#ron weasleyxreader

Ron Weasley x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: During late-night prefect patrol, you and Ron hide from Filch, and accidentally fall for each other in the dark.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Mentions: Slight banter, maybe a little enemies to lovers??, takes place in their 5th year, tight spaces.

“Would it kill you to be on time for once?” you hissed as Ron jogged toward you, out of breath and clearly not sorry.

“It might,” he panted, straightening his robes. “I’m very delicate.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re five minutes late.”

“You sound like McGonagall if she had a personal grudge against gingers.”

“Oh please,” you muttered, already turning down the corridor.

“If I had a grudge, you’d be in detention every time you opened your mouth.”

“I got hungry. I ran down to the kitchens for a snack.”

“At ten o’clock? During prefect patrols?”

He held up a suspiciously lumpy napkin. “Treacle tart.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You snuck into the kitchens during your duty hour for dessert?”

Ron blinked. “Would it help if I said I brought extra?”

You wanted to stay mad. You really did

But he shoved a small, warm slice of tart into your hand before you could protest, and—unfortunately—it was really good.

You sighed. “If we get caught wandering the halls with contraband pastries—”

“Filch would throw a fit,” Ron grinned. “Want me to hold the evidence? I’ll swallow it before he gets a chance.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re impossible.”

He smiled, “And you’re uptight.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Shut up, Weasley.”

Unfortunately, neither of you had time to continue the argument, because that’s when a flickering lantern lit the corridor ahead.

Filch.

His grumbling voice echoed off the walls. “I smell trouble in these halls, I do... late-night wanderers... thievin’ little rats…”

Mrs. Norris appeared first, glowing eyes landing squarely on you and Ron.

“RUN,” you hissed.

“What?!”

“I’m not explaining a stolen treacle tart to McGonagall!”

You grabbed his wrist and sprinted down the corridor, robes flapping behind you.

The nearest door was stuck, but the next one flew open, revealing an old, dark broom cupboard with just enough space for two terrified teens and a guilty-looking pastry.

You shoved him inside. He yanked the door shut just as Filch’s lantern glow swept past.

The silence was immediate—and very close.

And then it hit you. You were pressed chest-to-chest with Ron Weasley.

In a very small space.

With very little room to breathe. Or think. Or form rational thoughts.

“Nice save,” Ron whispered, trying to keep still. “For someone who follows every rule like it’s gospel.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You shifted, and your shoulder brushed his. He twitched.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“S’okay,” he whispered back, voice cracking slightly.

“Not used to...enclosed spaces.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No makeout sessions in broom closets with a special girl yet?”

“Wha-no! Merlin-why would you-?”

You smirked in the dark. “Youre an idiot.”

"You're mean.”

“You’re loud.”

“You’re… really close.”

You suddenly noticed it too. How his voice dropped. How you could feel his heartbeat, or maybe it was yours.

How he smelled like cinnamon and ink and whatever shampoo he barely used.

He huffed, and then there was another beat of silence.

“…You smell nice,” he muttered suddenly.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said you smell nice,” he rushed out, clearly regretting it.

“Not that I was like, sniffing you or anything- just...you’re kinda right here, and I noticed-”

“I’m aware,” you said, flustered yourself now.

Another long pause. Then, quietly:

“…This is weird, right?”

“The cupboard? Or the part where I’m kinda enjoying this?”

“…Both.”

You risked looking up. Even in the dark, you could tell Ron’s ears were glowing red.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but you leaned in. Just enough.

Close enough that if either of you breathed too hard, you’d bump noses.

“Do you wanna…” you whispered.

He nodded so fast it made you laugh. Then he stopped your laughter by kissing you.

It was warm and awkward and kind of perfect. Sweet, like treacle tart. Fast, like maybe you’d both chicken out if it lasted any longer.

When you finally pulled away, he let out a breathless, “Blimey.”

Outside the door, Filch’s muttering faded.

Inside, it was very, very quiet.

“Think it’s safe?” Ron whispered.

“Probably.”

Neither of you moved.

“…You gonna let go of my robe?” he added, voice barely above a breath.

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized your fist was still gripping the front of his uniform.

You didn’t let go.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “I used to think you hated me.”

“I still might,” you whispered back.

