Katie.

The Burrow smells like cinnamon, wood smoke, and memories that don't belong to me.

It's the kind of smell that should feel comforting. A safe, familiar kind of warmth that wraps around you like a thick, cozy blanket.

But to me? It feels like the walls are closing in a little too tightly. Like everyone expects me to fit into a life I never asked for, in a house I never thought I'd need.

Adrien says it feels like a hug.

I say it feels like a hostage situation.

But we both know I'm not talking about the house.

I shift on the mattress, wincing as the pressure on my ribs tugs at the fresh bandages.

The pain is sharp, biting at my body, but it's the rest of me that hurts more. My knees are sore, bruised, the skin scraped raw from the fall in the Ministry's ruins. My wand arm aches as if the bones were splintered, and every time I move, I can't help but remember the explosion. The blast that tore through everything—my body, my life, the people I thought I could trust. The searing heat, the black smoke, the sound of stone crumbling under the weight of magic. I've tried to forget.

But right now, it's all I can think about.

"Stop picking at it," Adrien mutters from across the room, not even looking up from where she's absently shredding the quilt on her bed.

"I'm not," I lie, lifting my hand away from the gauze, pretending to focus on the empty space in front of me.

"You are," she says flatly. "You're always a liar when you're in pain."

I roll my eyes. "You're always a liar when you're pretending not to be."

She smirks but doesn't answer, her eyes still fixed on the quilt as she pulls at a loose thread. The silence between us thickens, but it's not uncomfortable. It's just... familiar.

Safe, in a way.

The kind of quiet that comes after the storm has passed, when the dust is still settling.

"Don't start with the wisdom," she mutters after a few moments. "We'll be okay. Just... let's just rest."

"Yeah. For now," I reply softly. I wish I could believe her, but the truth is, I don't know how much "okay" we have left in us. Not after everything we've seen. Not with the war coming. But I don't say that. Not to her. Not now.

The door creaks open, and there she is.

Molly Weasley.

She's like a whirlwind wrapped in a cardigan, her presence enough to fill up a room without even trying. She doesn't ask us if we're okay. She doesn't have to. Her eyes can see the cracks we've been trying to hide.

"I told you girls not to hole yourselves up all afternoon," Molly scolds gently, setting a tray down on the desk between us, where it smells like heaven. "You need to eat. Healing spells can only do so much. Your bodies need food and rest, and I need you to be children for just a little while longer."

I exchange a glance with Adrien, who shrugs. "Do cookies count as food?"

Molly glares, but she's already placing two on our napkins with a soft "Yes, yes, but they're a reward, not a meal." She huffs, exasperated but motherly in that way only Molly Weasley can be. "And you'll be downstairs by dinnertime. We'll be going over house rules then. Don't make me come up here again."

"I thought we were guests, not first-years," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"You're girls who've been through hell and back," she says, staring me down with an intensity that makes me feel like she sees right through me. "You don't get to hide up here forever, Katie. You're under my roof, and that means you'll follow my rules."

Adrien gives a mock salute. "Yes, General."

Molly sighs deeply, brushing Adrien's hair back with that soft, automatic mothering gesture. Then, she turns to me, fingers touching my collar, straightening it like it was her job. Her eyes linger for a fraction too long, like she's holding something back, like she wants to say something but can't find the words.

"I mean it," she says, her voice dropping to something fierce. "You're allowed to be girls this summer. Laugh too loud. Stay up late. Kiss boys. Sneak out—within certain circumstances—"

Adrien and I exchanged confused looks, not entirely sure what that meant.

"and fight over dumb things like who left the toothpaste cap off." She takes a shaky breath, her hand lingering on my shoulder for just a second. "Because you don't get this time back. There's a war coming. And you've already lost too much."

I blink, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. I can't even remember what it was like before all of this.

Before the loss.

Before the blood.

Before the guilt.

I glance at Adrien, but she's looking away, her jaw tight. I wish I could say something, but the words get stuck.

Molly squeezes my shoulder once before stepping away. "For now, live. That's what this is for. Not to make you stronger. To make you be. Do you understand me?"

Neither of us answers. We don't need to.

