The Burrow was alive with warmth and laughter, the golden glow of the fireplace flickering across the crowded living room. The family, along with you, Harry, and Hermione, were all gathered together, listening as Arthur recounted a particularly amusing tale from his time at the Ministry. Fred and George, as always, were adding their own embellishments, making everyone laugh even harder.

You were curled up beside Ron on the couch, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. He was absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his worn-out shirt, frowning when his fingers brushed over a hole near the seam. With a sigh, he pulled at the fabric and turned to you.

“Hey, love, mind fixing this?” he asked, holding out the torn sleeve.

You raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you have a wand, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron grinned, “but last time I tried, I nearly sewed my sleeve to my trousers.”

Rolling your eyes, you took the shirt from his hands, already reaching for the small sewing kit Molly kept in the sitting room. As you started stitching, your fingers working quickly and precisely, Molly glanced up from her knitting. She watched as Ron leaned into you, a lazy grin on his face, as if simply being close to you made him content.

Molly didn’t say anything, but something in her softened. The way Ron turned to you without hesitation, the way you helped without a second thought—there was a quiet certainty in it. A kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures to prove itself.

She knew then, with a mother’s intuition, that you were the one for her son. But she didn’t say a word. Some things, after all, were meant to be realized in their own time.