You and Fred had been together for nearly four months. It felt like something steady and real, like something that could last. He treated you like you were magic — always slipping little jokes into your day, always brushing your hair behind your ear before he kissed your cheek, always choosing you without hesitation.

But then there was her.

Angelina.

Fred’s childhood best friend. The one he joked with a little too easily, who always had a reason to pull him aside during group hangouts, who had pictures with him from years ago where they were wrapped around each other like they belonged that way.

She never said anything outright. She was too smart for that. But the way she looked at him? Like she was watching someone she let slip away. Like every smile he gave you chipped something away inside her.

You tried to brush it off at first. You knew Fred loved you. You trusted him.

But it was getting harder to ignore.

Like tonight — a bonfire behind the castle, everyone laughing and swapping stories. You were curled up next to Fred, head on his shoulder, his hand resting on your thigh. It was calm. Comfortable.

Until Angelina sat down across from you, a little too quiet. A little too tense.

She waited until Fred stood up to grab you both drinks before she spoke. Her voice was low, sharp.

“You know he used to tell me everything.”

You blinked. “What?”

Angelina’s eyes didn’t leave the fire. “Fred. We used to be inseparable. He told me everything — who he fancied, what he dreamed about, the name of the owl he wanted when he was seven. But now he barely looks at me when you’re around.”

Your spine straightened. “He’s allowed to have boundaries. Things change.”

“Not everything is supposed to,” she said, finally turning to look at you. Her eyes were hard. “Do you even know him the way I do?”

You met her stare, not flinching. “I know how he pulls me closer when he thinks I’m overthinking. I know he hums under his breath when he’s nervous. I know he’s choosing me. Every day.”

Angelina’s jaw clenched — just for a second. “Right. Until he remembers who knew him first.”

Before you could answer, Fred returned, setting a butterbeer in front of you and pressing a kiss to your cheek without thinking. You looked up at him, then back at Angelina — who had already looked away.

Later that night, Fred noticed your quietness.

“You okay?” he asked, gently brushing your hand with his thumb.

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