

Fred nodded slowly, the usual spark of mischief in his eyes replaced with something more serious. "Yeah, I hear it."

George let out a long breath, clearly uneasy. "It could be anything out here, Fiona."

But Fiona couldn't shake the feeling pulling her forward, something instinctual. "I think we should follow it," she said firmly, though she couldn't explain why. Whatever it was, it felt right.

George frowned, crossing his arms. "Follow what, exactly? We don't even know what it is."

Fred, however, was already starting to move toward Fiona, his curiosity outweighing his practicality. "We don't have a better option, do we?" he said, casting George a look. "And standing here isn't getting us anywhere."

Fred and George couldn't deny that their options were sparse. Reluctantly, they followed behind Fiona, their usual playful banter dulled by the weight of uncertainty. The forest closed in around them, the thick underbrush snagging at their robes and the damp earth pulling at their boots with each step. Fiona moved ahead, her cane sweeping steadily in front of her, searching for obstacles, but the forest was unforgiving. Every step felt treacherous. Her cane tapped against roots and rocks hidden beneath layers of leaves and mud, but it didn't always find them before her foot did.

Fred walked beside her, his eyes constantly darting toward her, watching every time she stumbled, every time she caught herself just before falling. Fred's grin slipped, replaced by a focused look. His eyes flicked between Fiona and the shifting shadows as if trying to read an unwritten warning. He could see the determination in her, the way she clenched her jaw and kept moving forward no matter how uneven the terrain was. He couldn't help but admire her fierce independence.

He'd gotten to know Fiona over the past few weeks—her quick wit, her stubbornness, and her refusal to let anyone see her struggle. He understood that offering help too soon, or even worse, in a way that made it seem like she couldn't manage on her own, would only hurt her pride. But he couldn't shake the way his chest tightened each time her foot caught on a root or she tripped over a rock hidden beneath the underbrush.

"Oi, Fiona," Fred said, brushing aside a branch that swung back into his path. "You're sure it's this way?" His tone was light, teasing as always, but a flicker of unease hid beneath the humor.

"Positive," Fiona said through clenched teeth, steadying herself after another stumble. The faint sound of hooves echoed in the distance, soft and persistent, like a guide urging them on. "I can still hear it. We're close."

Fred exchanged a look with George, who raised an eyebrow in skeptical amusement. The soft clop of hooves came again, teasingly distant. George sighed, his frustration seeping into a muttered remark. "Fred, we're seriously following ghost horses now? This is our grand escape plan?"

Fred smirked but couldn't mask the glimmer of doubt in his eyes. "Why not? Better than standing here thinking."

"The blind leading the blind," George muttered under his breath.

Fiona cursed under her breath, barely catching herself on a nearby tree after nearly tripping over another root. She hated this—the uneven ground, the way it felt like the forest was conspiring against her, reminding her of every limitation she fought so hard to ignore. She could feel the sting of scraped palms, but she refused to stop.

Fred watched Fiona's steps closely, his eyes flicking ahead to scan for any stray roots or low branches that might catch her off guard. He positioned himself subtly in her path whenever she got too close to an obstacle, his movements unassuming, as if it was all part of their stroll through the forest.

When she veered slightly off course to avoid a large root, Fred sidestepped smoothly, letting her walk right into him. She bumped into his chest, and he steadied her lightly, a soft grin playing on his lips.

"Careful there, Princess," he murmured, his voice easygoing despite the watchful gleam in his eyes. "Must be drawn to my natural charm." He played it off like a game, never letting on just how closely he was watching.

Fiona managed a smile, but Fred could see the frustration in the set of her jaw, the way her fingers tightened around her cane. She didn't want to admit how much she was struggling. Fred's chest ached at the sight.

Another sharp crack of a branch underfoot, another stumble. Fiona's foot caught on a hidden root, and this time she went down hard. Fred's hand shot out, too late to catch her, but he crouched beside her almost instantly, his concern etched across his face. She muttered something under her breath before pushing herself up, brushing the dirt from her robes with a scowl.

"Alright, enough of this," George said, stepping forward. The seriousness in his tone cut through the banter. "Get on my back."

Fiona straightened up, her chin lifting in defiance. "I'm fine," she snapped, brushing off the dirt from her hands. The sting in her palms was a reminder of how badly she wanted to navigate this on her own. She didn't want help—didn't want to need it.

