The rain had left London’s streets slick and glistening, the damp air seeping into Grimmauld Place like an unwelcome guest. Inside, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Members of the Order moved quietly through the hallway, each burdened with secrets, strategies, and the gnawing dread of what was to come.

You stood by the cracked window, watching the distorted reflection of the streetlamps. Being Lupin’s adopted child had always meant you were close to the fight—born into shadows, raised in whispered warnings and wariness. The war had taken everything familiar from you long ago, and now Grimmauld Place was the closest thing you had to a home.

That’s when Ron Weasley entered the room, his freckled face flushed from the cold. He looked surprised to see you there. Though you’d both been present in the same meetings before, you’d never spoken much beyond curt nods. He’d always been Harry’s fiercely loyal right hand, quick to leap into action, while you worked in subtler ways—slipping into enemy territory, relaying messages that were never meant to be intercepted.

“You’re the one who got the intel about the snatchers moving near Hogsmeade, right?” Ron asked, his tone equal parts wary and curious.

You raised an eyebrow, turning slightly to face him. “That’s me. Though if you’re doubting its accuracy, you’re free to test it out yourself. Might even make a good distraction.”

To your surprise, Ron smirked. “Sounds like something I’d say. Guess Harry wasn’t lying when he said you’ve got a knack for being… reckless.”