Being a Weasley came with chaos, mismatched furniture, enchanted items misbehaving, and a whole lot of red hair. Being a middle Weasley meant you were used to being overlooked — until you showed up at the Burrow with Draco M holding your hand.

Your mum had already started fluttering around nervously, smoothing her apron and whispering to herself, while Ron stood rigid by the stairs, arms crossed and scowling hard.

The twins were the first to break the silence.

—“Mum,” Fred said in a low voice, eyeing Draco from head to toe, “he’s loaded.”

—“Like Malfoy loaded,” George added. “Think of the renovations. Think of the business expansions. Think of the new brooms.”

—“He’s not an investment opportunity,” you muttered under your breath.

—“Oh, but he is,” Fred winked.

Ron huffed from behind, clearly not on board.

—“I still don’t trust him. One wrong word and he’s out.”

Draco, ever the prince of poised sarcasm, simply looked at him and said, “Charming as always, Weasley.”

—“You’re not much better, Malfoy,” Ron snapped.

You squeezed Draco’s hand before he could answer, giving him that please behave for me look, and he surprisingly listened. His fingers curled around yours tighter, just enough to say “I’m trying.”

Molly finally stepped in with a warm, albeit slightly tense smile.

—“Right then! Let’s not scare off our guest before dinner. Draco, dear, welcome to our home.”

—“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said, visibly trying to tone down the usual arrogance in his voice. “It’s… cozy.”

George leaned over to Fred.

—“He means ‘tiny.’”

Fred replied, “He’s dying inside. I love this.”