George glanced at her, his expression steady but patient. "Come on, Fiona, you're making it harder on yourself," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Fred leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed, his tone light as he said, "Come on, Fiona, give George his moment. He's been wanting to play the hero ever since I was the one to pull you from the crowd at the World Cup." He winked, adding, "Just humor him," there was a teasing lilt to his voice, but beneath it, a thread of sincerity Fiona couldn't quite ignore.

Her fingers tightened around her cane, the familiar grip grounding her as she wrestled with the growing frustration gnawing at her. She hated that every trip and stumble seemed to underline what she couldn't do, that she wasn't keeping pace as easily as Fred and George. She wanted to keep going, to prove she could handle it. But Fred's words hung in the air, lighthearted on the surface but carrying something deeper, something that told her he wasn't just joking around.

With a resigned sigh, she muttered, "Fine. Just for now."

George knelt, and Fiona climbed onto his back, the awkwardness fading as he stood. Fred's shoulders eased as they resumed their path.

"See?" Fred's voice was breezy, cutting through the tension. "And we're that much closer to food."

George huffed, though a smirk tugged at his lips. "Let's just hope it's leading us to the castle and not straight into a den."

The hoofbeats sounded again, still faint but more insistent. They moved forward, unease threading through the air, but a sense of unity settling in between them. Fiona, clinging to George's shoulders, felt the burden of her frustration lift slightly. Fred's silent concern and George's patient support were unexpected comforts, woven seamlessly with the teasing banter she'd come to rely on.

They walked in uneasy silence for a few minutes, the occasional crack of a branch underfoot or rustling leaves reminding them just how far they were from the safety of the castle. Each time the hoofbeats grew louder, they would move faster, only to realize the sound had stopped again—like the unseen creature was teasing them, urging them to keep up.

"Feels like it's playing with us," George muttered after the third pause, adjusting Fiona's weight on his back. He craned his neck toward where the sound had come from.

"Or it's guiding us," Fiona offered, her voice more determined than Fred or George felt.

"So," said Fred, with a mischievous lilt, hoping to lift the weight of the forest's gloom, "what exactly are we risking our necks for? This unicorn hair better not be for some fancy wig." He cast a sideways glance at Fiona, eyebrows raised. Earlier, he and George had painstakingly picked through the underbrush, plucking fine, glistening strands that shone like liquid moonlight, caught in the rough embrace of low branches.

"Beautification Potion," Fiona said, a wry smile curving her lips.

"Beautification? What a waste!" George chimed in, finally finding his humor. "We reckon you're a right appealing bird as is."

Fiona's smile grew, her voice lightening. "It's not for me. You'd be surprised how many students come asking for it—especially around Valentine's Day."

Fred's eyebrows shot up, and he exchanged a look with George. "Who's that desperate?"

"Oh, plenty," Fiona replied, her voice light. "Your friend Angelina asked for it monthly last term."

George's grin froze as if turned to stone mid-laugh. He stumbled slightly but caught himself, the playful glint in his eyes hardening into something more guarded. "Angelina?" he repeated, striving for nonchalance as his fingers shifted their grip.

Fiona nodded, her tone laced with quiet amusement. "Yeah, she was slipping it into Marcus Flint's pumpkin juice. Said it was her service to the school."

Fred's laugh rang out, a bark of pure, infectious delight that startled a few birds from their perch. "Flint? Beautification potion? Oh, that's brilliant!"

George's sigh was almost imperceptible, but the tension in his shoulders eased as he adjusted Fiona's weight. "Even gallons of potion couldn't make Flint look anything but trollish."

"Angelina said it wasn't strong enough to work miracles," Fiona quipped, eyes glinting with mischief.

Fred wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still snickering. "Merlin's beard, I love that girl."

George shook his head, the momentary cloud of uncertainty lifting, replaced by a familiar smirk. The three of them pressed on through the dim, tangled forest, the sound of their laughter chasing the shadows back into the trees.

The sky had long since deepened into an inky black, the tangled canopy overhead blotting out the last blushes of dusk. The night air, sharp and cold, coiled around them like a ghostly shroud, pressing against their tired limbs. Each step was an effort, boots sinking into the sodden earth with a squelch that seemed deafening in the oppressive silence. The Forbidden Forest whispered around them—low groans of ancient branches and rustling leaves that seemed to move with intent, amplifying the urgency that throbbed between them.

Fred narrowed his eyes, straining to see through the shifting shadows, searching for a sign—any sign—that they were nearing the sanctuary of Hogwarts' grounds. Just as doubt began to gnaw at the edges of his determination, a glimmer of light broke through the dense thicket ahead—a warm, golden glow that flickered like a beacon of hope.

