Adrien.

I woke to the soft scratch of Fred's knuckles against my cheek. Gentle. Hesitant.

His voice followed, low and near my ear. "Morning, Trouble."

I blinked blearily against the gray light leaking through the curtains. My head was pounding. My limbs felt like stone. My magic flickered low and erratic beneath my skin like it couldn't decide if it was coming or going.

Fred was crouched beside the bed, hoodie wrinkled and hair a mess. He looked soft. Worryingly soft.

"You didn't come down for breakfast," he said, brushing my hair back. "Mum made those cinnamon rolls you like. I snagged one for you. Want it now or later?"

I tried to smile. It didn't reach my eyes. "Later."

Fred stood and perched on the edge of the bed, just watching me for a moment. Something in his eyes shifted. Like he could see the magic crackling beneath my skin. Or the truth I hadn't said yet.

"You haven't been sleeping," he said quietly.

I didn't answer.

"Adrien... what's going on?"

That landed harder than it should have. I sat up slowly, tugging the blanket around my shoulders like armor. The silence stretched between us until I cracked.

"He kissed me," I whispered. "Blaise. At this Slughorn party. He kissed me and I punched him and Rowan stepped in, and I didn't tell you because I didn't want to ruin anything, and—"

Fred had gone still.

Deadly still.

His jaw was tight. Eyes unreadable.

"You didn't tell me?"

I stood quickly. The room felt like it was shrinking. "I didn't know how. You've been working at the shop—so busy and happy, and I didn't want to throw a match into it. I handled it, Fred. I hit him."

Fred stood too. "You think I'd be mad at you?"

"No, I think you'd be mad and then storm out to do something reckless and end up with detention for assault. Or worse."

"Detention for assault—kind of hard to get if you don't attend, love."

"Fred." I glared.

He nodded silently and there was a beat before either of us said anything.

"He kissed you without permission," Fred growled, pacing now. "Why shouldn't I storm out? Why shouldn't I rip him in half?"

I turned away. My hands were shaking. "Because I already feel broken enough without you treating me like I'm going to shatter."

Fred stilled.

The silence buzzed.

"What—" he started, then stopped. Stepped forward. "Adrien. Look at me."

I turned slowly. His eyes weren't angry anymore. They were hurting. Hurting because I was.

His hand reached toward me, brushing the edge of my sleeve. I didn't stop him when he gently tugged it back, revealing the faint silvery remnants of the mark still healing on my forearm.

"These are looking better." he murmured, his eyes struggling to stay on my arm—as if he was forcing something else on his mind.

"Some of them," I whispered. "Since Dumbledore took the letter, I've been getting those cleansing charms and using that vile... they're getting more tolerable."

Fred didn't answer right away.

Instead, he stepped in like I was magnetic—hands landing on my waist, thumbs pressing just enough to remind me I was real. His eyes flicked down, lingering on the newest mark across my ribs like it had personally offended him.

"You say tolerable," he murmured, "but I see war paint."

He leaned in.

Kissed the scar.

Soft. Then firmer.

Then another.

And another.

Each kiss sent heat curling through my spine until I was half-breathless, half-burning.

"Fred—"

His mouth grazed just below my collarbone. "Say it."

"I'm—fine," I managed.

He pulled back just enough to give me that patented Weasley smirk. "Wrong answer."

Then he kissed lower.

I let out a sound that wasn't language, wasn't anything but need, and he responded by guiding me backward—step by step—until the backs of my knees hit the bed.

"You planning to seduce me into healing faster?" I asked, voice thinner than I wanted it to be.

"I was planning on kissing every scar until you forgot why they hurt." He nudged me down, his hands slipping beneath the hem of my shirt with maddening slowness. "But I'm open to multitasking."

"Fred."

"Adrien."

I bit my lip.

He leaned over me, pinning me gently to the mattress with the weight of his stare alone. "You're not broken," he said again, voice rough now. "You're just... unfinished. And I want all of it. The magic. The rage. The soft." He paused, leaning so close that his hot breath ignited something deep in my stomach, "The screaming. The wanting."

"And what if it's messy?" I asked, breath catching as his thumb brushed just beneath the edge of my bra.

His grin went crooked. "Then I guess we make a mess."

