Four months. That’s how long you’ve been married to Fred, your childhood nemesis, the one person who could ignite your temper with a single smirk. You’d hated each other for as long as you could remember, your bickering practically a Hogwarts legend. And yet, here you were, tied together by a contract neither of you wanted. Four months, and the tension between you had only grown more unbearable—if that was even possible.

The moon hung low over the sprawling garden of the Burrow, its silvery light casting long shadows over the snow-dusted hedges. Molly Weasley had insisted on hosting a family dinner tonight, despite the biting January chill. You’d spent the last hour trying to avoid Fred’s infuriating presence, but of course, he had a knack for finding you wherever you went. He was currently seated at the long, wooden table in the garden, surrounded by a lively crowd of siblings and in-laws, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. His rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed strong forearms dusted with freckles, and the sparks from a nearby enchanted firelight danced in his messy ginger hair.

You sat on the opposite end of the table, too annoyed to enjoy the steaming plate of Molly’s shepherd’s pie in front of you. Conversation flowed around you, but your focus was on a different kind of discomfort. Fred had been watching you—glancing in your direction every time you so much as shifted in your seat. Not that he’d admit it. No, he’d just narrow his twinkling brown eyes, lift his stupid lopsided grin, and then look away as if nothing had happened.

The worst part was, you weren’t even doing anything. The real cause of his sour mood was the person beside you: Charlie’s friend, a visiting dragonologist who was charming enough to make anyone blush. He’d spent the evening telling you wild stories about magical creatures, his low laugh rumbling like distant thunder as you’d listened with polite amusement. Every time you laughed, Fred’s jaw tightened.