"Oi, George!" Fred's voice cracked with relief, his face splitting into a grin as he pointed toward the light. "Look! Hagrid's cabin!"

George's eyes snapped to the glow, a grin creeping across his dirt-streaked face. "At last! I was beginning to think we'd have to set up camp."

Perched on George's back, Fiona let out a shaky laugh, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as the twins' excitement became infectious. With renewed energy, Fred and George broke into a sprint, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath their feet muffled by their laughter and the thundering of their hearts. The glow from Hagrid's hut swelled as they neared, spilling warmth and light across the forest floor, chasing away the shadows that had clung to them like a second skin.

"Hah! We made it!" Fred yelled, skidding to a halt at the edge of the clearing, his breath coming in ragged gasps but his grin unbridled. He turned to George, eyes gleaming with victory. "See? Told you following ghost horses was a stroke of genius."

George let out a breathless chuckle, eyes crinkling as he cast a sidelong glance at Fiona. "Well, that settles it. Fiona's got the best sense of direction out of the lot of us. Next time, she's in charge."

The light of Hagrid's hut glowed steadily, a promise of safety and warmth, and for the first time since they had set foot in the forest, it felt like the night was finally on their side.

Just as they began to relax, the thought of the Great Hall's welcoming warmth and heaping platters of food filling their minds, a voice sliced through the night, sharp and cynical, dashing their moment of triumph.

"What do we have here?" came a sneering tone, dripping with disdain.

Fred's grin vanished as though it had never been, and George's face darkened, the light in his eyes replaced by a steely glare. They turned slowly, the weight of disappointment pressing down as the familiar silhouette of Argus Filch emerged from the shadows. The lantern in his gnarled hand cast an eerie, flickering glow over his gaunt features, twisted into their customary scowl of glee.

Of course, Filch.

His presence loomed before them, as inevitable and unwelcome as a storm cloud on a clear day.

"Detention for the lot of you," Filch crooned, savoring each syllable like a particularly fine wine. "Caught red-handed in the Forbidden Forest. Students out after dark... if it were up to me, I'd have you all in chains."

Fred rolled his eyes, leaning closer to Fiona and muttering, "Chains, really? Bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

Fiona pressed her lips together, struggling to stifle a smile that threatened to break through.

The trio's small victory was snatched away as they trudged back toward the castle, the chill of the night air clawing at their skin. Filch's wheezy voice droned on behind them, grating on their nerves with every triumphant rasp.

"No stopping at the Great Hall either! Straight to your common rooms—no supper for any of you," Filch sneered, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "Students who break the rules don't get rewarded."

Fred halted mid-step, his jaw dropping. "No supper?!" His voice rose to a comical pitch, echoing in the empty Entrance Hall. "That's barbaric! We need nutrients, Filch! We'll end up looking like—well—you!"

Fiona bit her lip, pretending to focus on her cane to avoid laughing outright. Fred's going to get us in even more trouble, she thought wearily, but she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.

"You think you're funny, Weasley?" Filch's sneer deepened, the lantern in his hand clinking ominously. "Let's see how much you're laughing when I have you scrubbing cauldrons all night."

"Oh, please," Fred said, eyes wide with mock horror as he flung an arm toward George. "We'll be all bones by morning. Look at him—he's practically wasting away already!"

George snorted, rolling his eyes with an air of exaggerated exasperation, though a reluctant grin twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Filch's face darkened to an alarming shade of crimson, his eyes bulging with barely contained fury. "You'll be wasting away in the dungeons if you don't shut it, Weasley!" he spat, each word crackling with malice.

With a dramatic sigh, Fred raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! No need to get your knickers in a twist, Filch. But don't say I didn't warn you—cruel and unusual punishment, this is."

Fiona stifled a giggle, pressing her lips together as Fred's antics played out. Filch's heavy, hobbling footsteps echoed down the corridor as he turned on his heel, lantern swinging wildly. His wheezy voice snapped back at them, slicing through the air.

"To your common rooms. Now!"

"I'll see you two around, then," Fiona said with a weary sigh, turning toward the path that led down to the dungeons. She took a few steps, fingers tightening on her cane as the cool draft from the castle walls brushed against her face. Yet, a prickling awareness made her pause—she could feel their eyes still on her, watching.

She turned back, the dim torchlight casting flickering shadows across her features. "Thanks for the help," she murmured, her voice just loud enough to reach them but soft enough that Filch, who was now grumbling down the corridor, wouldn't catch it.