“Liar.”

Filch’s voice finally disappeared down another corridor.

“We could stay a little longer. Just to be really sure.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ronald Weasley. Are you asking to hide in a broom closet with me on purpose?”

“...Not asking,” he said, grinning.

“Suggesting.”

Ron Weasley x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: When Umbridge enforces a rule banning students from being alone together, you and Ron turn the library into your quiet loophole. Until a shared afternoon turns into something more complicated than studying: detention

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: I was re-watching Order of the Phoneix and was reminded how much we despise Dolores Umbridge, so here you go.

The entire Great Hall went silent. Then exploded.

"What?!"

"She can't do that!"

"That's completely ridiculous!"

You pushed through the crowd gathering around the newest Educational Decree hanging on the wall.

Written in bright pink ink were the words:

Educational Decree Number 97

"Students are forbidden from spending time alone with other students without educational supervision."

You stared.

Then read it again.

You read it again for the third time, just to make sure it still made no sense. Because surely that couldn't be real. Across the hall, students were already arguing.

"What if you're working on homework?"

"What if you're friends?"

"How is she even supposed to know?"

"Knowing Umbridge, she'll find a way."

Behind you, someone scoffed.

“That’s ridiculous.”

You turned.

Ron Weasley was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking genuinely offended on your behalf, or maybe just offended in general.

“Everything she does is ridiculous,” you said. “Yeah, but this one’s… extra ridiculous.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

Because the truth was, you’d already done the math in your head. Most of your conversations with Ron happened alone.

Accidentally alone. Quiet corners of the library. Empty corridors. After-class detours that somehow always ended in the two of you still talking.

Now, apparently, that was illegal.

"Educational supervision?" Ron repeated. "What does that even mean?"

"Probably a teacher," you said.

Ron  pushed off the wall. “So what, we’re supposed to just- what? Stop talking?”

“I guess so.”

"That's mental," he said.

A ravenclaw student crossed her arms. "It's another way to control students."

"But why?"

"Because she can." The answer seemed to satisfy absolutely no one.

Least of all Ron.

The next afternoon, you were sitting alone in the library when a chair scraped across the floor.

Ron dropped into the seat opposite you.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Ron.” 

He snorted.

"I'm here for educational purposes."

"Oh, are you?"

"Absolutely."

Ron dramatically pulled a book from his bag and dropped it onto the table.

You looked down.

Introduction to Magical Creatures: First Year Edition.

Then back up at him.

"I found a loophole."

"You found trouble."

"Same thing."

You laughed quietly. A few tables away, Madam Pince narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Ron lowered his voice.

"If we're studying, she can't complain."

"We don't even take this class."

"So? Listen, if Umbridge asks, we're discussing..."

He opened the book.

His eyes scanned the page.

"...the migration patterns of magical slugs."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Neither of you lasted more than three seconds before laughing.

A sharp "Shhh!" came from Madam Pince.

You immediately lowered your voices.

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

Unfortunately, Ron's terrible plan worked.

Every afternoon after that, he would appear with a random textbook and an even worse excuse.

One day it was vampire habitats.

The next it was the history of cauldron thickness regulations.

The day after that he spent twenty minutes pretending to explain Goblin tax law. You were fairly certain he didn't understand a single word he was reading.

"You don't actually care about any of this, do you?" you asked one afternoon.

"Nope."

"Then why are you here?"

Ron froze.

For the first time all week, he didn't have a quick answer. His ears immediately turned pink. Interesting.

"Well..." he said.

You waited.

"I just thought it'd be nice."

The unfairness of the decree quickly became obvious.

Students started avoiding each other, people kept looking over their shoulders, and nearly every conversation felt like it might get someone in trouble.

But somehow, your corner of the library stayed the same.

Safe.Normal.Away from Umbridge.

One afternoon, as rain tapped softly against the windows, Ron arrived carrying three books.

Three.

You stared.

"Why do you have so many?"

"Camouflage."

"What?"

"If someone sees us, they'll think we're studying really hard."

"That's not how camouflage works."

"It should be." Ron grinned.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. Something warm settled in your chest. Something that had nothing to do with magical creatures or fake study sessions.

"You know," you said quietly, "this whole rule is stupid."

