Adrien.

The door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes creaked open like it was personally offended we were back.

And honestly? Fair.

The shop looked like someone had lost a duel with a shipment of prank supplies and just walked away from the wreckage. Shelves were only half-stocked, boxes were stacked like unstable pyramids in the center of the room, and there was a suspicious green puff of smoke drifting out from under a table near the back.

"Merlin's limp wand," Katie muttered beside me. "What happened in here?"

George stepped over a loose Nosebleed Nougat like he'd done this before. "Welcome to the battlefield, ladies and gents."

Fred swept an arm dramatically across the scene. "Behold. Chaos incarnate."

"This place has been open three weeks," I said flatly, taking it all in. "And it already looks like Honeydukes exploded in Knockturn Alley."

"Thank you," Fred said proudly.

"That was not a compliment."

Rowan nudged a crate with his boot, raising an eyebrow. "You lot call this a storefront?"

George grinned. "We call it flavor."

Katie snorted. "You mean 'lawsuit waiting to happen.'"

Fred glanced sideways at me, then tapped his chin like he was thinking real hard. "You know, speaking of lawsuits and efficiency—what we really need is a system. A little structure. Maybe a touch of ruthless management."

My eyes narrowed. "Fred."

He turned with a grin so wide it was practically weaponized. "What? I just think someone with... say, a documented history of strategically organizing large-scale prank campaigns should step up."

"Oh no," Katie groaned. "He's invoking the prank wars."

Fred nodded solemnly. "And who better to manage this glorious disaster than the brains behind the Great Hogwarts Umbridge Scare-off Incident of '94?"

"You mean the Polyjuice Detention Switch," George chimed in from the backroom doorway, arms crossed and grinning. "Still not sure which was better—watching Umbridge yell at 'Fred,' or Adrien pretending to have an allergic reaction to authority."

"Technically, I said I was allergic to silver polish," I corrected.

"And technically," Fred added, slinging an arm around my shoulder, "you walked out of detention without getting caught. In my body. Which is frankly iconic."

Rowan blinked. "You body swapped in detention?"

"Polyjuice," Katie said cheerfully. "Best use of stolen Snape shop ingredients and an illegal map to date."

Fred sighed dreamily. "Honestly, it was art."

Rowan turned to George. "You hired them because of that?"

George looked deeply unrepentant. "Absolutely."

I sighed, rolled my shoulders, and tugged the hem of my oversized Muggle band tee over my head in one clean motion. It hit the floor in a heap, revealing my fitted tank top underneath—nothing fancy, just something practical with a built-in bra and a knack for shutting people up mid-sentence.

Fred's sentence died before it even started.

His mouth parted slightly, and I caught the flicker of something primal flash across his face—want, reverence, maybe a little panic.

I raised an eyebrow. "You alright there, Weasley?"

He blinked like someone had hit him with a Confundus charm, then cleared his throat and muttered, "I'm fine. Totally fine. Just—appreciating the leadership. And... structure."

Katie snorted.

I smirked and turned my attention to the chaos in front of us, planting my hands on my hips like I was preparing for battle.

"Fine," I said. "I'll system your chaos."

Fred clapped like he'd just witnessed a miracle—and was still trying not to look at my shoulders.

"Here's how this is going to work," I continued, pointing as I went. "George—backroom. If it's leaking, glowing, or talking, I don't want to see it. Bag it, tag it, or hide it."

George saluted with mock seriousness. "On it, General."

"Fred—you're taking the left side. Stock it, straighten it, and try not to flirt with the shelves."

"No promises," Fred said, already winking at a display of Decoy Detonators.

"Rowan," I said, turning to him, "you're on the right. Unpack. Sort. And do not reorganize things alphabetically by magical toxicity."

"It would make sense," he muttered.

"No it doesn't."

Katie crossed her arms, eyeing the towering mess in the center of the shop. "And us?"

"We're the center of the storm," I said. "You start sorting the pile—divide it by product. I'll take the counter and dig through whatever hellscape of receipts, inventory logs, and stray inventory is currently squatting up there like a cursed goblin."

"Great," Katie said, clapping her hands once. "Manual labor with a side of potential tetanus."