My laughter dissolved into a moan when his mouth found the curve of my stomach, kissing across skin like he was lighting it from the inside out. We undressed each other like it mattered. Like it wasn't the first time—but it might as well have been.

Because this wasn't just lust.

This was reverent.

Every kiss said: you're still here.

Every touch said: I'm not leaving.

Every breath shared said: I love you—exactly like this.

And when I pulled him closer, when our bodies finally aligned and my name became a broken sound in his mouth, I wasn't afraid of the pieces anymore.

I wanted him to see all of it.

We moved like we had all the time in the world—slow, desperate, hot as sin but tender as anything I'd ever known. Fingertips traced over scars, lips mapped constellations into skin. I gasped, clawed, begged, and he answered every time with a kiss that promised more.

I wasn't a ghost.

I wasn't ruined.

I was Adrien-fucking-Blackwood, and I was loved.

And when it was over—when we finally stilled, tangled together in the softest, sweatiest, safest kind of wreckage—I buried my face in his neck and whispered what had been clawing its way up my throat all night.

"I love you."

He tightened his hold on me like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

"I know," he breathed. "I love you too."

And in that moment, I believed it.

Because for once, I didn't feel haunted.

I felt home.

We didn't move for a while.

My cheek rested against Fred's chest, his fingers tracing idle circles along my spine. The rise and fall of his breathing was steady now—warm, grounding, the closest thing to peace I'd felt in weeks. My legs were tangled with his, the sheets kicked halfway to the floor. The room smelled like him. Us. Everything.

And then it hit me.

The Weasleys. Sage, Maddie, Katie and Rowan. Harry and Hermione.

An entire house was full.

I jerked upright slightly, face flushed, pressing the sheet closer to my chest. "Merlin's balls, we're at your parents' house."

Fred just grinned, lazily dragging a hand down his face.

"They're in the yard," I hissed. "Right below us. They probably—oh my god, the walls—"

He reached out and pulled me back down, arm looping around my waist. "Relax. Pretty sure George's prank closet makes more noise than we did."

I buried my face in his shoulder. "This is so not comforting."

"You didn't seem all that worried ten minutes ago."

"Shut up."

He laughed. Soft, smug, and completely unfair.

But the sound faded. His fingers slowed on my back. And when I looked up again, his expression had changed.

"I hate what he did to you," Fred said, voice quieter now. "The kiss. The party. All of it."

I didn't speak.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. "I hate that I wasn't there."

"I handled it," I whispered. "I punched him. Rowan shoved him. I walked away."

Fred nodded once—but his jaw flexed.

"You flinched when you told me," he said. "You were shaking."

My throat tightened. "Because I felt disgusting. Like—like I'd let him back in by accident. Like my body forgot he wasn't mine anymore."

Fred's hand found mine. Held it. Tighter.

"You didn't let him do anything," he said fiercely. "He took. He violated. And if you ever say you felt disgusting again, I swear I'll hex his name off every registry in the country."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"He made me feel like I'd never really gotten away," I admitted. "Like he still owned part of me just because he remembered how I used to be."

Fred's voice dropped to something raw. "He doesn't."

"I know," I said. "But it still... lingers. The way he looked at me. The way I froze."

Fred's hand slid up to cradle my jaw. "You don't owe anyone perfection. Or poise. You don't owe anyone control. You survived something, Adrien. And if I ever see him near you again, I'll end him."

My breath hitched.

"Is it messed up," I whispered, "that part of me wishes you had hit him?"

"No," Fred said without hesitation. "Because part of me still wants to."

I leaned in, pressing my forehead to his. "He made me feel like I was back in that version of myself I hated."

Fred pulled me closer, burying his face in my neck. "Then let me love you back into the version you want to be."

That broke something open in my chest.

Because it wasn't just lust with Fred. It wasn't adrenaline or pride or defiance.

It was home. With every part of me.

Even the ruined ones.

Especially the ruined ones.

We lay there a while longer, tangled in sheets and honesty and the kind of silence that didn't hurt.

Eventually, I whispered, "Thank you."

Fred kissed my shoulder. "Always."

It was two days before Christmas, by some miracle (and Molly's supernatural skill at making chaos look cozy), the Burrow became a holiday warzone.

Not an angry one. Not the kind that breaks people.

The kind with flour in your hair, frosting on your cheek, and someone yelling "NOT THE WHISK!" while Sage chased George around the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

"You're the one who dared me!" he shouted, ducking behind Rowan and catching a bag of sugar upside the head anyway.

