The smell of baking hit you before you even reached the crooked, familiar front door. The sound of laughter and clattering dishes floated through the open windows, carried by the warm summer air. You’d been coming here for years — long enough that the creak of the porch and the bright red paint on the door felt just as welcoming as your own home.

You knocked once out of habit, but before you could even lower your hand, the door flew open.

“{{user}}!” Ginny practically tackled you in a hug, nearly knocking the small bag out of your hand. “You’re finally here!”

You laughed, hugging her back.

Behind her, Molly bustled forward, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, there you are, dear! Come in, come in. Fred, George— look who’s here!”