There was something about summer at the Burrow that made everything feel slower—in the best way.

The days stretched out like a golden thread, and no one was in a hurry to pull it taut. The sun hung high and warm, the grass was soft beneath your feet, and there was always laughter in the air, echoing off the hills and through the fields like a melody only the Weasleys could create.

Today, the lake shimmered ahead like a mirror of the sky, and the five of you had followed the well-worn path through the fields, picnic basket swinging between Fred and George. Mrs. Weasley had packed it herself, full of sandwiches, cool bottles of pumpkin juice, and a container of strawberries so sweet they practically melted on your tongue.

The moment you reached the edge of the lake, Fred, George, and Ron tore off their shirts and raced toward the water, shouting and laughing like little kids. You smiled, already knowing George would cheat, Ron would trip, and Fred would somehow win.

“Boys,” Ginny muttered beside you with an eye-roll, but there was no real bite to it. You laid out a blanket on a sunny patch near the water’s edge, and the two of you stretched out on it, faces tilted up to the sky.

The heat sank into your skin in the most delicious way, and the sound of the water—of Fred whooping and George cursing and Ron yelling something incoherent—was the perfect background music to a lazy summer day.

You watched them from under heavy-lidded eyes, your gaze finding Fred easily as he dunked George under with a mischievous grin. He looked so free in moments like this, all energy and freckles and wind-swept joy.

Eventually, he wandered out of the water, drops clinging to his skin and hair sticking to his forehead. With a grin, he plopped down beside you on the blanket, stretching out on his side, propped up on one elbow.

“Thought I’d come spend time with my favorite girl,” he said, eyes locked on yours, voice low and warm.

He reached into the basket and pulled out a strawberry, holding it up to your lips. “For you, my love.”

You took a bite—it was soft and full of sweetness, and you hummed in approval. Fred popped the rest into his own mouth and grinned, licking his fingers like it was the best thing he’d eaten all day.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The sun wrapped around your limbs like a gentle blanket, a soft breeze stirred the ripples on the water, and somewhere a dragonfly skimmed the lake’s surface. The air smelled faintly of wild thyme and freshly cut grass, and distant laughter drifted back from where George and Ron splashed. Fred shifted closer, his bare shoulder brushing yours.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he said softly. “Perfect, just like this.”

You turned your head toward him and nodded, smiling. “Yeah. It really is.”

And so you stayed like that, side by side, the sun kissing your skin, laughter still floating across the lake, and nothing pressing on your time but the peace of a summer day shared with someone you loved—so perfect you wished it would never end.