"Yeah," Sage smirked. "And I never back down from a dare."

"You backed down from kissing me under the mistletoe yesterday," George fired back with a wink.

Sage raised a brow. "Did I?"

George went suspiciously quiet. And then blushed.

"George is broken," Maddie declared from atop the counter, eating raw cookie dough like a goblin. "Someone reboot him."

"I'm fine," George said faintly from behind a mountain of powdered sugar. "My dignity, however, has flatlined."

"Flour to the face does that," Rowan offered, half-coughing through the sugar fog. "Pretty sure I've inhaled enough sweetened air to frost a cake from my lungs."

"You said enchant the spoon," Katie reminded him, tossing a kitchen towel at his face. "Not animate it into trying to murder you."

Rowan caught the towel one-handed and pointed at the wooden spoon twitching in the corner. "It was disobedient."

"It was sentient," Maddie corrected.

Fred crouched behind the center island beside me, brushing a streak of flour from my cheek. "We're either baking cookies or summoning something that's gonna haunt this house."

I tilted my head. "Can I bet on both?"

He kissed the tip of my nose, and my stomach flipped like a spell gone right.

From somewhere near the fireplace, Ginny shouted, "Harry just tried to frost a cat!"

"I thought it was the gingerbread!" Harry defended, voice cracking slightly. "It wasn't moving!"

"It blinked, Potter!" Ron yelled, hurling a rogue spatula across the room like it would solve everything.

Hermione didn't even glance up from her meticulously piped tray of stars. "This is why we can't have nice things."

"I am a nice thing," Maddie said with her mouth full, poking the dough. "This just happens to be cursed. I'm fine with that."

Sage, wielding a whisk like a wand, said cheerfully, "If something comes through a sugar circle, I've got cinnamon charged for a defensive counter."

George peeked up from behind the mixing bowl with wide eyes. "There's defensive cinnamon?"

"Oh yeah," Sage grinned. "Offensive, too. But that's reserved for exams and exes."

Rowan whistled, clearly impressed. "Remind me never to make you mad during finals."

"I already hexed your socks for it," Sage replied sweetly.

I was laughing so hard I nearly slid off the stool. Fred had to grab my waist to keep me from hitting the floor, and even then he was wheezing beside me.

"You lot are certifiable," Molly announced from the doorway, hands on her hips but smiling. "If the cookies are edible and the kitchen's still standing by supper, I'll consider this a success."

And with the grace of a war general, she disappeared back into the living room—leaving us alone with batter, destruction, and each other.

And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Of course though, we weren't done,

Later that day; If baking was chaos, then gingerbread engineering was actual war.

Flour still lingered in the air like snow. I had icing in my hair, molasses on my elbow, and somehow—somehow—a gumdrop stuck to my sock.

Katie's house was glowing. Glowing.

"I reinforced it with a minor illumination charm," she said like that was normal. "Makes the candy windows sparkle."

"You reinforced it like it's prepping for a siege," Sage muttered. "It has turrets."

"They're festive."

"Your gingerbread has defense mechanisms."

"Festive ones," Katie repeated, carefully outlining a wreath made of enchanted mint leaves that actually jingled.

Meanwhile, Rowan had gone through three structural rebuilds.

"Why are you using only frosting for support?" Maddie asked, half laughing, half horrified.

"Because I believe in dreams," Rowan said flatly, pressing a candy cane beam into the broken roof. "And because someone ate my damn graham crackers."

"I regret nothing," Sage said, licking icing off her thumb.

My own house had started as a cottage and was now... vaguely leaning. It looked like it had opinions about capitalism and might blow away in a stiff wind.

Fred plopped down beside me, eyes darting to the frosting in my hair. "You look like you've been mugged by a cupcake."

"Probably was," I muttered. "Might've been yours."

He grinned and tucked a candy cane behind my ear. "There. Now you're festive."

"Great. A holiday disaster."

"Yeah," he said, eyes soft. "But you're my holiday disaster."

I rolled my eyes and tried to hide the way my cheeks went warm.

Sage hurled a gumdrop across the room. It bounced off Rowan's half-built drawbridge and shattered into jelly bits.

"That was a warning shot," she said.

"You stole my roof tiles!" he barked, holding up two half-bitten cookies. "This is war!"