Fred's face split into a grin that could rival Christmas morning. "Anything for you, Princess," he said with a mock bow, the twinkle in his eyes unmistakable.

Fiona turned away, the sharp tap of her shoes ringing against the stone floor as she resumed her path. Just as she felt she'd made her escape, Fred's voice echoed down the corridor, bright and teasing.

"By the way, Fiona!" he called, his tone sickly sweet. "Watch your step!"

Fiona couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she turned away, Fred and George's laughter fading into the cavernous quiet of the stone corridor. The soft tap of her shoes against the cold stone echoed, a steady rhythm she found comforting—until another sound reached her ears. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably there: a second set of footsteps.

Her pulse quickened, unease curling in her chest. She slowed her pace, straining to listen, the silence pressing in on her like a weight. Her shoes struck the floor again. Thud. Thud. The sound that followed mirrored hers, trailing a heartbeat behind.

Fiona stopped dead, her breath catching as she listened. The second set of steps halted with her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and the chill of the corridor seemed to deepen, wrapping around her like an icy shroud.

"Hello?" she called, her voice low but firm as it cut through the quiet. The empty hallway swallowed the word whole, offering nothing in return. The silence was as thick as the shadows around her.

Heart hammering, she resumed walking, this time with quick, purposeful strides. The echo followed, relentless and perfectly in time. Her hand tightened around her wand, the smooth wood reassuring beneath her fingers. The sound of her steps—no, their steps—grew louder as she picked up speed. Panic unfurled, sharp and hot, beneath her skin.

She spun around, wand raised. "I know you're there! Show yourself!" she shouted, the command bouncing off the stone walls. But the hallway remained stubbornly empty, the flickering torchlight casting long, mocking shadows.

The echo had stopped, too, as if waiting. Fiona's chest rose and fell with each sharp intake of air, her knuckles white around her wand. The quiet pressed in, thick and suffocating.

Her resolve hardened, anger sparking in her veins. She walked on, faster now, the rhythmic tap of her shoes ringing out—and again, the echo followed, a phantom presence at her heels. She felt the blood pounding in her ears, the cool draft of the corridor brushing her face like a whisper.

"I can hear you!" she yelled, the tremor in her voice quickly buried under a rising wave of fury. The silence mocked her once more, the only response the echo of her own ragged breathing.

Teeth gritted, she raised her wand. "If you don't answer, I'll hex you into next year!" she warned, her voice fierce, though doubt coiled in the pit of her stomach.

The corridor, dark and indifferent, offered no answer. The footsteps remained silent, a ghostly companion, lingering just out of reach.

And then, a familiar voice called out, cutting through the quiet.

"Fiona?"

Cedric's voice echoed softly, and the tension in her shoulders dissolved like mist in sunlight. Relief surged through her, and she lowered her wand, the tight coil in her chest easing.

"Thank Merlin," she breathed, her heartbeat slowing to something less frantic.

Cedric strode toward her, his steps measured but touched with concern. "What's going on? Who are you shouting at?"

Fiona turned back to the shadowed corridor she had just traversed, gesturing emphatically at the empty stone floor. "I swear someone was following me, Cedric. Footsteps, right behind me, matching mine perfectly!"

His brows knitted as he glanced down the hall, eyes narrowing. The silence pressed in around them, thick and watchful. "There's no one here, Fee. It's just us," he said, though his voice carried an undercurrent of doubt.

She shook her head stubbornly, frustration simmering beneath her skin. "No, I heard them," she insisted, gesturing to the darkness that seemed to mock her certainty.

Cedric's expression shifted as he caught the edge of her unease, the lingering echo that had crept into his own ears. He moved closer, wand at the ready, his posture alert. "Alright," he said, the word gentle but firm. "Come over here."

Fiona took a few hesitant steps forward, the tap of her shoes punctuating the silence. And there it was again—the faint, ghostly echo, shadowing her movements.

She spun around, wand raised, eyes blazing. "Just show yourself!" she demanded, the sound ricocheting through the corridor like a challenge.

Cedric couldn't help a chuckle, amused despite himself by her fierce stance, so reminiscent of Mad-Eye Moody. With a flick of his wand, he aimed at the scuffed, muddy shoes that peeked out from beneath her robes. "Finite Incantatem," he muttered.

"Try again," he urged.

Fiona moved forward, the silence that followed almost oppressive in its stillness. The phantom steps had vanished, leaving only her own, solitary echo.