Rowan hefted a box off the stack and shot her a smug grin. "Try not to fall behind, Blackwood."

Katie raised an eyebrow. "Please. I could sort these blindfolded and still beat you."

"Want to make it interesting?"

"Oh, we're making it interesting," she shot back, snatching a second box out from under the one he was holding so it almost toppled. He stumbled, caught himself, and scowled.

I left them to their slow descent into a chaos-flavored flirt war and turned toward the counter, where a precarious stack of receipts leaned against half-burned catalogues and what appeared to be three rogue Extendable Ears tangled in a love triangle.

Fred was suddenly there beside me, arms crossed and grin simmering. "You know, you look disturbingly hot when you take control."

I gave him a sideways glance. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "Bossy looks good on you."

"Well, good," I muttered, plucking a floating receipt out of the air, "because someone has to be."

Fred leaned in slightly, voice dropping low. "You sure you don't want to boss me around a little more?"

"I haven't decided yet," I replied, pretending to read the receipt in my hand. "But keep talking and I might assign you mop duty."

"Ooh. Kinky."

"Fred."

"Yes, love?"

"Go sort your section."

He sighed dramatically, but the smirk didn't leave his face as he wandered toward the left side of the shop—pausing just long enough to brush a hand lightly across my back before disappearing behind a display of fireworks.

I didn't blush.

Probably.

Behind me, Katie and Rowan were already arguing about who had the better stacking technique, and George was singing something truly unholy from the back room that sounded suspiciously like a love ballad to a Murtlap.

I dug into the pile of chaos on the counter and let myself smile.

It was going to be a long day.

But at least it wouldn't be boring.

Fred had claimed his corner of the shop like it was sacred ground, sleeves rolled up and wand tucked behind his ear like some charmingly chaotic war general. He was restocking a wall of Skiving Snackboxes, color-coding them in ways that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with "aesthetic chaos," as he put it.

I caught him mid-toss of a Nosebleed Nougat into a top shelf bin, grinning like a devil. "If this one explodes, it's intentional," he said over his shoulder. "Art demands sacrifice."

—

Katie had taken control of the central pile like she was leading a sorting revolution, elbows-deep in Dungbombs, Fanged Flyers, and boxes labeled "Prototype – DO NOT OPEN (Seriously, George)." She was muttering spells under her breath and tossing products into categories with military precision.

"Rowan, if you put one more Puking Pastille next to a Stink Pellet, I'm hexing your face into alphabetical order," she snapped.

Rowan, smug as ever, was stacking boxes of Patented Daydream Charms along the right wall with the relaxed energy of someone doing it wrong on purpose. "It's called product pairing, Blackwood. You should try having vision."

Katie hurled a Canary Cream at his head. It exploded mid-air in a shower of bright yellow feathers.

—

George emerged from the backroom covered in glitter, soot, and what might've been potion foam. "Good news," he announced. "The Whizzbangs only explode if you whisper the word 'moist.'"

Everyone froze.

Rowan muttered, "You just said it."

A muffled bang! shook the ceiling.

George beamed. "See?"

—

Katie was knee-deep in a box of Extendable Ears, muttering about poor packaging when the bell over the door jingled.

I barely looked up from my stack of misfiled receipts.

A customer wandered in—older Hogwarts student, judging by the barely-buttoned robes and the way his eyes immediately locked onto Katie like she was part of the display. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly thinking he had more charm than sense.

He beelined straight for her section.

"Hey," he said, flashing what I assumed was his version of a winning smile. "You work here?"

Katie straightened, brushing hair off her shoulder without looking up. "Depends. You planning on complaining or spending money?"

He blinked, then grinned. "Bit of both, maybe."

She turned fully then, lips curving, voice dipping just enough to sound like mischief. "Dangerous combo."

"Just like these," he said, holding up a box of Fanged Flyers. "Are these the ones that bite and scream, or just bite?"

Katie stepped closer, smile sharpening. "Only if you activate the blood rune on the third wing. But if you're into theatrics, I'd go with the deluxe set—built-in howler charm. Scares the robes off even the Slytherins."

He laughed. "Sounds like you know from experience."

"Oh, I always know," she said, reaching up to pluck a deluxe box from the top shelf and leaning in just enough to tilt the tension. "Want me to ring it up, or are you just here for the flirting?"