Maddie, who had been piping frosting vines along the edges of her house like she was decorating for the Yule Ball, didn't even look up. "You touch my gumdrops, I hex your eyebrows off."

"You tried that last year," Sage smirked. "Didn't work."

"They itched for a week!"

"That was just guilt," Katie muttered.

George leaned in, watching the chaos unfold from his spot beside Sage. "You lot do realize we're supposed to eat these, right?"

"Then maybe next time," Maddie said, "you don't dare me to turn mine into an architectural marvel."

George grinned. "That's not architecture. That's sugar-fueled vengeance."

"I'm vengeance," Maddie said, sprinkling cinnamon with deadly precision.

"Pretty sure you're the reason the cinnamon jar has a warning label," Sage added.

Fred leaned closer to me, flicking a bit of icing off my collarbone. "So when this sugar-induced revolution ends, want to sneak off and pretend we're normal?"

"Normal?" I echoed.

"You know. Like people who don't accidentally start frosting riots."

"I might be able to fake it for ten minutes," I said. "But only if you promise not to flirt using marshmallows again."

"No promises," he said, kissing the tip of my nose.

And somewhere in the chaos of collapsing cookie towers and cursed gumdrop shingles, I laughed.

Really laughed.

Because the gingerbread was barely standing. The frosting was melting. Sage was drawing battle lines in powdered sugar and Rowan was threatening to unionize his gingerbread people.

We made it ten minutes.

That's how long we lasted in the gingerbread warzone before Fred's hand found mine under the table. Warm. Calloused. Intentional.

He gave me that crooked grin—the one that said, 'just trust me' and 'it might be illegal, but it'll be fun'—and tugged me toward the hallway under the guise of "checking the pantry."

Which was hilarious because Fred hadn't voluntarily stepped into the pantry since it tried to eat his shoes last year.

The moment we were out of sight, he pressed me up against the wall just inside the narrow stairwell and kissed me like the world had stopped spinning. Like his entire day had been waiting for this.

"You taste like cinnamon," I murmured against his mouth.

"Compliment or complaint?" he asked between kisses, his hands sliding under the hem of my jumper.

"Complaint," I breathed. "I'm addicted now."

His laugh was low—hot—and it vibrated through my ribs as he leaned in again, one knee slipping between mine. My hands found the edge of his belt. His teeth grazed my bottom lip.

And then—

The door creaked.

"Fred? Adrien?"

We froze.

Fred's forehead thunked lightly against mine as we listened to footsteps approach.

"Bloody hell—" he mouthed.

I shoved him off with a muffled snort, yanking my jumper back into place just as—

Molly's voice echoed down the hall, much closer now. "—I thought I heard them say something about the pantry—"

Fred grabbed the nearest bag of marshmallows off a shelf and shoved it into my arms just as Molly rounded the corner.

"There you two are," she said cheerfully. "I was looking for those."

Fred cleared his throat. "Marshmallows. Yep. Urgent mission."

I tried to look like I hadn't just been seconds away from letting her son undo my jeans with his teeth. "We're—uh—helping. With s'mores."

Molly's eyes narrowed just slightly.

But then she smiled. "Bring two bags. The others are threatening to start another food fight."

"Of course," we chorused.

As soon as she was gone, Fred exhaled hard and muttered, "I love you, but if she had caught us—"

"Your funeral," I deadpanned.

He chuckled, slipping his hand into mine as we walked back toward the chaos like nothing had happened.

We were almost normal.

Except for the powdered sugar still in Fred's hair.

And the fact that my lips definitely weren't that red ten minutes ago.

Normal-ish. And just dangerous enough to be us.

It started innocently, it was Christmas eve and the snow had really started piling up.

One rogue snowball from George.

Then Katie retaliated with a hexed one—hers exploded in red glitter and peppermint dust, and suddenly the backyard became a battlefield of screaming lunatics in knit scarves.

"Shield spells allowed?" I shouted, ducking behind Fred as glitter rained down like cursed confetti.

"No!" Maddie yelled from the deck. "Cowards use shields!"

"Says the girl hiding behind the side of the house," Sage fired back from a snow fort she had definitely built in advance.

"Exactly," Maddie chirped. "It's called strategy, and you're jealous."

Cassian's voice cut clean across the yard. "Sounds like the battlefield missed me."