She nods, though, and then sweeps out the door with a storm that only Molly Weasley could create. The silence left behind is thick, almost too heavy to breathe through.

Adrien lies back on the bed with a groan. "Well, that wasn't emotionally devastating at all."

"She's right, though," I mutter quietly, not looking at her.

"Don't you start with the wisdom now." Adrien's voice is playful, but I hear the cracks in it.

I roll over, propping myself up on my elbow, glaring at the ceiling. "You want me to be honest or sarcastic?"

"Bold of you to assume they're different things." She grins, but it's the same fake smile she's been wearing since we got here. The one that doesn't reach her eyes.

We both fall quiet, and for a while, the only sound is the hum of the house and the occasional creak of the old stairs beneath us. Then Adrien turns toward me, her voice quieter than usual.

"Do you think we should've done more?"

The question punches me in the gut, like a sucker punch I wasn't prepared for.

"During the Ministry," she continues, her voice barely a whisper. "If we'd been faster. Stronger. Maybe—"

"We survived," I cut her off, sharper than I mean to. "That's already more than enough."

She doesn't look at me. She just nods, the motion barely noticeable.

The silence stretches on, heavy and suffocating, until Adrien mutters, "Maybe she's right. Maybe we do deserve a summer. Or at least a nap."

"We get a nap after we prank Ron," I say, managing a weak smile. "He still thinks I don't know he stole my last Chocolate Frog."

Adrien's grin returns. It's small, but it's there. "We should replace it with a hexed one that screams every time it's unwrapped."

"See? You do still have joy in your soul."

"I've just buried it under sarcasm and a mild bloodlust." She shrugs, then lays back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "But yeah. I guess we deserve a little fun before it all goes to shit."

I don't reply. There's nothing more to say. But maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, it'll be enough to just be here. To be a girl. To laugh, even if it feels hollow.

For now, I'll settle for that.

Adrien and I had just stepped into the kitchen when the war broke out.

Not a real one—though Ron did almost lose an eye to a flying bread roll.

"GEORGE!" Molly barked.

He ducked as Fred cackled, victorious. "Sorry, Mum! Must've slipped out of my hand."

"You're about to slip into next week if you don't knock it off," Molly snapped, waving a ladle like a wand.

Ron, still brushing breadcrumbs out of his hair, muttered, "You two are insufferable."

"And yet," Fred said cheerfully, "you sit by us anyway."

"Because I was here first."

"Not our fault we're the fun ones," George added.

Ginny rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "You two are one sneeze away from sharing a single brain cell."

Adrien dropped into the seat next to Fred like she'd lived here her whole life. "Be nice. That brain cell is under a lot of pressure."

Fred slid an arm around her shoulders without missing a beat. "That's why we keep her around. Moral support."

"Oh, is that why?" Adrien teased, poking at his side. "I thought it was because I know where you hide your wand polish."

Fred's eyes widened in mock horror. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

"I like my wand polish."

"You like me more."

I gagged audibly. "You two need a hobby that doesn't involve violating the kitchen."

"Don't be jealous," Adrien grinned.

"Not even a little bit."

And then he walked in.

Rowan Woods.

Tall, smug, and dragging in a breeze like he was auditioning for a bloody cologne ad. He gave Molly a kiss on the cheek—suspiciously charming—and collapsed into the seat directly across from me.

Of course he did.

He caught my eye and smirked. "Blackwood."

"Woods," I said dryly. "Still walking without assistance, I see."

"Oh, it's healed. Mostly. My pride, though?"

"Still in traction, I hope."

Fred looked between us, clearly delighted. "I forgot you two hate each other."

"We don't hate each other," Rowan said with a casual shrug. "I just enjoy watching her lose composure."

"I've never lost composure in my life."

"You're doing it right now."

I stared at him. "Rowan."

He leaned forward. "Katie."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I chucked a roll at his face.

It hit him square in the nose.

Fred dropped his fork. "That was beautiful."

Adrien whistled. "Ten out of ten."

Rowan just grinned, catching the roll mid-bounce and taking a bite like nothing happened. "Delicious. You always throw food this well, or just for me?"

"I only throw things at people I don't like."

He nodded, chewing. "So... you think about me a lot."

I blinked. "That's not—"

"That's exactly what she said," Fred cut in helpfully.

