The air at Grimmauld Place felt heavier than usual that night, as if the old house itself sensed the tension threading through the walls. Molly Weasley’s voice was quiet but firm as she set down the teapot in the kitchen. “This isn’t going to end well,” she muttered, eyes following you and Fred through the crack in the door as you laughed about something only the two of you understood.

Remus, seated at the table with his fingers curled around a mug, gave a weary sigh. “It’s not our place to interfere. They’re… young.” His tone held a note of caution, but there was a shadow in his gaze—one that came from experience.

Tonks leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her hair flashing a nervous pink. “Young or not, I see the way he looks at her,” she said softly. “Like he’s terrified of wanting something he can’t keep.” Her voice dipped, carrying an ache that mirrored the path she and Remus had walked not so long ago. “It’s the same way you used to look at me, Remus.”

His expression faltered, and he didn’t deny it. He knew better than anyone the danger of running from love and how deeply it could scar both hearts.

Meanwhile, in the dim hallway just outside the kitchen, Fred leaned casually against the doorframe, grinning at you as if you were the only person alive. His jokes were softer here, less for show, more for you. His hand brushed against yours as you reached for a candle, and the smallest touch was enough to set your pulse racing.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you teased, though you didn’t pull your hand away.

“Trouble?” Fred’s grin widened, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “You make trouble sound like a bad thing, love.”