Maddie froze.

Turned.

And screamed.

"OH MY GOD."

Cassian didn't get another word out before Maddie barreled into him like a frostbitten bludger in Ugg boots.

They hit the snow with a thud and a yelp, limbs tangled, Maddie half-laughing, half-growling as she straddled him and shoved snow down his collar.

"I just got here—"

"I missed you," she declared, already dusting him with snow like a feral pastry chef. "Shut up and be flattered."

"Terrified works too," he muttered, grinning up at her like he wouldn't be anywhere else.

Fred leaned over, watching them. "Is it weird that I think this is romantic?"

"Only if we ignore the fact that Maddie is actively murdering him with snow," I said.

Katie flung a snowball at Rowan's chest, hitting him square in the middle of a flirtatious eyebrow raise. "Focus! It's a snow war, not couple's therapy."

Rowan didn't miss a beat. "I can multitask. I flirt and fight."

"That's your whole personality," Katie deadpanned, already winding up for another shot.

Rowan ducked, then launched a snowball that clipped her hip. "You wound me!"

"Not yet," she smirked. "But give me two minutes."

Sage popped out from behind a tree. "Are you all flirting, or are we fighting? Pick a struggle!"

"I pick both!" George hollered, launching a glitter-filled snowball at Sage, who dodged it like a damn ninja.

Fred pulled me behind a half-built snow wall with a grin. "You good?"

I nodded, breath fogging the air. "I think I've inhaled a pint of glitter."

"Sexy."

"You have snow in your eyelashes."

He grinned wider. "You like it. Admit it."

I kissed the corner of his mouth before pegging him with a snowball.

"Flirt later. War now."

Fred laughed, scooped a double handful of snow, and chased after me.

Somewhere behind us, Maddie shouted, "HE'S MINE—BACK OFF, BLIZZARD BOY!"

Cassian's voice: "I'm not even—ow—what did I do?!"

And that? That was the sound of healing.

In snow and laughter and threats of enchanted mistletoe.

And somewhere under all that chaos... I felt like I was thawing, too.

By the time we gathered around the fire pit outside the Burrow, we were all caked in snow, reeking of cinnamon, and riding a high that could only come from sugar, chaos, and mutual emotional damage disguised as flirting.

Sage was tucked into George's side, practically swallowed whole by one of his oversized jumpers. They were deep in some ridiculous argument about enchanted fire color theory—Sage insisted green burned hotter; George said she was just biased because it matched her eyeliner.

"Green is literally the color of jealousy," he said, flicking his wand lazily toward the flames.

"Perfect," Sage replied without missing a beat. "Burn in it."

Across the fire, Maddie and Cassian were under a single tartan blanket like they were starring in some kind of wizarding romcom. She had one leg flung over his, fingers idly playing with the edge of his scarf while they passed a bottle of firewhiskey between them like it was sacred.

"You know," Cassian muttered after a sip, "this technically counts as hydration."

"It counts as foreplay," Maddie shot back, swiping the bottle again.

They clinked glasses with an energy that screamed two more drinks and someone's losing clothes.

Katie sprawled across a thick blanket, head in Rowan's lap, her boots kicked off and toes dangerously close to the edge of the flames.

"You gonna tell me that was your first time building a gingerbread house?" she asked, voice low and amused.

Rowan leaned down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smirking. "Let's just say my strengths lie more in... strategic destruction."

Katie snorted. "You mean you're good at breaking things."

"You like it when I'm good with my hands," he murmured.

She flushed. Elbowed him. "You're the worst."

He kissed the top of her head. "And yet. Here I am."

They dissolved into giggles and conspiratorial whispering that was criminally cute.

I sat curled up beside Fred, legs draped over his lap, his arm lazily wrapped around my waist as the fire warmed my back and his thumb traced slow circles on my knee.

I was warm in a way I hadn't been in months. Safe. Steady. Like something inside me had finally stopped flinching.

Katie looked at me across the flames, eyes squinted in playful study. "You look lighter."

I blinked. "Lighter?"

"Not physically," she smirked. "Although if you want to share your skincare routine—"

"She's glowing," Maddie chimed in, already halfway to chaotic. "Like she finally got some—"

"MADDIE," I groaned, snatching a marshmallow and pelting her in the arm.