Ginny smacked him. "Let it go."

"Never," Fred beamed.

"Alright, enough," Molly said, swooping in with a tray of roasted vegetables and just enough mum energy to hush even Fred. "If the kitchen survives tonight, it'll be a miracle."

Arthur chuckled as he settled in beside her. "You say that every summer, dear."

"And every summer I mean it."

Once we were all seated and mostly behaving, Molly cleared her throat.

"I know we're not under normal circumstances," she began, softer now. "But while you're all under this roof—this house is home. And we're going to treat it like one."

The room quieted.

Molly straightened. "Rule one," she said, voice firm. "Curfew is eleven. No exceptions."

Rowan opened his mouth.

"No, Rowan, not even you."

"Wait—" I cut in, jabbing a finger across the table. "He's staying here too?"

"Yes, dear," Arthur said, gesturing vaguely. "His brother played with Fred and George for a brief time, so we've known the Woods for a while. Plus, they'll be out of the country this summer—something about Oliver's first season with Puddlemere." He trailed off, then leveled Rowan with a sharp look. "Which means he'll also be following the rules. Just like you two will."

Rowan shut his mouth again with a sheepish smile.

"Rule two: No magic unless you've asked first," Molly continued, sweeping her gaze across the table. "I don't want exploding kettles, bewitched furniture, or anyone turning Ron's socks into sentient creatures again."

"That happened once!" Ron groaned, slumping forward.

"And I still have nightmares," Arthur muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Rule three," Molly said, softer now, "this house is safe. This summer is safe. We've all seen too much. Lost too much. You're allowed—expected—to rest. Laugh. Be young. Because come September..."

She trailed off.

But we didn't need her to finish.

The weight in her voice said it all.

The silence settled like a second tablecloth—one we couldn't shake off, not even with all the laughter and bickering moments before.

Adrien quietly reached for Fred's hand under the table.

I stared down at my plate, throat tight.

But Rowan didn't look away.

He watched me.

Quiet. Careful.

Like maybe he understood something he hadn't earned the right to understand. Or maybe he just liked the challenge.

I didn't care.

Really.

I didn't.

But when I finally glanced up and caught that smirk tugging at his mouth again, all I could think was—Merlin help me, I might actually have to kiss him just to shut him up.

Arthur cleared his throat, gently awkward. "And rule four," he said, looking pointedly at Fred but speaking to all of us, "we understand part of being a teenager means spending time with friends—or partners—"

Fred immediately dropped Adrien's hand like it had burned him. "I wasn't—!"

Adrien kicked him under the table. "Smooth."

Arthur continued, barely holding back a smile. "—but not sneaking out past curfew. If you need air, time, or space, come to us. Or if you're working with the boys at the shop, that's fine. Just let us know. No more disappearing acts."

There was a beat. George leaned back in his chair. "So if I sneak out to prank Ron, but text Mum first—?"

"You don't have a phone, George," Ginny deadpanned.

"I have a plan," he countered.

Ron groaned. "We're gonna die here."

"You'll die well-fed," Molly said sharply. "Now finish your vegetables."

Fred leaned in, voice low but unmistakably smug. "So, what I'm hearing is... if I want to do anything with you this summer, I'll need to pencil it in between dessert and curfew?"

Adrien didn't even blink. She sipped her pumpkin juice, lips quirking. "You'll need to submit a formal request... signed, sealed, and approved by the Ministry of Getting Lucky."

Fred grinned, wicked. "Lucky's a guarantee. Ministry approval's just a bonus."

Across the table, Ginny made a strangled noise. "Merlin's hairy armpits, can you two not flirt in front of the potatoes?"

"I'm not flirting," Adrien said sweetly. "I'm outlining procedures."

George clutched his chest. "I think I just got secondhand seduced."

Rowan snorted, and I could feel his gaze flick toward me.

I didn't look up. Not yet.

But I smirked as I stabbed another potato.

"Rule five," Molly interrupted, leveling a pointed look at the couple. "No closed doors if you're alone together. If I walk past and can't see feet, someone's getting separated by force."

Fred turned red. Adrien just smirked.