Ron nodded immediately.

"Yeah."

"We're literally just sitting in a library."

"Exactly."

"We're not doing anything."

"We're trying to."

You blinked.

"What?"

His ears immediately turned red.

"I meant studying."

"You absolutely did not."

"I absolutely did."

"You liar."

Ron buried his face in one of the books.

You were still laughing when a shadow fell across the table. The laughter died instantly.

Pink.

Too much pink.

You looked up.

Professor Umbridge stood over you.

Smiling. The kind of smile that made your skin crawl.

"Well," she said sweetly, "what do we have here?"

Nobody answered.

Umbridge's eyes moved between the two of you.

"You seem to spend quite a lot of time together."

Her voice suggested this was a crime.

"We're studying," Ron said.

"Are you?"

The smile never left her face.She reached down and plucked a book from the table.

Her eyes scanned the title.

Then another.

You watched her expression carefully. Waiting.

Looking for a reason.

Any reason.

"There appear to be very few notes."

"We finished earlier," Ron said.

"Did you?"

"Yes." You said at the exact same time.

Ron looked at you. You looked at Ron.

Umbridge's smile widened.

"Interesting."

"Oh, come on," Ron muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"They're books. We’re studying.”

Several students nearby had started watching.

Nobody was pretending to read anymore.

The library had gone quiet.

“Allegedly.” Umbridge hummed.

Ron sat up straighter.

"You made a rule saying students have to be supervised."

"Correct."

"We came to the library."

"Yes."

"Where Madam Pince is."

"Yes."

You saw several students exchange looks. Ron looked genuinely offended.

"So we're following the rule."

Umbridge's smile tightened slightly.

The first crack.

The first sign she hadn't expected someone to argue back.

"You are testing the spirit of the decree."

"The spirit of the decree?"

"The intent."

"We're sitting at a table."

A few students snorted.

Umbridge's eyes flashed.

"There is no need for insolence, Mr. Weasley."

"There is no need for ridiculous rules."

Your heart stopped. So did everyone else's.

The library became silent.

Completely silent.

Even Ron seemed surprised he'd said it.

For a moment, Umbridge just stared. Then her smile returned.

Worse than before.

"Detention."

Ron rolled his eyes.

“For What?!” you question.

“Educational Dishonesty!”

“That’s not a thing!” 

“Enough! Detention for a week, each of you.” She gave you a narrow stare.

"But I’ve barely said anything at all!" You argued.

"Association, child!" She spat.

The unfairness of it hit you instantly.

You were being punished simply for being there.

For sitting with a friend. For existing in the wrong seat.

Ron looked furious.

"That's not fair." he mumbled.

Umbridge's smile widened. "Hogwarts is not a place for students to decide what is fair."

Then she turned and swept from the library.

A moment later, whispers erupted across the room.

Ron groaned and dropped his forehead onto the table.

You couldn't help laughing.

"We got detention." you exhale.

"We got detention for sitting."

"You argued with Umbridge."

"So did you, besides someone had to, She's insane!."

You smiled.Ron lifted his head.

The annoyance was still there. But so was something softer. Something that appeared every time he looked at you lately.

"You know," he said. "I'd still come sit here."

You blinked.

"Even with Umbridge stalking us?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

His ears immediately turned red.Again.

You were beginning to enjoy that.

Ron looked down at the table.Then back at you."Because I wasn't really coming for the books."

Your heart skipped.

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Good."

He looked up. "Good?"

You nodded. "Because I wasn't coming for the books either."

For a second, Ron simply stared.

Then he grinned.

The biggest grin you'd seen all year.

Together, you left the library, still smiling despite the detention waiting for you.

At the nearest corridor intersection, you paused.

"I should go this way," you said.

Ron nodded, though he looked reluctant.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Ron groaned dramatically.

"Well."

"Well?" you smiled.

"I'll see you in detention."

You laughed.

"That sounds significantly less romantic."

"I wasn't trying to be romantic."

"You were absolutely trying to be romantic."

His ears immediately turned red.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I wasn't."

You grinned.

Ron pointed at you accusingly.

"See? This is why we got detention."

"I'm fairly certain we got detention because you started it up  with Umbridge."

Despite himself, he started smiling too.