Cassian caught the next one. "Incoming," he said dryly, handing it back to Maddie like a snowball reload.

Fred chuckled low beside me, his fingers brushing my thigh. "What they mean is... you seem more you again."

I didn't say anything. Because they were right.

For the first time in what felt like ages, I wasn't bracing for the next hit.

Wasn't shrinking from my own skin.

I leaned my head on Fred's shoulder. His hoodie smelled like burnt sugar and peppermint, and his heartbeat was slow and certain beneath my cheek.

"I feel like I can breathe again," I said softly.

No one teased me for it.

Instead, Katie lifted her mug of butterbeer and said, "To breathing."

Sage raised hers. "To surviving."

Rowan grinned. "To chaos."

George added, "And kisses under the mistletoe—"

"Not subtle," Sage muttered, clinking her mug against his anyway.

Fred raised his glass last. "To coming home."

And we toasted in the glow of the fire.

It was Christmas Morning when it happened.

The Burrow was silent.

Not quiet. Silent.

The kind of silence that only exists after the last log in the fireplace has burned low, and the chaos of a Weasley holiday has finally surrendered to sleep. I could still hear the soft crackle of ember and the occasional snore from the living room—probably Ron. Maybe George. Hard to tell.

I sat at the kitchen table, one leg tucked under me, Fred's hoodie half-zipped over a borrowed shirt. My tea had long since gone cold. I hadn't touched it. Just held the mug like it might keep me tethered.

I couldn't sleep.

Not from fear. Not even from the scars still blooming quietly beneath my skin.

It was... weight.

A hum in my bones. A feeling like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't name yet.

And then—footsteps.

Soft, careful. But familiar in a way that sent a little thrill down my spine even before he turned the corner.

Fred.

His hair was a mess. Just sweatpants and a shirt that clung in all the right places. Sleep still clung to his eyes, but the second he saw me—saw me in his hoodie, my hair a wreck, tea gone untouched—he stopped.

And smiled.

The kind of smile that felt like a secret. He didn't say anything at first. Just crossed the room and slid a small box across the table.

A tiny, square box.

My stomach flipped.

"I was gonna wait," he said, voice still rough from sleep. "Be dramatic about it. Fireworks, chaos. Maybe a flashbang."

I blinked at the box. Then at him.

"But you in my hoodie?" Fred shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kind of ruined my plans."

My heart was going to punch through my ribs. I knew it. I could hear it in my ears. Feel it in my fingertips. Every nerve in my body felt like it was holding its breath.

I reached for the box.

He didn't stop me.

It opened with a soft click.

The ring inside wasn't gaudy.

Wasn't loud. It was quiet. Meaningful.

A smooth band, warm-toned and simple, with the tiniest rune etched inside the band. A protection rune. One I'd seen him doodle in the corners of joke blueprints and sweet letters.

Fred watched me like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

"Just you and me," he said softly. "I figured that's what you'd want."

I didn't speak. I stood. Walked around the table.

And kissed him.

Not like I was saying yes.

Like I already had.

His arms slid around me instantly, like they'd just been waiting for permission. My hands curled into his shirt, anchoring us together as the box hit the table with a soft thud. His lips were warm. Familiar. New.

He kissed me like he'd been waiting forever to.

I kissed him like he was the only thing that made sense in a world that rarely did.

When we broke apart, breathless and stupid with grins, I pressed my forehead against his.

"You didn't ask," I murmured.

He brushed his nose against mine. "Didn't have to."

And he was right. Because I'd been wearing the answer in my heart for months. It had always been him.

Fred pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead still resting against mine.

"Can I put it on you now?" he asked, a little shy. A little smug.

I couldn't even answer. I just held out my hand, still shaking slightly, palm up like it was the most sacred thing I could offer.

He took the ring from the box and slid it onto my finger.

Perfect fit.

Of course it was.

My heart did something stupid in my chest. A flutter, maybe. Or a full-on somersault. I didn't care. My lips curved into a grin I couldn't bite back if I tried.

Fred grinned right back. "Look at that," he said. "Still got it."

I rolled my eyes, but it didn't stick. I was still smiling. "You act like this was a game of chance."

"Everything with you is," he teased, catching my hand and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "High stakes. Dangerous. Occasionally explosive."

"You say that like it's not your favorite part."

He hummed. "It is."