"Rule six," Arthur added without looking up from his tea, "no shared beds. I don't care how 'innocent' it is. The only thing I want to find in the girls' room in the morning is girls. And maybe a book."

Fred groaned. "I feel so judged."

"You are," Ginny muttered.

"Rule seven," Molly added, arms crossed, "no magic-assisted sneaking. No Disillusionment Charms. No Silencing Spells. And Fred, if I find even one Extendable Ear near Adrien's window, I will snap it—and you—in half."

George leaned toward Adrien, mock-whispering, "You sure you wanna date a guy who's about to be magically neutered?"

Adrien smirked, not even a flicker of hesitation in her expression. "He's got ten seconds of charm left. I'm making the most of it."

The rest of the rules followed, and the laughter didn't stop.

"Rule eight, Public displays of affection are to remain PG. No tongue. If I hear otherwise, you're gardening with Ron for the rest of the summer." instructed Molly, as Ginny pretends to die of embarrassment.

"Good luck with that one, Mum," Fred grinned, holding his tea up like a trophy. "We're professionals."

"Not if you get caught," Ginny deadpanned, shooting him a glare that could melt steel.

"Rule nine," Arthur cut in, "If you must flirt, make it clever. If I have to sit through another line like 'You're the only magic I need,' I'll confiscate your wands and your dignity."

George, leaning back with a wide grin. "Can I be exempt from that one? I like taking notes."

Molly shot him a glare that could kill plants. "You're not exempt. You're still learning how to speak without embarrassing the rest of us."

Fred tilted his head. "We are in serious need of more sophisticated pick-up lines." He looked at Adrien, a grin curling at the edges of his mouth. "I'll start taking requests."

"I've got some new ones," Adrien teased. "And they don't involve 'magic' or 'wand'."

"Save it for later," I shot back, grinning. "But only if you can make it PG."

After dinner, Adrien shifted under her sheets, breaking the silence in our room later that night, once the warm glow of the busy Weasley's—and Rowan—disappeared from under our door. "What's up with Rowan?"

I rolled my eyes. "Rowan..."

Adrien arched an eyebrow, propping herself up on her elbow. "He gets to you, doesn't he?"

"He annoys me. There's a difference," I shot back, adjusting my pillow behind my head, glaring up at the ceiling.

"He's cute though..." Adrien smirked, her teasing smile practically glowing in the dark. "...and he seems to be fascinated by you—"

"I'm one of the only girls at Hogwarts who isn't throwing herself at him—other than you—"

"I'm not remotely interested," Adrien chuckled, making a gag sound. "Fred's pretty solid for me."

"Even after that dick measuring contest in the Hospital Wing?" I turned to face her, propping myself up on my elbow too.

"To me," she paused, pretending to think. "That just proved he'll fight for me. He doesn't speak for me—he speaks when I can't."

I sighed heavily, smiling at her tone. It had changed since she and Fred started dating. It was gradual but deepened the longer they were together.

I wasn't jealous.

I was jealous.

Just a little.

Maybe a lot.

I sighed again, catching Adrien's attention.

"What is it, Katie?" her voice pierced through the quiet tension.

"It just blows my mind," I choked out, beaming through the darkness. "A year ago, we were happy—with Draco and Blaise. They had to go and..." My voice caught in my throat as memories crashed in. "Fuck it up."

"It's so conflicting," Adrien added, finally lying flat. "They were terrified. Thought they were doing the right thing—but when we told them otherwise, they didn't listen."

"Because our opinion didn't weigh enough for it to make a difference," I muttered flatly.

"Well, Molly had a point—" Adrien shifted the subject. "We need to live a little before we're forced to grow up... maybe this summer we don't spend it trying to piece together what happened before."

"You mean, be teenagers?" I chuckled, glaring up at the cracked ceiling, tracing the texture. "Sleepovers, sneaking out for firewhiskey, kissing boys—"

"So you do like him?!" Adrien squealed, earning a pillow to the face, it was a literal shot in the dark—but the thud and chuckle coming from her side of the room was satisfying to say the least.

I'm the first to wake up, smirking at Adrien's peaceful, undisturbed sleep. Her breathing's steady—finally, no darting eyes or nightmares behind those eyelids. It's the kind of stillness I've missed.