He blinked again, clearly flustered—and totally sold.

"Yeah—uh, yeah, I'll take it."

She handed him the box with a wink and started toward the counter to check him out.

That was when Rowan appeared.

Out of nowhere.

Like he'd been summoned by the scent of someone else enjoying Katie's attention.

"I can take that," he said, sliding between them so smoothly it was practically a collision. He took the box from Katie's hands with a smile that didn't touch his eyes and turned to the customer. "I'll get you sorted. Don't want anyone biting off more than they can handle, yeah?"

The customer blinked, confused, but followed him to the register like a sheep who'd just lost the plot.

Katie watched him go with a tight smile, her hands dropping back to her hips. "Well, that wasn't subtle."

I smirked behind the counter, standing on against the opposite side, watching... not even pretending to hide it.

She turned to me, eyebrows lifting in an exaggerated arc. Did you see that?

I raised mine right back. Oh, I saw everything.

Katie rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she couldn't quite help it.

She bent back over the box of products, pulling another set of Peruvian Darkness Powder off the pile with a muttered, "Possessive much?"

I didn't answer.

But I might've laughed under my breath.

Because whatever that was?

It wasn't just about a sale.

Rowan went back to the floor like he hadn't just inserted himself into a sales flirtation like a hex with legs.

Katie was restocking a display of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder with enough force to knock over the shelf if she wasn't careful.

"You good?" he asked casually, not looking at her as he passed.

"Perfect," she said flatly, sliding a box onto the shelf. "Though next time, maybe let me finish the sale before you get all... territorial."

"Wasn't territorial," he muttered.

"Sure. You just happened to show up the second someone smiled at me."

"Didn't like his face."

Katie arched an eyebrow. "Right. Because that's your call."

"I was just—"

"Jealous," she cut in sweetly. "It's okay, Woods. It happens."

He huffed something that was definitely a suppressed grumble and disappeared down an aisle. Katie glanced over her shoulder at me and mouthed, Unbelievable.

I snorted softly and returned to my own chaos.

The receipt mountain had finally been tamed, color-coded, and tucked into a perfectly laminated folder that sparkled like the crown jewel of the countertop.

Fred wandered over just as I slid the folder into the locked drawer beneath the register.

"Is it weird that I find this wildly attractive?" he asked, leaning on the counter like he was admiring a masterpiece. "Like... this laminated folder is doing things to me."

I rolled my eyes. "You've got issues."

"I've got taste," he corrected, voice lower now. "And a thing for bossy, brilliant women who tame chaos with color-coding and look stupid hot doing it."

He let his eyes drag slowly down to my tank top—his gaze all heat, no shame—and I felt it like a spark across my skin.

"Careful, Weasley," I said, pulling the next stack of inventory papers toward me, "or I'll add you to the filing system under Annoying."

He smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but that's when the next customer appeared.

Late teens, maybe a few years older than Katie, Rowan and I. Tall, tan, good hair, and way too confident for someone wearing dragonhide boots indoors.

"Hey," the guy said, walking up to the counter with a grin that tried a little too hard. "You work here?"

I didn't even look up from the folder I was organizing. "Nope. I just loiter behind counters with a stack of inventory reports for fun. Real thrill-seeker lifestyle."

Fred, still leaning nearby and absolutely not pretending to do his actual job, snorted behind me—one of those rough, caught-off-guard laughs that made his whole chest shake.

The guy blinked, thrown for a second.

I finally glanced up, one brow arched. "What do you think?"

He recovered quickly, leaning a little closer like he still thought he had a shot. "Alright, alright. Just saying—don't exactly look like the usual shop girl."

Fred's amusement faded like someone had flicked a switch.

"If you're about to ask if the joke products are real," I added, voice cooling—ignoring his comment completely, "the answer's yes. So maybe don't sit on any."

That shut him up for half a beat—just long enough for Fred to straighten from his lazy lean, every inch of him suddenly alert and very much boyfriend-shaped.

The guy laughed, unbothered. "No, no—I'm not looking for anything... in the store."

That got my attention.

I glanced up, eyebrow arching.

