The fire in the common room crackled, casting a warm glow across the walls, and George had you laughing so hard your stomach hurt. He’d just finished telling you some ridiculous story about their latest experiment gone wrong, complete with exaggerated gestures and a wicked grin. You had tears in your eyes from laughing, head tilted back, shoulders shaking. It was the kind of laugh that made you forget you were in a crowded room, the kind that came straight from your chest and left your cheeks sore.

That was the exact moment Fred walked in.

He stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes immediately finding you, then George. The sound of your laugh, so unrestrained and joyful, tugged at something in him he wasn’t used to sharing. His jaw flexed, though his grin remained plastered in place for anyone watching. Still, there was a sharpness behind it that only you would notice if you looked closely enough.

Fred didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room with that easy swagger of his, but it carried an edge, like he was daring someone to challenge him. He dropped down right between you and George, shoulder pushing against his twin as though he had every right to take up that space.

“Move over, George,” Fred drawled, lowering himself onto the sofa. “You’re hogging all the space.”

George arched a brow, unimpressed. He gestured to the empty armchair a few feet away. “There’s a seat right there.”

“Not the one I want,” Fred shot back smoothly, already throwing an arm around your shoulders. He pulled you tight against his side, the motion casual on the surface but unmistakably possessive. Your hip pressed firmly into his, his thumb brushing slow circles against your arm as if staking his claim.

“Besides,” Fred added, fixing George with a lopsided smirk, “you’re not that funny.”

Your eyebrows shot up, lips curving in amusement. You leaned just enough to catch his eye, studying the faint crease of his brow and the way his jaw was still tight. “Jealous, Freddie?”

He turned his head toward you, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath brushing your cheek. He let the grin soften just for you, his lips barely grazing your ear as he whispered low, voice rich and certain.

“Damn right I am. You’re mine, and I don’t share, not even with him.”