CHAPTER TWO

No one ever saw Nimah and Fred's rivalry as merely a reflection of the age-old feud between Slytherin and Gryffindor. While their respective houses were often at the heart of Hogwarts' most notorious clashes, their dynamic transcended those stereotypes entirely. It wasn't about house pride or loyalty—it was something far more personal, more vibrant, and uniquely their own.

Their bickering frequently escalated into minor competitions, the kind that almost always landed them both in detention. Yet, even repeated scoldings from professors couldn't deter them; the cycle of rivalry continued unabated. In fact, it became such a staple of life at Hogwarts that the idea of it ever stopping felt unimaginable. If their banter ever ceased, students and staff alike would be convinced that something catastrophic had occurred.

Perhaps one day, their rivalry would come to an end—but no one wanted to entertain that possibility. For most, it felt like the end of an era, a kind of doomsday. Nimah and Fred had become the living embodiment of a perfected rivalry, one that went beyond their own teams and became an integral part of the Hogwarts experience. To say they left an impression would be an understatement; their fiery dynamic became a thread woven into the very fabric of the school's history.

"Weasley, you daft git," Nimah growled through gritted teeth, her frustration palpable as she stood fuming in front of the grinning Gryffindor.

Fred, however, seemed unfazed as he casually continued eating his meal, though her glaring presence made it nearly impossible to enjoy. To make matters worse, James was doubled over in laughter, his obnoxious cackling only fueling the tension. Fred shot his cousin a warning glare, but it was a futile gesture—James was already too far gone to care.

"Blimey, Black—couldn't you have picked a better time to climb down my throat?" Fred snapped, finally turning his attention to the furious Slytherin.

Nimah returned his glare with one of equal intensity. "Well, Weasley, I would have if you'd given me any choice in the matter!"

Fred threw his hands up in exasperation. "Remind me again—what in Merlin's name did I do this time?" He racked his brain for whatever offence she might be referring to but came up empty.

Nimah closed her eyes and took a slow, deliberate breath, visibly resisting the urge to throttle him on the spot. She considered the consequences of physical violence but decided against it—for the sake of the Quidditch fields if nothing else. Instead, she leaned forward and grabbed the front of his robes, pulling him slightly closer.

"You've got some nerve, Weasley," she hissed, her burning gaze fixed on his. "You set Peeves on me! While drying off his mess was easy enough, the hours he wasted dawdling around me were not. Thanks to your stupid little scheme to get under my skin, I ended up missing an important meeting with Professor Longbottom!"

Fred's expression shifted as he tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh at the memory. "Oh yeah," he said, chuckling to himself, "that was pretty funny—"

He stopped short when he caught sight of the murderous look in Nimah's eyes. His grin faltered, and he gulped. "Uh... sorry?"

"'Sorry' doesn't fix it, Weasley," she snapped, releasing his robes but pointing a finger at him menacingly. "And just so you know, thanks to your bothersome little prank, you've officially declared a prank war. I didn't think we'd have to go there this year, but you've left me no choice."

Fred blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "A prank war, huh? Well, just so you know, that little bit with Peeves was payback for you discolouring my robes last week. So if it's a war you want, it's a war you'll get."

"Oh!" James gasped dramatically from his seat, his eyes lighting up with excitement. Both captains turned their glares on him, and he quickly looked away, whistling innocently as if he hadn't spoken.

Nimah ignored him and straightened up, her expression steely. "You'd better watch yourself, Weasley, because I won't be holding back." She turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving Fred to watch her go with a mix of irritation and anticipation.

"Game on, Black," Fred muttered under his breath, a sly grin creeping onto his face as his mind began racing with ideas for his next move. The challenge had been laid down, and there was no way he was backing out now. If Nimah wanted a prank war, she'd get one—and he was determined to come out on top.

Across the room, James was still stifling his laughter, glancing between his cousin and the retreating Slytherin with clear amusement. "You do realize you've just unleashed a storm, right?" he teased, shaking his head. "Nimah doesn't hold back, mate."

Fred leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a smug confidence that betrayed no hint of worry. "Let her try. She may think she's clever, but she's not outsmarting a Weasley."

James raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "This is going to be brilliant. Just don't drag me into it, yeah?"

Fred smirked but didn't answer. He had no intention of keeping anyone uninvolved—this was a war, after all, and all's fair in Quidditch and pranks. Nimah may have started it, but he was more than ready to finish it.

Roxanne Weasley arched an eyebrow at her older brother, her expression equal parts amused and unimpressed. "Fred, you keep saying 'Weasley' like it's the ultimate trump card. But let's face it—she's a Black. Her dad isn't just legendary; he's practically mythical. Honestly, Sirius Black's name carries way more weight than even Uncle Fred and Dad combined."

Fred froze mid-chew, his confident smirk flickering for a moment as her words sank in. "Hold on, Rox. Are you seriously trying to tell me that Sirius Black— okay, yes prank genius and amazing Quidditch player —tops Uncle Fred and Dad, inventor of Skiving Snackboxes and professional chaos-makers?"

Roxanne folded her arms and tilted her head, her expression daring him to challenge her further. "Don't twist my words, Fred. Dad and Uncle Fred were brilliant, but Sirius Black? He's on a whole other level. People still tell stories about him like he's straight out of a legend. And Nimah? She's not just good at Quidditch; she's got that bloodline driving her. You might want to think twice before picking a fight you're not prepared for."

Fred rolled his eyes, though his shoulders slumped just slightly. He hated to admit it—mostly because Roxanne was annoyingly good at making her point—but there was a sliver of truth in what she said. "Yeah, well," he muttered, more to himself than to her, "legends don't win prank wars. Strategy does. And I've got that covered."

Roxanne snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Right. Sure you do. Just don't come crying to me when she completely outsmarts you, Fred." She turned on her heel, waving him off as she left.

Fred watched her go, grumbling under his breath. "Wipe the floor with me? As if. This is my war to win." But even as he said it, the faintest flicker of doubt lingered at the back of his mind.