His grin widened as his eyes did a not-so-subtle scan. "Though that uniform... gotta say, makes me wanna buy something I don't need."

I blinked once. Slowly.

Fred didn't.

He stepped in behind me like he'd been summoned by the scent of dumb male ego. One hand slid around my waist, his fingers splaying just under the hem of my tank top—hot and possessive in a way that made my breath catch.

The shift in the air was instant.

"Problem?" Fred asked, voice calm—dangerously so. "Because if you're lost, I'm happy to escort you to the door."

The guy's eyes darted between us. "Hey, no offense, mate—just paying a compliment."

Fred's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, see... compliments are what you give products. Not people you don't know. And definitely not my girlfriend."

Oh.

I felt that in my spine.

Across the room, Katie looked up just in time to catch it—and locked eyes with me.

She raised both brows, real slow. That just happened.

I gave her a look that said, Do not start.

She grinned and mouthed, Yours. Then winked.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my past lives.

Fred didn't notice. Or maybe he did and just didn't care—because he was still watching the guy like he was one bad sentence away from a hex.

The possessiveness in his voice wasn't loud or dramatic—it was quiet, steady, and so confident it made something in my chest ignite.

The customer held up his hands in mock surrender and backed toward the door. "Right. Got it. No harm meant."

"Mm," Fred hummed. "That's the part you were wrong about."

The bell jingled as the guy slipped out, leaving behind the faint whiff of regret and too much cologne.

I turned slowly to look at Fred, heart thudding harder than I liked to admit.

"You gonna growl at every guy who flirts with me?" I asked, voice light, teasing—but there was an edge of breathlessness I couldn't hide.

"Only the ones dumb enough to think they've got a shot."

His eyes locked on mine—dark, hot, unflinching—and something deep in my gut curled tight.

Then he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for me. "I'm all for sharing the view, love... but let's not confuse anyone about who gets to unwrap it."

Oh.

Okay.

Yep. That was unfair.

And then—just like that—he pulled back, winked, and turned on his heel, heading back toward his section like nothing had happened.

I stood frozen, brain momentarily buffering.

Katie strolled up, chewing on her grin. "Do I need to spray you with a hose or are you good?"

"I'm fine," I said, voice a little too sharp, a little too breathless.

"Right." She tapped her temple and headed back to the central shelves, tossing over her shoulder, "Tell your heart to stop doing cartwheels."

By the time the cologne cloud cleared and the awkward flirt ghost had vanished, I was already back to organizing.

Receipts sorted, alphabetized by product type and date, laminated in sleek page protectors like the chaos had never existed. I labeled each tab in neat, enchanted handwriting.

The system was beautiful.

The kind of beautiful that made my brain purr.

"Fred. George. Counter. Now."

George popped his head around a corner like a curious cat. Fred appeared slower, still watching me like I might hex the next customer just for breathing wrong.

"Yes, Boss Lady?" George said, dramatically saluting.

Fred leaned on the counter like he was still trying to recover from the earlier testosterone spike. "She's laminated something again, hasn't she?"

"Behold," I said, turning the two folders around so they could see. "Your new receipt and inventory system."

George squinted. "Is this alphabetical?"

"Don't be dense," I said. "Listen closely. After a sale, the receipt goes under the register drawer—easy. At the end of the day, collect them. Bare minimum, sort them by day. Ideally, sort them by numerical order. That keeps the log clean and traceable."

Fred nodded slowly, like I was explaining wand mechanics to a flobberworm. "Right. End of day. Numbers."

"Good," I said, flipping open the second folder. "Now, inventory reports. Same deal. Page protectors, laminated spine. Sorted by day, week or month. However often you choose to do inventory—sort them by numerical order. Keep both folders under the counter. Don't touch anything else. Don't get creative. Don't let a Fanged Flyer chew the pages."

George blinked. "You are both terrifying and kind of brilliant."

"Kind of?" I smirked, tucking some hair behind my ears, "I know."

Before either of them could say something dumb, Katie sauntered over with a smirk. "My turn."

Fred stepped aside like he was witnessing the queen take the throne.

Katie tapped a color-coded chart she'd somehow already posted beside the counter. "I've organized the shelves by aisle—color-coded, labeled, charmed. Yellow tags? Loud products. Purple? Potion-based. Green? Things that might explode. Red? Don't ask—just don't stack them next to anything flammable."