I swung my legs off the bed, stepping carefully so the floorboards don't creak beneath my feet. Adrien had managed to kick half the blankets off, sprawled like a starfish, taking up half the mattress like she owns it. I pull the covers back over her, shaking my head fondly as she instantly curls in like she's done it on purpose.

I'm halfway down the stairs when I freeze.

There he is. Rowan.

Standing in the kitchen like he's been here a hundred times. Barefoot, hair tousled, mug in hand. His smugness practically oozes from him.

"Morning, Blackwood," he says without turning. "Tea?"

"I have hands, thanks," I reply, brushing past him to grab my own mug. I pour myself a cup, adding just the right amount of honey—Molly's blend is perfect—and lean against the counter a few feet from him.

He doesn't stop watching me. Of course he doesn't.

"So," I say without looking at him, "where'd they stuff you last night? Broom cupboard? Burrow basement?"

"Living room," he replies, gesturing lazily with his cup. "Until Molly sorted a bed in their room."

I choke on my tea. "You're bunking with the twins?"

He shrugs. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are surprisingly good company. Unlike some people."

"Bold words from the guy who lost a bet and had to wear Ravenclaw robes for a week."

His grin widens, that damned smugness filling the space between us. "You heard about that?"

"How could I not? It made you look like an idiot. Therefore, locked in here." I gestured to my head earning a smirk over his mug.

Rowan sets his mug down, leaning casually against the table, eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of judgment and amusement. "Says the best friend of Fred Weasley's girlfriend. That's chaos by association."

I glare at him, feeling the sharp edge of irritation crawl up my spine. "Don't drag Adrien into this. She's emotionally compromised."

Rowan tilts his head, a smirk creeping wider. "So's Fred. I've heard stories about last year. Seems like chaos follows the lot of you. Must be exhausting."

"Yeah," I snap back, "but it's worth it. Especially when we see Umbridge lose her mind over enchanted cupcakes and flying paper clips."

Rowan chuckles, a low sound that almost sounds like admiration. "That's one way to go about making a statement." He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes are still full of that amused spark. "Guess Fred's lucky to have someone like her... even if it does lead to a lot of collateral damage."

"Yeah, well," I mutter, "his face is the collateral damage."

Rowan's smirk widens, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. But before he can add another sarcastic jab, I fix him with a sharp look, my tone colder than the room around us.

"Don't talk about her like that," I snapped, voice low, every word cutting through the air. "You don't know her—so don't. She's more than just some... collateral damage. You think you get to judge her? You don't."

Rowan holds my gaze for a moment, something flickering behind his eyes. He doesn't back down, but there's a subtle shift in the tension.

I cross my arms. "So, yeah. Fred's lucky. Because Adrien's everything you couldn't understand in one lifetime. And she doesn't need anyone—least of all you—belittling her."

He straightens, but there's a quiet respect behind his smirk now. "Guess I hit a nerve."

"Damn right you did," I reply, my voice sharp and unyielding. "So let's make this clear: don't talk about her like that. You don't get to."

Rowan's smirk falters, and I can see the moment he realizes I'm not playing around. But he's quick to recover, eyes flashing with something sharp—still faintly amused, but now with an edge of curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, the words dropping casually like they don't matter. "Being allergic to compliments?"

The heat rises in my chest, but I don't flinch. "I'm not allergic. I just break out in hexes."

Rowan laughs—low, unexpected, and almost... impressed.

It catches me off guard, but I keep my expression cool, pouring myself another mug of tea, deliberately taking my time as if I'm unaffected.

"Maybe you should," he adds, his voice dropping an octave, drawing me in with that underlying challenge. "Get used to them. You're going to be hearing a lot of them from me."

I stiffen slightly, but I don't let it show. I don't give him the satisfaction of rattling me.

I shove the mug into his hands, the heat from the porcelain matching the tension bubbling up between us. There was a heavy haze that settled then, but then he says it.

"So, what's your excuse? Why're you here for the summer?"

I freeze. The words slip out before I have time to stop them.

"Our home is gone."

Rowan blinks, the light-hearted teasing gone from his face. "Gone?"

I don't look at him, my voice soft but steady. "Laura—Adrien's mum—is missing. The house is gone too. Magic wiped clean. It's like it never existed."