For a second, neither of you looked away.

Then a bell rang somewhere in the castle.

Reality returned.

Classes. Homework. Detention.

All waiting.

Ron shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll save you a seat."

Your smile widened.

"For educational purposes?"

"Obviously."

With one last grin, the two of you headed in opposite directions, already looking forward to seeing each other again, even if it was in detention.

Ron Weasley x reader

Summary: Ron’s shy feelings turn into secret notes delivered by Pigwidgeon, until the little owl gives his secret away.

Hogwarts had a way of feeling too big and too small at the same time. Big enough to get lost in. Small enough that secrets never stayed hidden for long.

Except this one.

It started when you found a slip of parchment tucked under your pillow in the girls’ dormitory:

“You looked pretty today. I almost spilled pumpkin juice on my lap staring at you.- Your Secret Admirer”

Your first thought was that it was a prank. Your second thought was that it was sweet, in a hilariously awkward sort of way.

You tried to guess. Dean? Seamus? Fred or George? But the handwriting didn’t match. And no one cackled in the corridors or waited for the prank to play out.

Instead, the notes kept coming. Little scraps hidden in your Herbology book, your scarf pocket, even one slipped into your mitten by a passing owl (Pigwidgeon, you recognized the tiny feathered menace anywhere).

They made you smile all week. But they made you suspicious too, especially when they mentioned things only a friend would know:

how you hated cold toast at breakfast, how you’d been worrying about Charms homework, how you liked the courtyard near the greenhouses best when it snowed.

You cornered Pigwidgeon outside the Owlery one Sunday afternoon, when you spotted him circling you like he had another delivery.

“Alright, Pig,” you said, hands on hips. “Take me to him.”

Pig tilted his head, hooted, then zoomed off toward the castle. You had no choice but to follow, boots crunching in the fresh snow.

He led you right to the courtyard, your favorite courtyard, where you found Ron Weasley pacing like he was about to face a Hungarian Horntail.

When he saw you, his eyes went wide. “I- uh... hey.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hey. So… you’re my 'secret admirer'?”

He ran a hand through his hair, which was already windswept from the cold. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean for it to be weird. I just… I didn’t know how to say it to your face.”

You stepped closer, your breath misting between you. “Say what?”

He swallowed. “That I like you. A lot. Always have. You’re brilliant. And funny. And you don’t care that I’m… well… me. And I just- Merlin, I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest despite the snowflakes catching in your hair.

lips curved into a smile as you stepped closer, clutching the crumpled note. “Ron Weasley. You absolute idiot.”

“Er- rude,” he mumbled. “I was trying to be romantic.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck, “you were. And I kept every single note.”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You did?”

You nodded. Then you stood on your tiptoes, snow crunching under your boots, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He froze, then slowly turned his face until your lips met properly.

It was clumsy, sweet, and full of giggles when you both pulled back to see Pigwidgeon dancing on the garden wall, hooting triumphantly.

Ron looked at you, eyes wide, breathless. “So… you don’t mind the notes?”

“Ron,” you said, grinning, “next time, just pass me a note in person. Or better yet, just kiss me.”

He laughed, pulling you in close, snow still drifting around you. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

Pig hooted again, the world’s tiniest, proudest matchmaker.

A Bit of Color

Ron Weasley x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: You convince Ron that you should paint each other's nails, ending with a matching set and a moment you won't forget.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Mentions: Nail painting, Ron having that Ron mindset.

It had started with you sitting cross-legged on the floor of Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow, a handful of tiny glass bottles spilling out of your bag and clinking against each other.

He was stretched out across his bed, feet hanging off the end, watching you like you’d just dumped a bucket of gnomes on the carpet.

“What are those?” he asked suspiciously.

You held up a bottle between your fingers so the sunlight from the small window caught the shimmer. “Nail polish.”

Ron frowned. “That’s for… girls, isn’t it?”

“It’s for anyone with nails,” you countered with a grin. “And I thought we could paint each other’s.”

Ron stared like you’d suggested you both run through the Hogwarts naked. “You want me to let you paint my nails?”

“Yes,” you said simply, already lining the bottles in a neat little row on the rug.

“You’d look good with this color, Gryffindor red. Show some house pride.”

