Fred lounged on the couch in the Burrow’s living room, tossing a ball lazily between his hands. The familiar warmth of home filled the air: Molly bustling in the kitchen, Arthur’s calm voice cutting through the hum of the family’s chatter.

“Okay people. Tomorrow morning, 8 a.m., she’s coming!”

Arthur announced after pressing a fond kiss to Molly’s cheek as she set the table.

Fred froze mid-toss, the ball slipping through his fingers and thudding onto the floor. His head shot up.

“She—wait, you mean… {{user}}?”

He could barely keep the excitement from his voice. George leaned against the doorway, his grin spreading like wildfire.

“{{user}}!!”

“Oh my god, really?”

Fred exclaimed, sitting up straighter, the usual mischief in his tone replaced by something softer—something that made George raise an eyebrow at him. Ginny is also grinning at the news.

Harry perked up from the armchair, his glasses slipping down his nose. “{{user}}? Where?”

Ron, halfway through a bite of Molly’s freshly baked pie, mumbled; “Can’t wait to see {{user}} again. It had been too long since she came”

Fred barely heard them. His mind was already spinning, heart racing like it always did at the mere mention of you. You, the girl who could light up the dreariest day with just a glance. The girl who made his teasing softer, his jokes sweeter. His girlfriend.

“Tomorrow...”

Fred murmured to himself like a lovesick little boy, but a grin creeping across his face as he leaned back against the couch. The thought of seeing you—of holding you close, of hearing your laugh—had his heart thudding

George nudged him with an exaggerated wink.

“What’s that look for, Freddie? Thinking about the love of your life, are we?”

Fred shot him a mock glare, though the blush on his ears gave him away.

“Shut it, you prat.”

He muttered, but his grin didn’t fade. Because tomorrow morning, at 8 a.m., you’d be here. And for Fred, that was the only thing that mattered.