George frowned. "Which includes...?"

"All of it," Katie and I said at once, sharing a smirk of amusement.

She pointed to a box behind her. "Only issue? This one doesn't belong to any of the sections. No tag. No label. And I checked the backroom—it doesn't have a home there either."

I sighed, wiping my hands on my jeans. "I'll take it upstairs. Might be one of their prototype dumps."

Katie snorted. "Better you than me. Last time I opened an untagged box, it whispered my deepest fears."

"That was a mirror, Katie."

"A mirror that talked."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed the box, and straightened. It wasn't heavy, just awkward—and stacked high enough that I had to adjust to see around it.

Behind me, Rowan glanced at the clock charm on the wall. "It's past noon. Lunch?"

"Already?" Fred tilted his head, checking his own watch.

George immediately perked up. "Absolutely. Let's grab something from the corner shop—those pasties yesterday were unbelievable."

Rowan tossed his wand into a holster, already heading toward the door. "Come on, Weasley."

George called over his shoulder, "Don't let the shop burn down without us!"

Fred waved them off with one hand, still watching me.

"Hey, Katie—mind the counter for a sec?" he asked casually, already stepping around the side like it wasn't a big deal.

Katie raised a brow but nodded, completely unbothered. "Sure."

I heard the bell jingle as Rowan and George exited, and by the time I hit the first stair, I could already hear Fred following me.

"Need help with that?" he asked, voice lighter now, but still edged with something darker. Something from earlier.

I didn't turn around. "Are you asking because you're a gentleman... or because you just want to follow me somewhere private?"

Behind me, I heard him chuckle—low and lazy.

"Both."

I huffed a laugh and kept climbing. "At least you're honest."

"Always am," Fred said from a step below, far too close for comfort—or maybe just close enough to ruin me.

The flat above the shop wasn't glamorous. It smelled like cedarwood, ink, and whatever potion George had been brewing last week that still hadn't cleared the walls. But it was private.

Quiet.

And right now, it felt like it was shrinking by the second.

I should've dropped the box and gone right back downstairs.

Instead, I crossed to the corner table and lowered it carefully, my back to him. "It's probably just extra inventory—stuff from Zonko's or something they forgot they ordered."

Fred didn't answer. Not right away.

I felt him enter the room more than I heard it—the way the air shifted, thickened. His presence slid in behind me like a second skin.

"Kind of cruel, you know," he said softly.

I turned, frowning. "What is?"

He was closer than he had any right to be, his eyes sweeping over me in that slow, deliberate way that made my skin heat from the inside out.

"You," he said, voice rougher now. "Walking around in that tank top. Acting like you didn't just light me up downstairs."

I raised a brow. "I was working."

"Mm," he murmured, stepping in. "Sure. That's what that was."

My back bumped gently against the wall behind me—of course I'd backed up—and Fred's hands landed on either side of me, not touching but caging me in. His head tilted. His voice dropped.

"D'you have any idea what you do to me?"

The question hit like a hex. Not because of what he said—but how he said it.

Quiet.

Serious.

Hot enough to melt every sarcastic comeback I had in my arsenal.

My breath stuttered. "Fred—"

He didn't wait.

He kissed me like the question didn't need an answer. Like he already knew it. Like the only thing that mattered now was proving it—one hand sliding into my hair, the other curling around my waist and yanking me into him like he couldn't not.

It started slow—his mouth coaxing mine open, lips soft, patient. But the second I made a sound—something caught between surprise and relief—he deepened it.

God, did he deepen it.

His teeth grazed my lower lip, tongue sweeping in like it was his damn name on the deed to my soul. And I let him take it. Let him press me into the wall, my fingers knotting in his shirt, pulling him closer like we hadn't been touching all day and still couldn't get close enough.

"You're going to be the end of me," he murmured against my mouth.

"You started it," I breathed.

Fred chuckled, low and rough and wrecked. "No, sweetheart. You did."

And then he kissed me again.

Hot. Deep. Unapologetic.

Like he'd claimed it hours ago downstairs...

...and this was him cashing in.

Lunch was inhaled more than eaten.