He sat up slightly, leaning on his elbows. “If I say no, are you going to keep asking until I give in?”

“Absolutely.”

Ron groaned, running a hand down his face, but he slid off the bed and plopped down across from you. “Fine. But if my brothers see this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“If they say something, I’ll hex them.”

You started on his thumb, steady despite his fidgeting. “Stop moving,” you chided. “Or I’ll get it all over you.”

“This feels strange,” he muttered, but his voice was quieter now, like he didn’t actually hate it. He watched with faint curiosity as you carefully brushed color over his nail, the deep red gleaming wet under yhr bedroom lighting.

“You’ve got nice hands,” you remarked absentmindedly.

Ron’s ears turned pink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just an observation.” You smirked, finishing one hand and blowing on the polish gently to help it dry. “There. One heroic hand.”

He inspected it, twisting his wrist. “Looks better than I thought it would,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Your turn,” you said, passing him a soft lilac shade from the lineup.

“What? I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. That’s the deal. I paint yours, you paint mine.”

Ron took the bottle with as much enthusiasm as grabbing a quill for an essay.

Still, when he unscrewed the cap, he crouched forward and took your hand like it was something fragile. His tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated, the brush dragging with a little too much polish at first.

“You’re making a mess,” you teased.

“I’m trying!” he said defensively, but his grip stayed careful. “You’ve got tiny nails, this is harder than it looks.”

By the time he’d finished, there were a few smudges on your fingertips, but you held your hands up beside his.

“See? Now we match.”

Ron glanced at your lilac nails, then at his own red ones, and for a moment his grin was almost boyish. “Yeah. Matching.” His ears went pinker. “Still not telling anyone, though.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ronald, you eat dinner with a huge family. You think no one’s going to notice you waving around ten tiny red flags?”

His jaw dropped slightly before he huffed. “Brilliant. Guess I’m doomed, then.”

You smirked. “Yup. But at least you’ll look fabulous.”

Ron groaned, flopping back dramatically, muttering, “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”

You sat back and pretended you couldn't see the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was trying not to smile.

Ron Weasley x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary:Baking cookies with Ron was supposed to be simple. Love wasn’t part of the recipe.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: A cute lil treat :)

The Burrow always smelled like something comforting. Cinnamon, wood smoke, and the faint sweetness of Molly Weasley’s baking.

But today, that smell was coming from your own creation.

You were in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, elbows dusted in flour, while Ron tried (and failed) to separate egg yolks from whites.

“This is impossible,” he muttered, glaring at the half-broken egg dripping between his fingers.

You laughed, snatching it away. “You’re supposed to be gentle! It’s a yolk, not a Bludger.”

He made a face but leaned closer, “You seem to know a lot about Bludgers for someone who’s never been hit by one.”

“I’ve seen you get hit by one, does that count?” you shot back.

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing he couldn’t win that one.

You grinned, rolling out the cookie dough with a satisfied hum.

The whole kitchen glowed gold from the late afternoon sun, and outside, leaves danced past the window.

Ron was supposed to be cutting out pumpkin shapes, but when you glanced over, he was just… watching you.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, ears going red. “Just…you look cute.”

Your heart did a little flip, not that you’d ever admit it.

“Focus, Weasley,” you said, throwing a little flour at him.

He blinked, then grinned wickedly.

The next moment, flour exploded everywhere.

You squealed, ducking behind the counter as Ron laughed so hard he had to hold onto it for support.

By the time Molly poked her head in, both of you looked like ghosts dusted in sugar and flour.

“For Merlin’s sake,” she sighed fondly. “If the cookies taste half as sweet as you two look, I’ll be impressed.”

You and Ron exchanged a sheepish glance.

Later, when the cookies were finally baked, warm and golden with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg.

You sat by the window while Ron passed you one shaped like a crooked heart.

He shrugged. “It’s supposed to be a pumpkin, but I like this one better.”

You bit into it, trying not to smile too much. “You’re such a goof.”

“Only for you,” he said, trying to sound casual, but his ears were pink again.

Outside, the wind rustled through the orchard, and inside, the two of you laughed over uneven cookies and burnt edges.

The kitchen filled with warmth, that had nothing to do with the oven.

