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Chapter Six: The Weasley Quidditch Team

Your first week at The Burrow was possibly the best week of your life so far. Ginny had claimed you as her own sister, and each night she'd ask you hundreds of questions about school and Quidditch and spells and pranks. She'd prop herself up on her elbow, her chin resting in her hands, while she listened wide-eyed in awe as you recounted the tales of your mischief with the twins.

Every morning when the bright summer sun broke through the rickety blinds and flowery curtains, you awoke to the fresh smell of pancakes or bacon and eggs, your mouth falling open as you walked into the kitchen and saw spoons and whisks and eggs flying magically in the air. After two years of magic, you still hadn't gotten quite used to just how brilliant this world was.

You and Ginny were always the first to wake up, so you'd get at least five minutes of peace and quiet before three hungry boys- and Percy- would charge down the stairs and throw themselves down in the seats next to you, devouring all the food in sight.

"Mornin'" Fred would say, his bright copper hair flicking up awkwardly from sleep. He grinned at you brightly, always taking the extra time to lob a bit of butter or a slice of toast at your face.

"Fred!" You whined, swatting him on the back of his head. Ginny would giggle, George would guffaw loudly and start throwing bits of torn off breakfast at you both, Percy would sigh and roll his eyes and Ron- well, Ron was too busy stuffing his face to notice what was going on. As each day went on, the Burrow felt more and more like home.

"Mrs. Weasley, please let me help clean up," you said one evening after a hearty dinner of sausages, chips, and peas. The room was warm and lively, filled with the aftermath of laughter and the occasional clink of dishes. Tonight, however, the table was especially chaotic—thanks to a spirited pea fight between you and the twins. Peas were scattered everywhere, and George somehow still had one lodged in his ear.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head with a kind but exasperated smile. "For the last time, dear, call me Molly. And nonsense! You're a guest—you don't need to lift a finger." She stood up, brushing her hands on her apron, which you noticed had a cheerful sunflower print. It seemed she had an apron for every mood and day of the week.

"But—" you started, determined to argue this time.

Fred interrupted, standing abruptly and shaking a stray pea out of his hair. "Right, Y/N, you and Gin meet us outside in ten minutes. We'll get the brooms sorted, and Ron'll set up the pitch."

"Yeah, and prepare to lose!" George added, grinning as he followed Fred out of the kitchen. The sound of thumping footsteps and muffled rummaging echoed from upstairs.

Ginny's eyes lit up. "Oh, Y/N, just wait until you see how good I am at Quidditch! I'll be back in a flash!" She bolted toward her room, a streak of fiery hair disappearing up the stairs.

You and Mr. Weasley chuckled as her excited squeals drifted down the hall. "Ginny's got quite a competitive streak, I'll warn you now. She's been sneaking the boy's brooms out of the cupboard for years," he mused, adjusting his glasses.

"She's going to wipe the floor with me, isn't she?" you joked, turning back to the table. You pushed your chair back and began scooping up peas from the table into your hands, intent on helping despite Molly's protests.

A gentle tap on your hand made you pause. "What did I just say, N/N?" Molly chided softly, her tone equal parts firm and affectionate.

"But it's such a mess, and I feel bad," you insisted.

"Arthur," Molly said, turning to her husband with a knowing look.

Mr. Weasley grinned and flicked his wand. With a quiet whoosh, all the scattered peas leapt into your hands in one synchronised motion.