Then—without warning—he lifted me up by the waist and set me on the counter like I weighed nothing.

"Fred," I hissed, trying not to laugh. "It's like six in the morning."

"Exactly," he smirked, stepping between my legs, his hands curling around my hips. "The house is asleep. It's you. It's me. It's counter height."

I bit my lip to hide the laugh, chest still burning with something too bright to name. "You're impossible."

"And you're mine."

That shut me up.

He leaned in again, his mouth brushing along my jaw, his voice low and warm. "We don't have to start planning anything right away, you know. No weird pressure. No expectations."

I nodded, threading my fingers in the back of his hair. "Good. Because my only wedding plan right now is not letting Hermione take over."

He chuckled, his breath skimming my neck. "We don't even have to do something big. We could run off next week. Elope. Something small. Something quick."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this you trying to talk me into a shotgun wedding?"

Fred grinned against my skin. "I don't need a shotgun. I've got butterbeer, firewhiskey, and a ring that fits."

My laugh came out soft and real. He kissed the sound off my lips, slow and deep.

Then—

"Also," he said, pulling back just enough to touch the ring, "this isn't just for show."

I blinked, looking down at the smooth metal gleaming on my finger. "What do you mean?"

"It's charmed," Fred said, his voice dipping serious. "Subtle. Protection, mostly. Wards. It'll flare if someone tries to touch you with bad intentions. Especially magically."

My heart skipped.

"You charmed it?" I whispered.

He nodded. "Me and George. Took a while to get the runes right, but... I wanted it to be more than just a promise."

My throat went tight. I looked at him—really looked at him—and everything hit me at once.

The ring.

The hoodie I was wearing.

The flour still stuck to his elbow from yesterday's cookie massacre.

And him.

Fred Weasley.

Mine.

"Is this your version of 'in sickness and in hexes'?" I asked quietly, trying to play it cool, even as my chest felt like it was going to crack open from how much I loved him.

Fred smirked again. "Exactly. I vow to love, protect, and prank with you, in chaos and in calm, until death or Dementors do us part."

I choked on a laugh. "You're the worst."

"And you're glowing again," he murmured, brushing a kiss over my cheek, then my temple, then back to my lips.

I didn't say it.

But I knew it.

I was.

Because even in a hoodie, on a kitchen counter, at six in the morning with powdered sugar probably still in my hair—I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Steam curled from the mugs between us, the kitchen still wrapped in pre-dawn hush. Fred sat across from me, one arm stretched lazily across the table, fingers brushing the tips of mine.

The ring sat snug on my finger like it had always belonged there.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

There wasn't a need. The silence wasn't heavy—it was full. Safe. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long.

But eventually, I cleared my throat. "Can I ask you something?"

Fred's eyes flicked up from where he'd been absently tracing patterns on the table. "Always."

I hesitated. Then, "What did your parents say? About... us—this?"

His brows lifted slightly. "You mean about the engagement?" He went quiet. The only sound was the clink of his spoon against ceramic as he stirred his tea once, twice, then set it down.

"I heard you fighting," I said softly. "Katie, Rowan, and I—we walked in. We heard enough."

Fred leaned back slightly, mouth twisting. "You thought they wanted me to break up with you."

It wasn't a question.

I nodded anyway. "Didn't sound like support."

Fred let out a breath and reached for my hand again, threading his fingers through mine this time.

"They don't want me to lose you," he said. "That's all it is. They saw how much you've been through—and when I told them they noticed how much I've been thinking about this—and it scared them. Scared them that maybe I was jumping in too fast. That I was asking for something before you had a chance to feel steady again."

I stared at our hands. "So they weren't... trying to talk you out of it?"

"They were trying to protect you," he said gently. "In the only way they knew how. But no one—not Mum, not Dad, not even George—could talk me out of this. Out of you."

The tears caught me off guard.

Fred noticed. He always noticed.

He didn't rush to fix it. Just tightened his grip and added, "You're not a pit stop on my way to some easier life, Adrien. You're it. You're the one I want standing beside me—scarred, sacred, furious, magical, you. If my parents needed a minute to catch up to that, that's on them."

I swallowed hard. "So... they're okay now?"

He nodded. "They saw the ring. Mum cried. Dad said something about Fredrick being too young and then hugged me so hard I almost dislocated a lung. That's basically approval."