We passed around pasties and crisps like a military ration line while customers started rolling in with far more enthusiasm than we were ready for. George shoveled chips into his mouth between ringing up Bludger Bubbles, and Katie was halfway through a meat pie while casting a silent hex on a rogue Fanged Flyer trying to bite a fourth-year.

Fred and I? We barely made it through three bites.

I couldn't focus.

Not with him behind the counter, sleeves pushed up, hands moving fast, hair mussed from running them through it. Every time I looked at him, I could still feel the kiss from upstairs pressed into my ribs like a brand.

And judging by how often he kept glancing over at me? He was just as distracted.

Our eyes met once when I bent to grab a box of WonderWitch samples.

Once.

And he damn near dropped the register drawer.

Katie didn't miss a thing. I could feel her watching us from the end of the aisle like I was a Quidditch match she was betting on.

"You two good?" she asked, like it was innocent.

Fred answered too quickly. "Fine."

I cleared my throat. "Great."

Her smirk was rude.

The lunch rush didn't let up. If anything, it spiked.

I moved to the center of the floor to help restock the Anti-Gravity Hats when a tall Ravenclaw in expensive robes walked in, all polished confidence and curious eyes.

"I've heard rumors this place sells the best distraction magic in town," he said, stepping up beside me.

"Depends," I replied, brushing my hair off my shoulder. "Are you trying to disappear, or just leave an impression?"

He looked intrigued. "Little of both."

I turned toward him fully, voice softening. "In that case, you want this one."

I held up a Misdirection Medallion, letting it catch the light. "You walk into a room wearing this, no one remembers you being there. Which means you're either ghost-level mysterious... or unforgettable. Your call."

He grinned. "Sold."

As I handed it off, I felt it—Fred's eyes on me from across the counter. He was watching. Hard. And he didn't look amused.

George nudged him as the Ravenclaw walked away, whistling. "You okay there, mate?"

"Fine," Fred muttered.

But when I walked by to restock the medallions, Fred leaned in close, low enough that only I could hear.

"Careful, sweetheart," he murmured. "You flirt like that in front of me again and I will find a broom closet."

I nearly tripped over a box of Canary Creams.

Katie straight-up snorted from the shelves.

I glared over my shoulder at her. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said sweetly. "Carry on."

It wasn't until the customer wave finally thinned out that the pace evened. Rowan grabbed a cleaning charm and started wiping down the front windows, whistling a tune I didn't recognize as sunlight poured into the shop like something earned.

The place looked good.

The mess we walked into this morning had finally been wrangled into something real. Something working. The shelves were full. The register was ringing. The prank walls gleamed like polished chaos.

And just as I took a breath, the bell jingled.

Hermione walked in first—bookbag still slung across her shoulder like she was allergic to free time—followed by Ron and Harry, both looking wide-eyed and vaguely impressed.

Ginny trailed in last, immediately spotting the WonderWitch display with a whistle.

"Wow," Hermione said, spinning slowly in place. "This looks... incredible."

Katie and I stepped out from behind the stock wall, arms full of inventory parchments.

"Right?" Katie said, grinning. "Told you we'd make it livable."

"You made it look better than Honeydukes," Ginny said, picking up a pink box and examining the charmwork.

Ron blinked. "Didn't this place look like it had been hit by a hurricane a week ago?"

"Two hurricanes," George corrected, poking his head around the corner. "Named Adrien and Katie."

"I'm flattered," I said dryly, flipping open the laminated inventory folder.

Katie and I dropped to our knees near the main aisle, unrolling parchment and counting stock line-by-line. For the first time since we'd stepped foot in the place this morning, it felt like something was clicking into place.

Organized chaos.

The last rays of daylight spilled through the front windows, catching the dust floating in the air like glitter suspended in time. Katie and I were on our knees near the WonderWitch display, finishing off the last section of inventory with the precision of two girls who'd turned chaos into a science.

A full count of shelves. Inventory folders alphabetized. Color-coded. Sealed.

I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead, then looked over at Katie, who was charming the last batch of Dungbombs into the proper bin.

"Done?"

She stretched her arms overhead. "Done."

I grabbed the laminated inventory folder from the counter, flicked it open, and held it steady as Katie floated the final parchment over with a flick of her wand. It slid perfectly into the last page protector, the ink still drying.