Ron Weasley x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: You spend your first Christmas with Ron and the Weasleys, Fred and George leave you two with a Christmas surprise.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Mentions:Use of Y/N, Fred and George being Fred and George, Ron being kinda shy, reader is she/her.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: I feel like this is really long lol.

You step onto the worn doormat as the snow slowly melts off your boots. The crisp winter air follows you up the path, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke.

Tiny fairy lights twinkle around the crooked door of the Burrow, and you can hear laughter and clinking dishes inside.

Your stomach flips with nerves, this is your first Christmas with Ron and his family.

You raise your gloved hand and knock. Almost immediately, the door swings open, and there’s Ron, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, hair a little damp from the falling snow.

He’s scratching the back of his neck, that familiar shy grin already spreading across his face.

“Er- Mum’s been waiting for you all morning,” he says, voice soft with that unmistakable Weasley warmth.

Before you can even reply, Mrs. Weasley appears behind him like magic, eyes crinkling with delight. She pulls you into a hug so tight you can hardly breathe.

“Oh, look at you! Happy Christmas, dear!” she says, her voice muffled against your scarf. The smell of gingerbread and warm wool surrounds you.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley!” you giggle, your words squeaking out from her bear hug.

“We’re so happy you’re here! Ron, help with her coat, will you?” She pats his arm before bustling off, calling over her shoulder, “Stay put, dear! I’ll fetch the others!”

Ron helps you shrug off your coat, his fingers brushing yours. The warmth from the house seeps into your bones, and the snowflakes in your hair start to melt, dripping down your collar.

“Hey,” Ron says, chuckling nervously.

“Hey,” you echo back, heart thumping in your chest.

“I’m so glad you could make it, really,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Of course,” you say, smiling. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Ron’s ears turn pink. “Fred and George kept saying you wouldn’t show…”

“Well, I believe you more than them,” you tease, laughing.

“Oi, who wouldn’t show up for Ronniekins?” a voice cuts in

You look up to see Fred and George bounding down the stairs, grins identical and mischievous.

“LOOK who finally made it!” George says, wiggling his eyebrows at Ron and then at you.

“HELLO you two,” you laugh, rolling your eyes.

Ginny appears behind them, her red hair tied back with a sparkly green ribbon. She bounces on the balls of her feet, eyes shining.

“Hey! Happy Christmas!” she says, giving you a quick hug.

“Hi Ginny! Happy Christmas!”

You glance around the Burrow’s cozy sitting room, the mismatched furniture is draped with colorful knitted blankets, and a roaring fire crackles in the hearth.

The Christmas tree stands in the corner, decorated with hand-carved ornaments and a crooked golden star that spins lazily at the top. The smell of roast turkey, spiced cider, and fresh pine fills the air.

“Sooo…” Fred drawls, glancing between you and Ron, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Have you two found any mistletoe yet?” Your cheeks flame. You look at Ron, who looks equally horrified.

“No!” Ron splutters. “Why would we-?”

“You’re dating, aren’t you?” George says, elbowing Ron in the ribs.

“Well, we’ve just started…” you mumble under your breath, fiddling with the hem of your sweater.

“Well, it is a boyfriend-girlfriend thing to do,” Ginny adds, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What is?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice rings out as she returns, wiping her hands on her festive apron dotted with tiny embroidered snowflakes.

“NOTHING!” the twins and Ginny shout in unison, looking like guilty gnomes caught raiding the pantry.

Mrs. Weasley raises an eyebrow but lets it go with a smile. “Honestly. Well, come on, all of you! Dinner’s ready! Y/N, you must be starving, you’ve had such a long trip. Come along now!”

She rushes you all into the dining room, which looks like it belongs in a Christmas card, the long table is covered in a deep red cloth, flickering candles float above it, and plates piled high with roast potatoes, buttered peas, and golden Yorkshire puddings are already steaming.

A huge turkey sits proudly in the center, surrounded by bowls of cranberry sauce and gravy.

“ARTHUR!” Mrs. Weasley calls. “Dinner’s ready!”

“Bloody hell, Mum!” Ron groans. “We’ve got ears, you know!”

