The afternoon sun poured over the Burrow’s garden, bathing everything in a soft golden glow. You stood with your wand raised, trying to mimic Bill’s movements as he walked you through a shielding charm you’d been struggling with.

Bill was patient, leaning just slightly closer to adjust the angle of your wrist, his voice a low hum at your ear as he explained. “Hold your elbow steady, like this,” he murmured, his warm hand brushing against yours to guide it. You bit your lip in concentration, eyes narrowed on the shimmering half-formed shield.

The back door creaked open behind you. Charlie stepped out, his hair ruffled from the breeze and a smudge of dirt still on his forearm from whatever he’d been working on earlier. He froze mid-step when he saw the two of you — Bill’s hand lingering near yours, your head tilted slightly toward him as you listened.

His jaw tightened.

Charlie’s stride was unhurried but purposeful as he crossed the yard, boots crunching against the grass. There was a subtle shift in the air with every step he took, like the warmth of the garden tilted just slightly under his presence. By the time he reached you, his shadow stretched across both you and Bill.

“Bill,” Charlie said, voice clipped and low enough to carry an edge, “don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Bill raised an eyebrow at his younger brother, the corner of his mouth twitching in an amused smirk. “Just trying to help,” he drawled lightly, but with a knowing look between you and Charlie. “You’ve got it from here, I suppose.”

With a last glance at you, Bill took a step back, tucking his wand away as he retreated toward the house.

You turned to Charlie fully now, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips. “Jealous much?” you teased softly.

Charlie didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand slid firmly around your waist, fingers splaying across your lower back as he tugged you closer, until your front brushed his. His grip was possessive but not rough, his thumb stroking once against your side as if to anchor himself.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, voice low and rougher than you were used to hearing. “I don’t like seeing his hands on you. Not even for a second.”