"There," I said, snapping it shut with satisfaction. "First full inventory on record. Color-coded. Tabbed. Sealed with brilliance."

Fred appeared at my side before I could set it down, slipping an arm casually around my waist as he looked down at the folder like it had earned his respect too.

"Hot," he murmured, lips brushing just under my ear. "You know organization gets me all worked up."

I rolled my eyes, but I didn't move away. "You need to get out more."

"I'd rather stay in," he said, squeezing my hip with just enough pressure to make me suck in a sharp breath.

Katie snatched two dusters from the nearby crate and shoved one into my hand. "Let's not have PDA next to the Peruvian Darkness Powder, yeah?"

Then she grabbed the broom, spun on her heel, and—without warning—shoved the handle straight into Ron's chest.

He blinked down at it. "What—?"

"You're a Weasley in a Weasley business," Katie said, deadpan. "You don't get to just stand around."

Hermione snorted. "She's got a point."

Ron scowled but started sweeping, muttering something about being conscripted into free labor.

Fred and George were lounging behind the counter with Hermione, Harry, and Ginny clustered nearby. Someone had turned on the enchanted radio behind the register, and soft music was humming through the shop, laced with the sound of laughter and tired accomplishment.

"Well," George said, pushing himself up to sit on the counter like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did), "we figured now's the time."

Fred clapped his hands, making everyone look up. "Official announcement time."

Katie and I exchanged a look from the floor, both still holding dusters.

"Let the record show," Fred said, theatrically clearing his throat, "that as of today, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has two officially recognized second-in-commands."

George grinned. "Two managers. Fearsome. Capable. Probably slightly unhinged."

"Definitely unhinged," Fred added.

"Please welcome," George continued, "Miss Katie Blackwood and Miss Adrien Blackwood—Queens of Inventory, Pranks, and Cleaning Up Our Disasters."

There was a cheer from the corner—Hermione clapped, Ron whooped, and Ginny threw her arms in the air like we'd just won the league.

Katie raised her feather duster like a wand. "We accept this honor."

I mock-bowed. "And demand a raise."

"We'll pay you in chaos," George said.

"Already drowning in it, thanks," I shot back.

"And," Fred added, "Rowan—section leader. Congratulations, Woods. You now outrank the extendable ears but not the talking quills."

Rowan, who had just re-entered from outside with a streak of window cleaner on his shirt, rolled his eyes. "I'm honored."

"I am impressed," Hermione said, spinning slowly again in the middle of the shop. "The last time I came in, I thought the floor was going to eat me."

"I wanted to live here," Ginny added. "Now I actually could."

She looked to Hermione, then to Katie and me. "Sleepover?"

Katie's face lit up immediately. "Here? Tonight?"

"Just the four of us," Hermione said. "We'll bring snacks and enchant the back room—we can roll out sleeping bags and charm the windows to look like a sky dome."

"Absolutely yes," I said, sweeping the last bit of dust into a pile. "There's a flat upstairs that could use some occupying..." I smirked, shooting a side eye at Fred. "We earned it."

Fred, who had been watching me from the counter with that smirk that was becoming dangerously familiar, slowly stood and made his way over.

He leaned down, just as I stood up with the duster in hand, brushing a bit of dust off my shirt like it gave him permission to touch me.

"You sure you don't want to make it a co-ed sleepover?" he asked, voice all honey and heat, eyes flicking down to my mouth and back. "I snore charmingly. You'd barely notice."

I didn't step back.

I did smile—slow and dangerous.

"Sorry," I said, tapping his chest lightly with the broom bristles. "Girls only. Try not to cry."

Fred pouted. "Cruel."

"Company policy," I added, sweeping around him with a smirk. "No flirty redheads allowed after hours."

From behind the counter, George called, "That's definitely in the employee handbook."

"I'm going to write my own handbook," Fred muttered as I walked away. "Chapter one: sabotage the sleepover."

"Good luck with that," I called back. "I've already hexed the door."

Katie bumped her shoulder into mine as we headed for the back. "That was mean."

"Yeah," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the way Fred was still watching me like he wanted to follow me anyway. "But worth it."