Rowan goes silent, not out of shock, but something else. He's recalibrating.

"Wait, Adrien's Mum—Laura's not your mum?"

"No," I murmur. "Adrien and I aren't blood. She found me when I had no one. Took me in. I just... stayed."

Rowan furrows his brow, stepping closer, eyes sharp. "So... you're not sisters, but you're—"

"Do you not read? Anything?" I cut in, snapping my gaze to him. "Newspapers? Gossip? Stained walls?"

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "I don't run background checks on people who threaten to turn me into compost."

"Well, maybe you should," I say coldly.

Rowan shifts, almost like he's about to apologize, but I can't bear it. Not now.

"I didn't know—"

"Yeah, well." I take another sip of tea, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. "We're not special. We don't need your sympathy."

Without a word, I grab another mug, fill it, and head back upstairs, not giving him the chance to speak again.

I dropped onto the edge of Adrien's bed, watching her slowly wake, blinking sleep from her eyes, her messy hair spread across the pillow like she's just woken from some kind of dream.

"You're a gem!" she squeals as I hand her the mug like it's a golden chalice. Her legs kick under the blanket like she's a toddler on a sugar high. "How long've you been up?"

"Not long," I mutter, collapsing at the foot of her bed and glaring at my tea.

She clocks the shift in mood immediately. "Alright, who pissed you off?"

"Rowan," I say flatly, running a hand through my hair.

Adrien raises an eyebrow. "Already?"

"He's just... annoyingly observant. Like a smug cat with abs."

Adrien snorts into her mug. "With abs." She echoed under her breath, as if she was noting it for a conversation at a later date. "I feel like he'll grow on us."

"Like fungus."

She smirks behind her tea. "So what do we do today, O Grumpy One?"

I stretch my legs out, half-heartedly plotting my next move. "Option A: Offer to help Molly. Option B: Explore the property. Option C: Launch a coordinated prank assault on Fred, George, and Rowan—and Ron, the chocolate frog stealing mother—."

Adrien tilts her head, pretending to think, ignoring my rant. Her expression softens. "Let's check with Molly. She's taken us in. It's the least we can do."

I nod, then mutter, "Fine. But if she sends us to the garden again, I'm burying myself alive."

We had to garden.

Again.

The sun is beating down on us as we tug stubborn weeds from the cursed soil. Sweat drips down my neck, and my tank top sticks to my back, making the whole experience feel even more unbearable.

Adrien and I are both in shorts and tank tops, hair half-done in messy buns and ponytails that were more an afterthought than anything else. The effort to look cute is nonexistent, but it doesn't seem to matter in this heat.

Then, the porch creaks.

Enter: Fred, George, and Rowan—the Holy Trinity of Not Helping. They plop into lawn chairs like war heroes, mugs raised like trophies after some great battle.

Adrien glances up, rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh. "Look at them. Truly tragic."

Fred, eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of Adrien in her shorts and tank top, raises his cup like he's about to make a toast. "Morning, my filthy little field elves!"

George mimics a salute, grinning wide. "We appreciate your sacrifice."

Rowan stretches his legs out, crossing one over the other with a lazy, cocky air, eyes fixed on me, his gaze lingering a bit too long for comfort. "We'll be sure to erect a statue in your honor. Possibly with shovels crossed."

I yank another root free, trying not to notice how Rowan's eyes keep darting back to me. "If Rowan moved an inch right now, his spine might snap from effort."

"I'm conserving energy," Rowan says lazily, stretching even further, "It's a skill."

Adrien throws a vine into the wheelbarrow, the force making it clear she's pissed. She turns to Fred, who's lounging with a look of pure admiration on his face, making no attempt to hide the fact that he's enjoying the view of her in that tank top.

"You said you'd help today."

"I am helping," Fred says innocently, though his eyes are clearly more interested in Adrien's form than the weeds. "I'm mentally supervising. From a safe, flirty distance."

"You're one sunburn away from becoming fertilizer."

I snorted into the soil, tugging at another weed while Fred stood up slowly. His gaze shifts from Adrien's tank top to her legs, then back to her face with that infuriating grin. "Scarecrow, fertilizer... all very rustic. Is this your way of saying you want to roll in the hay?"

