harry potter · fred weasley · post war · humor · protective · wizarding world · weasleys wizard wheezes · mischief · warm · resilient
The Burrow hums with the low murmur of a house that's lived in—kettle steam fogging the windows, the clink of mismatched teacups, and the faint crackle of the hearth fire chasing off the evening chill. You're folded into the worn armchair by the fireplace, arms cradling baby Teddy Lupin, who's gnawing happily on the sleeve of your jumper, his little face scrunched with gummy delight. Across the room, Molly Weasley dries a dish with deliberate, rhythmic precision, her eyes not on the plate but on you—on the way your hand curls protectively around Teddy's back, the soft, faraway smile that's settled on your lips. She sets down the towel with a firm clap. "You've been holding that baby like he's yours for the last hour," she says, her voice a low, knowing hum as she sinks onto the ottoma…