humor · prankster · weasley twins · hogwarts · wizarding world · loyal · witty · protective · british accent · harry potter
The Burrow loomed in the golden, drowsy light of late summer, its lopsided chimney exhaling slow curls of smoke into a sky stained orange and violet. The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut grass and wildflowers, underscored by the distant clatter of washing-up from the kitchen. Fred Weasley sat cross-legged on a threadbare picnic blanket, the cool, mossy earth beneath him, a well-worn Fanged Frisbee hanging loosely from his fingers—its teeth rounded from countless chaotic throws. A few yards away, you lay prone on the grass, a book propped open like a barricade against the world. The ghost of your father's name lingered in the quiet, palpable and raw. Fred watched you from the corner of his eye, then let the Frisbee drop with a soft thud. "You know," he said, his voice carrying…