Daphne Greengrass had always been the kind of woman who got what she wanted. Cool, composed, and unbothered, she prided herself on being untouchable. It was a skill she had honed growing up in the aristocratic circles of the wizarding world, where weakness was a liability and detachment an asset. The Second Wizarding War had rocked those circles, toppling some families and elevating others. Daphne's family had come out on the other side relatively unscathed, their reputation restored with an almost surgical precision. But now, in the post-war peace, Daphne found herself... bored.

Her career in magical law was stable, prestigious even. She had become a sought-after legal consultant, adept at navigating the murky waters of wizarding legislation. Her days were predictable, her evenings quiet. And though many envied her life, Daphne couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of monotony.

That changed the day George Weasley walked into her office.

She had heard of him, of course. Everyone had. The war hero turned prankster entrepreneur, co-founder of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and the man who had somehow managed to thrive in the aftermath of tragedy. His reputation preceded him, and Daphne wasn’t sure what to expect. But when he arrived—loud, disheveled, and unapologetically himself—she found herself both irritated and intrigued.

He was charming in a way that grated her nerves at first. Too much wit, too many jokes, and an almost reckless disregard for decorum. Daphne prided herself on professionalism, and George Weasley seemed to enjoy poking at it. Their first meeting was about trade regulations for joke products—a surprisingly complex area of magical law. He had come armed with a list of questions and a bag of new products he insisted she try.

“Don’t worry, they’re safe,” he said with a grin as he placed a vividly colored toffee on her desk. “Well, mostly.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Weasley. Now, if we could focus on the matter at hand?”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a tough one, Greengrass. I like that.”

She didn’t respond, choosing instead to dive into the legal jargon of import-export clauses. George listened, though she could tell his mind wandered. He asked sharp, insightful questions at just the right moments, surprising her. By the end of the meeting, Daphne found herself grudgingly impressed. He was more astute than he let on, and she couldn’t quite pin him down.

He returned the next week. And the week after that. At first, Daphne assumed it was simply for business. But over time, their meetings began to stretch longer. Conversations about trade evolved into discussions about their lives. George would share stories about his shop, his late twin, and the customers who made his days unpredictable. Daphne, in turn, found herself sharing more than she intended—anecdotes from her childhood, frustrations about her work, and even the occasional sarcastic remark that made him laugh.

One evening, after hours, they sat in her office with a stack of parchment between them. The work was done, but neither of them seemed eager to leave. George leaned back in his chair, a rare seriousness softening his usual jovial demeanor.

“Do you ever feel like you’re just... going through the motions?” he asked suddenly.

Daphne looked up, startled by the question. She considered brushing it off, but something in his tone made her pause.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Life after the war feels... quieter. Too quiet.”

George nodded, his gaze distant. “Yeah. I get that. It’s like you’re supposed to be grateful for the peace, but it’s hard to ignore what’s missing.”

He didn’t elaborate, but Daphne knew he was thinking of Fred. She had heard whispers about the bond between the twins, how inseparable they had been. Losing someone like that—it wasn’t something you recovered from easily. And yet, George had built something remarkable in the wake of that loss.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said, surprising even herself with the compliment.

George looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “So have you.”

The moment hung in the air, charged with an energy Daphne couldn’t quite define. Then George grinned, the weight of the conversation lifting.

“Careful, Greengrass,” he teased. “You’re starting to sound like you enjoy my company.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the faint smile that tugged at her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

From that point on, their dynamic shifted. Daphne found herself looking forward to his visits, though she would never admit it. George had a way of brightening the most mundane days, his humor disarming her in ways she didn’t fully understand. She told herself it was harmless, just a bit of lighthearted distraction from the monotony of her routine. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

One evening, as they wrapped up yet another late-night session, George stood by the door, hesitating.

“You know,” he said casually, “I never thought I’d enjoy hanging out with someone like you.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

“All... proper and serious,” he said, waving a hand vaguely. “But you’re not as scary as you look.”

She smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He laughed, and for a moment, Daphne saw past the humor to the man underneath—complex, resilient, and unexpectedly kind. It was a side of George Weasley she hadn’t anticipated, and it left her feeling uncharacteristically unsteady.

As the weeks went by, Daphne began to notice the small things. The way George’s smile lingered a little longer when he looked at her. The way her own heart seemed to quicken whenever he laughed. She dismissed it at first, attributing it to the novelty of his company. But the truth was undeniable: George Weasley had managed to get under her skin.

One evening, as she closed her office for the night, she found herself replaying their conversations in her mind. His wit, his warmth, the way he made her feel seen in a way few others ever had. It was unsettling, this growing attachment. Daphne Greengrass wasn’t the kind of woman who let people in easily. But with George, it felt... effortless.

Still, she told herself it was nothing. Just a harmless connection, a brief distraction from the tedium of her perfectly curated life. After all, Daphne Greengrass didn’t believe in love. And even if she did, George Weasley was the last person she’d ever let herself fall for.

Or so she thought.