Everyone laughs as they pull out their chairs. You slide into the seat next to Ron, your knees brushing under the table. He looks at you, a crooked grin on his face.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says softly. “I just… I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“You’ve said that already,” you tease, nudging his arm with your elbow.

“You should’ve heard how many times he said it yesterday,” George pipes up, smirking from across the table.

“Shut it, you git!” Ron snaps, throwing a bread roll at him. Mr. Weasley shuffles in, a pair of golden tinsel antlers perched on his head at a lopsided angle.

He beams when he sees you.

“Y/N! How lovely it is to see you, dear! How was the trip in this weather?”

“Hello, Mr. Weasley! It was fine, thank you again for having me,” you say, cheeks warm with happiness.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” Mrs. Weasley says, settling down at the head of the table. She throws Ron a teasing look. “We figured Ronald would be quite upset if you didn’t come.”

“Mum!” Ron groans, hiding his face in his hands as everyone erupts into laughter.

You lean closer and whisper, “For what it’s worth… I’m really glad I’m here, too.”

He peeks at you through his fingers and smiles, his cheeks turning that familiar Weasley red.

After dinner, the Burrow hums with the soft glow of fairy lights and the low crackle of the fire.

The air is thick with the scent of spiced pudding and warm treacle tart. Laughter drifts from the living room, where Ginny and Mrs. Weasley are putting the finishing touches on a gingerbread house that looks suspiciously like Hogwarts.

You’re helping Ron carry stacks of dishes to the kitchen, your sides aching from laughing at George’s horrible impressions of Percy.

Ron sets a stack down by the sink, then leans back against the counter, looking at you with that boyish grin you’ve come to love.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says, voice quiet under the din of the others. “For surviving my family.”

You laugh, reaching up to brush a stray bit of flour from his sweater. “Are you kidding? I love them. They’re… perfect.”

Ron’s ears go pink again. He opens his mouth to say something when Fred pokes his head around the corner, mischief practically radiating off him.

“Oi, Ronnikins. Fancy a round of wizard chess in the living room?” he says, his tone suspiciously casual.

Ron narrows his eyes. “Why? You hate playing chess with me.”

Fred shrugs, feigning innocence. “Feeling generous tonight. Come on, Y/N can watch you lose.”

You raise an eyebrow but let Ron take your hand as you follow Fred back to the living room. It’s warm and glowing, the Christmas tree lights reflecting off the windowpanes.

George is lounging on the couch, trying (and failing) to balance a spoon on his nose.

As you and Ron step into the middle of the room, Fred and George suddenly dart behind you, then vanish up the stairs, giggling like maniacs.

“What the- what are they up to now?” you ask, turning in confusion. Ron frowns. “Probably nothing good-” He stops. “Wait. Look up.”

You tilt your head back and spot it , there's a shimmering bundle of enchanted mistletoe, floating just above you both, its little white berries twinkling like tiny stars.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Ron mutters, face turning as red as Rudolph's nose. He looks like he might bolt any second.

From somewhere on the stairs, you hear Fred whisper, “Pucker up, lovebirds!” You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“They’re relentless.”

Ron sighs, scratching his neck again. “I swear they’d hex mistletoe to follow us around the house if they could.”

You take a step closer, your boots brushing his. You can see the nervous flutter of his eyelashes, the way his hands twitch at his sides.

“Well… maybe it’s not such a bad hex,” you say, your voice soft. He meets your eyes warm and wide, so full of that open, goofy sweetness that makes your heart squeeze.

He clears his throat, then blurts, “Do you… I mean, do you want to?”

You smile, nodding as you rest your hands lightly on his chest. “It's tradition isn't it?”

His breath catches, and then he leans down gently, hesitantly, like he’s afraid he might break the moment.

Your lips brush his, warm and soft, and for a second, the whole Burrow feels like it fades away, it’s just you, Ron, and the faint magic tingle of the mistletoe above you.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a muffled cheer, then George’s unmistakable voice: “About time!” You break the kiss, both of you laughing, cheeks flushed and noses pink from the warmth and the cold.

“Happy Christmas, Y/N,” Ron whispers, forehead resting against yours.

“Happy Christmas, Ron,” you breathe back, and for once, you’re grateful for Fred and George’s pranks, though you’d never, ever admit it to them.