Cedric chuckled again, though a hint of something unsaid lingered at the corners of his mouth. "Looks like someone thought it'd be funny to charm phantom footsteps on you."

Fiona groaned, rolling her eyes as the realization struck. Yet a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Fred and George. Of course."

Cedric gave a half-smile, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer than usual. There was something there, discomfort, maybe even concern—though he tried to hide it. "Yeah, sounds like them," he said, his tone light but a hard note of something unsaid.

Fiona caught the hesitation, turning toward him. "What?" she asked, her brow raised.

Cedric hesitated, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's just... you've been spending a lot of time with those two, haven't you?"

His words hung in the air, more loaded than Fiona expected. She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing. "They've been helping me gather ingredients for potions. And besides, they're not that bad," she added defensively, though Cedric's pointed silence made her second-guess the strength of her argument.

"They're troublemakers, Fiona," Cedric said, his voice firmer now, but still careful. "And I just don't want them dragging you into anything..."

Fiona bit her lip, sensing his genuine concern beneath the surface. "I can handle myself," she replied, but her tone softened.

Cedric's smile flickered, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know you can handle yourself. I just..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Just be careful around them, alright? You've got enough on your plate without getting wrapped up in one of their pranks."

Fiona nodded, though she could still feel the weight of his unease. Cedric turned back toward the corridor, his steps slowing as if waiting for her to follow. And though the phantom footsteps were gone, she could sense the lingering tension between them—an unspoken worry Cedric hadn't fully voiced.

As Fiona walked beside Cedric, the silence in the corridor pressed around her, heavier than usual. With the charm dispelled, the echo of her footsteps was sharp, almost defiant against the stone floors. The eerie tension that had coiled within her during the phantom footstep episode began to unravel, but her thoughts stayed with Fred and George's prank.

Fred and George's laughter still rang in her memory, vivid and carefree. The realization settled in with a complex mix of feelings: surprise, mild irritation, and an unexpected warmth that tugged at the edges of her thoughts. Of course it had been them.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she replayed their antics. She bristled at the thought of being the butt of their joke, a flash of annoyance sparking as she recalled the moments of panic. But beneath that, there was something else—a flicker of appreciation. They hadn't hesitated to prank her, not out of malice but out of a kind of acceptance. They treated her like anyone else, without the caution or pity she'd grown used to from others.

They didn't hold back, she realized, a strange sort of amusement rising in her chest. To them, she was just another student, just another friend caught in their endless mischief. And for once, it felt refreshing.

As she walked, her mind drifted to days filled with their loud voices, playful jabs, and mischievous antics. With Fred and George, there were no softened tones carefully cushioning their words. They challenged her with the same reckless energy they brought to everything, expecting her to keep up—and she did. Somehow, in their chaotic, unfiltered way, they made her feel seen, not as someone fragile but as someone who could take their teasing and give it right back.

A quiet sigh escaped her, the realization settling with a mixture of relief and irony. So many others, even those closest to her, held that subtle hesitation, an unspoken fear of pushing too hard or letting her fall. Their reassurances were well-meaning but constant reminders of what she fought so hard to overcome.

Fred and George would scoff at the very idea of treating her with delicate caution. She almost laughed, picturing their incredulous expressions at such a notion. Their care came wrapped in nicknames, laughter, and a relentless disregard for boundaries. They didn't look past her blindness, but they didn't let it define her either.

Cedric's quiet voice interrupted her thoughts, his concern evident even in the gentle timbre. "They don't always realize how their jokes can affect people."

Fiona nodded, a small, thoughtful smile still lingering as she felt the remnants of annoyance fade. Cedric's worry was palpable, shadowing the space between them. But there was something about Fred and George's fearless irreverence that made the irritation seem trivial, even comforting.

"Don't worry about it, Ced," she said lightly, giving him a reassuring smile. "They're harmless." The word felt almost laughable when applied to the twins, and she couldn't help the soft chuckle that followed. Harmless wasn't quite right. Fred and George were chaos, wild and uncontainable—but they were also good in their own, unexpected way.

- AUTHORS NOTE -

Thanks for reading Chapter 9!

If you liked it please vote and comment!

And sorry about the delay in getting this chapter published, I had family visiting for a week, and then over the weekend I went and fractured my knuckle, so writing was a bit difficult.

Chapter 10 needs far less editing, so the weight for that chapter shouldn't be too long.

Thanks again for reading this chapter!