Snow has been falling all afternoon, thick and quiet, until the Burrow looks like it’s been dipped in sugar. You’re standing by the window, watching flakes gather on the crooked fence, when Fred appears beside you like he’s been summoned by the sight alone.

“Come on,” he says immediately, already tugging his jumper over his head. “You can’t just look at snow.”

You barely have time to grab your coat before he’s pulling you toward the back door, boots thudding eagerly against the floorboards. The moment you step outside, cold air biting your cheeks

Then

Thwack.

Cold explodes against your shoulder, and you gasp, spinning around just in time to see Fred laughing, another snowball already forming in his hands.

“Oh no,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “You did not—”

He lobs the second one.

You squeal as it explodes against your arm, cold seeping through your sleeves, and Fred’s laughter rings out across the yard, bright and unrepentant.

“You stepped outside,” he says innocently, boots crunching through the fresh snow as he comes toward you. “That’s basically consent.”

“Oh, you’re dead,” you declare, bending down to scoop up snow of your own.

Snowballs fly wildly, most missing their mark entirely. One grazes Fred’s ear, another hits the side of the Burrow, and at some point you slip slightly, laughing too hard to care. Fred dodges, ducks, and dramatically flings himself behind the old apple tree like he’s in some heroic duel.

“You throw like a first-year!” he calls.

You retaliate immediately, aiming carefully this time and finally land one right on his chest.

He freezes. Slowly looks down. Looks back up at you.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That’s how you want to play it.”

The next thing you knew, Fred was charging toward you, boots crunching through the snow. You shrieked, trying to run, but the ground was slick and uneven. He caught you easily, laughter spilling out of him as he wrapped his arms around you and sent you both tumbling into the snow with a soft whoof.

Cold seeped through your coat as you landed on your back, breath knocked out of you by the fall and by the sight of Fred above you, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, ginger hair dusted with snow.

He laughed, breathless and bright, snow clinging to his jumper. “Got you.”

You tried to push him off, but he was heavier than he looked, and honestly, you were too busy laughing. Snow crunched beneath you as you shifted, and Fred adjusted instinctively, bracing his weight so he wasn’t crushing you, but still very much pinning you there.

Your laughter slowly faded into softer breaths, the moment stretching as snow continued to fall around you.

Fred tilted his head, studying your face like he was genuinely considering something important.

“So,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t hovering over you in the snow, “we can stay like this for a bit…”

His grin turned playful again.

“Or,” he added, glancing toward the yard, “we could build the best snowman this place has ever seen.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And those are my only options?”

He smirked. “Absolutely. Though I will say—this one’s got a lot going for it.”

Snowflakes settled in his lashes as he waited for your answer, clearly in no rush to move either way.