Whispers in the Dark-Fred Weasley

The next morning, the hallways are alive with chatter and the scuffling of feet as students pour out of their first classes. I stand with Fred and George, positioned just outside Snape's potions classroom. My nerves are on edge, but the twins are the picture of calm chaos, their faces alight with barely concealed mischief.

Fred turns to George, his voice low but gleaming with anticipation. "Ready, George?"

George grins, his crooked smile as devilish as ever. "Ready, Fred."

With a flick of George's wand, the trap is sprung. The moment the classroom door swings open, a deafening POOF echoes through the corridor, followed by an eruption of pink glitter. It's everywhere—on the walls, the floor, and most importantly, on the unfortunate Slytherins who happen to be at the front of the exiting crowd.

Draco is among the first to stumble out, his perfectly combed hair now sparkling with vibrant pink. His face twists in horror as he swipes at his robes, which are also thoroughly coated in glitter. Behind him, his usual entourage looks equally disheveled, their attempts to brush off the sparkles doing nothing but spreading them further.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, fighting desperately to suppress my laughter. My shoulders shake with the effort, but it's no use. A small giggle escapes, and I duck my head to avoid Draco's piercing glare.

Fred and George, however, make no such effort. They're doubled over, clutching their stomachs as they laugh loudly and unabashedly. Fred's laugh is bright and infectious, and I can't help but shoot him a glare of my own.

"Shut it," I mutter, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. "If Draco thinks I'm behind this, I'll never hear the end of it."

Fred winces playfully at my jab, still grinning. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. You're dying to laugh. Just let it out."

I roll my eyes, though a reluctant smirk tugs at the corners of my lips. Draco, meanwhile, storms off down the hall, leaving a trail of glitter in his wake. His friends shuffle after him, their faces a mix of fury and humiliation as they futilely attempt to brush the sparkles from their robes.

Harry and Ron emerge from the classroom moments later, their laughter nearly as loud as Fred and George's. Their robes are conspicuously glitter-free, and Harry's face is practically glowing with amusement as he claps Fred on the back.

"Brilliant," Ron manages between fits of laughter. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."

I peer into the classroom, where the chaos is even more apparent. The desks and chairs are coated in pink, and on the chalkboard, written in bold, shimmering letters, are the words Slytherins Love Pink.

And then Snape emerges.

He strides out briskly, his expression darker than a thundercloud. His usually immaculate black robes are covered in pink glitter, his lank hair now gleaming with the sparkly substance. The effect is so ridiculous, so utterly absurd, that I have to bite down hard on my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Fred leans in close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, "Go on, Malfoy. Laugh. You know you want to."

I swat him away, but my resolve is crumbling. "You're insufferable," I hiss, though my voice is shaky with suppressed laughter.

Snape's glare sweeps the hallway like a hawk searching for prey. Fred, George, and I exchange a glance, and without a word, we make a hasty exit.

The moment we step into the open air of the quad, the three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter. Fred leans against the stone wall, his face flushed from laughing so hard, while George claps me on the back, wheezing.