I let out a shaky laugh. "You're an idiot."

"I'm your idiot," he grinned, lifting our joined hands to kiss my knuckles. "And we're not going anywhere. Got it?"

I nodded again. Firmer this time.

Because I did. I got it.

We sat there a while longer, two mugs of cooling tea between us, the snow tapping against the windows like it was trying to listen in.

And in that moment—with nothing but the ring on my hand and Fred's warmth in my chest—I finally felt it.

Not just loved. But chosen.

Then came the chaos.

The girls shuffled in from their bedrooms in various states of bedhead and sleep-creased pajamas, yawning and stretching—barely functioning.

"Happy Christmas," Sage mumbled, hair sticking out in six directions as she blinked toward the kettle.

Katie rubbed her eyes. "What time is it—why are you two already awake—?"

Then she saw my hand.

Her eyes locked on the ring.

She screamed. "OH MY GODS."

Maddie nearly dropped her mug as she lunged over. "Wait—WAIT—let me see—IS THAT REAL?!"

I didn't even have time to answer. They were on me.

Sage shrieked, grabbing my fingers. "IT FITS?! IT FITS?!"

Maddie looked like she was going to faint. "Oh my God—this is better than cursed letters and forbidden romance combined!"

Fred rose from his chair and moved to lean against the counter like the smug menace he was, arms crossed, shirt rumpled, smile soft and glowing like he'd just been named Wizarding Weekly's Hottest Fiancé Alive.

Ginny stumbled in next, yawning. "What's with all the—WHAT THE HELL?!"

Hermione came right behind her, wide-eyed. "You're engaged?!?"

"She said yes," Katie beamed, practically vibrating with pride.

Ginny gasped. "I—I didn't even KNOW this was happening!"

Hermione covered her mouth. "Neither did I—OH MERLIN—Fredrick Weasley!"

Fred gave a theatrical bow. "Guess she's stuck with me."

Ginny screamed. Hermione squealed. Maddie and Sage were still holding my hand like it was a prophecy.

Cassian, George, and Rowan wandered in right on cue—eyes narrowing as the noise level exploded.

George blinked. "Did someone die?"

Katie pointed at my ring like it had solved world hunger. "No, someone said yes."

George immediately launched himself across the kitchen to tackle Fred into a bear hug. Rowan raised his eyebrows at me, smiling. Cassian just muttered, "Finally," and grabbed a mug.

Once the squealing slowed, Katie turned dramatically to the room. "Alright. Time for story hour. The original plan—our plan—was to have Adrien and Fred take a little snowy stroll behind the Burrow."

Fred cut in. "Where she would have definitely called the morning sun or moon judgy again—depending on the time of day." he nodded as heads snapped between him and Katie.

"I was going to charm snow to fall perfectly," Katie said, placing a hand on her chest. "Just moody enough. I had music queued—"

"You had a playlist?" Maddie gasped.

"Yes!" Katie snapped. "With timings! And fade-outs!"

"She is a monster," Sage whispered reverently.

Katie ignored her. "Anyway, Fred had a folded piece of parchment. He wrote it in July."

George clutched his heart. "The drama."

Rowan grinned. "The planning."

Cassian raised his mug. "The simp energy."

Fred didn't even blink. "Every draft ended the same. Last line was: 'So what do you say, troublemaker? Be mine for however long we've got?'"

I didn't realize I was crying again until Maddie squeaked, "Oh my God, she's glowing."

"Fred," Katie said sternly, turning toward him with narrowed eyes. "You went rogue."

"She was in my hoodie," Fred said simply. "With bedhead. Drinking tea. I blacked out."

"You ruined our playlist," Katie hissed.

"She said yes," Fred replied, grinning so wide it was almost dangerous.

"That's not the point!"

"Yes it is!" Maddie squealed, bouncing in her chair.

I leaned into Fred's side, laughing softly into his shirt. "You all need help."

"I am the help," Katie snapped.

"You are chaos," Rowan corrected, tugging her onto his lap.

George tossed an arm around Sage's shoulders. "Can we all just agree she's stuck with us now?"

Fred looked down at me.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said softly.

His eyes burned with something that made my stomach flip all over again. "Good. Because I'm not either."

And in that kitchen—barefoot, sleep-rumpled, and surrounded by every kind of chaos I loved—

I said yes all over again.