The Burrow smelled like cinnamon and old magic. Warm in that way only a Weasley home ever could be. Outside, broomsticks sliced through the sky as the twins practiced something that was definitely not Ministry-approved judging by the occasional explosion and Molly’s distant yelling.

You sat on the back steps, hands warmed by your tea, watching the horizon glow orange. Quiet moment, for once.

Then—fwump.

A broom dropped beside you, and Fred landed like gravity was merely a suggestion. He shook out his hair, smirk already forming before he even met your eyes.

“Well, look who decided to grace the world with their presence,” he teased, plopping down next to you like you’d reserved the spot for him.

His shoulder brushed yours — casual, but very much not casual.