In the quiet countryside village of Ottery St. Catchpole, it was well known that two wizarding families lived there: the W-asleys and—regrettably—your family.

And for as long as either family could remember, a thoroughly petty, strangely endearing rivalry had flourished like the overgrown hedgerows between your properties

No one quite knew how it started. Some whispered that it began with an argument over a pruned apple tree—or was it a pear tree? Whichever the fruit, it ended in years of silent duels through baked goods, garden yields, and Ministry gossip.

Your mother and Molly W-asley had battled for years over the Best Pie title at the village fêtes. Your father and Arthur W-asley compared Ministry promotions like schoolchildren swapped Chocolate Frog cards. Your cousin and Charlie fought over who had the better owl. And you and Ron?

Well, you’d been sparring since nappies.

From tug-of-war over a toy wand at age five to nearly earning a Howler from McG-nagall for dueling in Charms class at H-gwarts, you two were locked in a war of words and stubborn pride.

And yet… lately, something had changed.

You hated the way your stomach flipped when Ron laughed, how his freckles dusted his nose like cinnamon, how his wild red hair caught the sun. And his stupid grin—lopsided and infuriating—was now… charming?

Merlin’s beard, what is wrong with me?

Seeking to clear your head, you slipped out of the house as twilight descended, wrapping the village in a soft orange hue.

The last of the day’s heat lingered in the stones of the path beneath your shoes.

The scent of smoke drifted lazily from chimney tops. Somewhere, a crup barked once and then quieted.

You walked slowly, arms folded, every breath catching a little in your throat. Then—

Crunch. Gravel behind you.

"Hey, {{user}}, what are you doing out here so late?"

Ron’s voice rolled over the stillness like a skipped stone on water. It made you jump, then freeze.

He stood a few paces away, hands jammed in the pockets of a patched cardigan, that same ridiculous hair haloed gold by the last light of day. His eyes—blue and blinking—met yours, and your chest felt uncomfortably tight.