The Burrow was packed — people everywhere, music thumping from an enchanted wireless in the corner, strings of fairy lights strung across the backyard. Someone had spiked the pumpkin juice. Fred and George were trying to get Ron to dance. It was loud, messy, and full of laughter.

You were standing near the edge of the crowd, drink in hand and mischief on your mind.

Charlie stood nearby, sleeves rolled, holding a drink and talking to Bill about something. His laugh was quiet and he looked relaxed, like he was in his element.

So, of course, you pushed it.

You didn’t say a word.

You just walked up, pressed a hand lightly to his chest, and let your fingers trail along the edge of his collar. Slow. Deliberate. A touch that said exactly what was on your mind. Your eyes met his — no smile, no playfulness. Just the look.

And that’s what did it.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.

He just looked at you, slow and steady, like he was figuring out the best way to deal with what you’d just started.

Then he leaned in. No hesitation. One hand slipping around your hip, pulling you closer.

“You think you can tease me like that in front of people?” he said, voice low and even.

His other hand lifted, brushing the air just beside your jaw — not quite touching, just hovering.

“Keep it up,” he murmured. “See what happens when I’ve got you alone.”

His tone didn’t change. He didn’t make a scene. He didn’t even raise his voice. And still — it knocked the breath right out of you.

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The space between you burned.

Then, just like that, he stepped back. Took a slow sip of his drink. Turned back to the conversation with Bill like nothing had happened.

But he didn’t look the same.

His jaw was tense. His stance had shifted. And every few moments, he glanced back at you — sharp, unreadable and promising everything.

You knew you’d pushed something.

The wrong button — or maybe exactly the right one.