The Burrow was chaotic as usual. Voices outside, laughter drifting in through open windows, the thud of someone stomping up the stairs. So slipping into the sitting room felt safe. Forgotten. Fred had barely shut the door before he’d grinned at you like he’d won something.

“Well,” he said, rolling up his sleeves, “look at that. Alone.”

You laughed, but he was already closing the distance, backing you gently toward the sofa. His hands were warm and sure at your waist, thumbs brushing your sides like he knew exactly what he was doing. You barely had time to tease him before he kissed you, confident, unapologetic, smiling into your mouth like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

“You know,” he murmured against your lips, “I’ve been behaving all day. Thought I deserved a reward.”

You snorted, but then he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you forgot every clever reply you’d ever planned. He tugged you closer, hands sliding to your hips, and you felt his grin when you kissed him back just as eagerly.

Fred was in his element.

You were definitely distracted.

Someone cleared their throat.

Very deliberately.

Fred froze

You pulled back instantly, heart leaping into your throat, and turned toward the doorway.

Molly Weasley stood there.

Arms crossed.

Expression unreadable.

Eyebrows raised in that dangerous, maternal disappointment way.

“Oh,” she said evenly. “Good. I was wondering where you’d both gone.”

Your face went hot. Fred’s hands dropped from your waist, slower than they should have, like he was debating his chances.

“Mum,” he said brightly, far too brightly, “lovely timing.”

She stared at him.

Fred coughed, suddenly finding the ceiling fascinating. “Right. So. This looks worse than it—”

“Does it?” Molly interrupted.

You wished the sofa would swallow you whole.

Fred tried to laugh it off but it came out slightly strained.

“We were just… talking,” he offered.

Molly’s gaze flicked pointedly between the two of you. “Talking,” she repeated.

“Yes,” Fred nodded. “With our mouths.”

There was a long pause.

Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Try to remember,” she said, “that this is a family sitting room.”

“Yes, Mum,” he said quickly. “Noted. Learned. Deeply traumatised.”

She gave you a softer look then, one that made the embarrassment even worse. “Lunch ready,” she said. “When you’ve both… composed yourselves.”

And then she left.

The silence afterward was excruciating.

You could still feel his hands where they’d been on your waist, which somehow made it worse.