Adrien doesn't even blink. She raises her wand, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Is this your way of asking to get hexed into a garden gnome?"

Fred stops, but the smile on his face only widens. His voice drops lower, more sensual. "You look ridiculously hot when you're threatening me with bodily harm in my mother's back garden."

"And you look like your wardrobe lost a duel with a possessed laundry basket."

Fred tugs at his shirt like it's the finest thing he owns. "You love this shirt."

"I tolerate it," Adrien shoots back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like one tolerates mold. Or mild concussions."

"You undress me with your eyes."

"I undress you to plan where I'd carve 'moron' first."

Fred clutches his chest like he's wounded. "The passion. The poetry."

"Move your ass, Weasley."

"You volunteered to help my mother," Fred says with mock-seriousness, stepping closer, his voice dropping into a more dangerous pitch. "Do you have any idea how hot that is?"

Adrien blinks, raising an eyebrow. "You're turned on by gardening?"

"I'm turned on by you," Fred says, voice low and husky as he inches closer. "Covered in dirt, wand in hand, threatening to bury me. It's a whole thing."

Adrien smirks, slow and dangerous, as she twirls her wand lazily in her hand. "You know I could charm this shovel to flirt better than you, right?"

Fred leans in, voice dropping to an almost hushed whisper. "Yeah, but the shovel wouldn't kiss back."

George groans dramatically from his chair. "Okay, enough! If this turns into a spontaneous shag among the radishes, I'm leaving."

"Speak for yourself," Rowan mutters, his eyes glued to me again clearly entertained. "I'm invested now."

I glance up for the first time, meeting Rowan's gaze for a moment before looking away quickly. He hasn't stopped staring at me since they settled on the back deck.

George spots the shift. "Rowan, mate, you're looking like you're about to get yourself into some serious trouble."

I shoot George a look. "Don't encourage him."

Rowan smirks but doesn't take his eyes off me. "Admiring the banter. Taking notes. Blackwood, you're slaying the cursed garden game."

"And you're slaying what exactly? That deck chair?"

Rowan grins. "Killing it. Almost broke a sweat lifting this tea."

I shake my head, sweat sticking to my neck. "You're all insufferable."

"You're welcome," George calls from his chair. "Consider it moral support."

"More like moral failure," Adrien mutters, rolling her eyes and spinning back toward her patch of vines.

Rowan crosses his arms, his voice light but his gaze on me far too intense. "You're really taking this whole back-breaking labor thing seriously, huh?"

I glare at him, wiping my brow with my forearm. "We like helping people who don't treat our survival like an inconvenience."

Rowan raises an eyebrow, challenging. "You calling me inconvenient?"

"I'm calling you decorative. Occasionally entertaining. Like a cursed painting that won't shut up."

"Oh," he says, clearly delighted. "You've thought about this."

"Only because you talk like a Bond villain and drink tea like you invented it."

"I could've invented it," Rowan replies, with an almost smug smirk. "I have the bone structure."

"Pity about the personality."

"See?" Rowan leans in slightly, his voice softer now. "You do like me."

"I tolerate you," I snap, slamming my wand into the dirt with force. "Like I tolerate heat rash. Or shingles."

Adrien snorts, and I can't help but laugh, the tension breaking. "That was beautiful."

Fred whistles, winking. "Can you two just kiss and get it over with?"

"NO!" Adrien and I shout in unison.

George points between us with an exaggerated grin. "That's exactly what people say right before they do."

"Try it and I hex you both," I warn, but my tone is lighter now, the banter fun again.

Fred is already halfway to the shed, still grinning like he's won the lottery. "I'll get the shovel, love of my life. I live to serve."

"You live to annoy me," Adrien sighs, shaking her head with a grin.

"Same thing."

Adrien turns to me, hands on her hips. "How are these men functioning adults?"

I yank another vine free and toss it over my shoulder. "They're not. They're just tall toddlers with access to caffeine and pyrotechnics."

Rowan raises his mug again, a gleam in his eye. "And yet, you're still staring at me."

"I'm fantasizing about burying you under this wheelbarrow."

"Hot."

"Merlin, shut up."