Gold Rush

The Burrow’s kitchen bustled with energy—Molly was busy at the stove, the scent of roasted chicken and fresh bread filling the air, while laughter and the occasional small explosion echoed from the living room.

Cam let out a triumphant squeal as one of Charlie’s cards erupted in a bright flash, signaling her victory. She threw her arms up in celebration. “Oh, suck it, Charlie!” she cackled, grinning like a kid.

Charlie groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Against my better judgment, I gotta say—I like this girl.” He jabbed a finger at Cam, shaking his head with defeat.

“What’s not to like?” George laughed, reaching over to ruffle Cam’s hair.

She swatted his hand away. “Trust me, there’s plenty.”

“Yeah, like your snoring,” Fred quipped, grinning.

Cam shot him a look, and for a brief moment, in the chaos of the Weasley household, they held each other’s gaze. A flicker of something unspoken passed between them before Charlie stood up, stretching.

“Alright, someone else take my place,” Charlie said. “I’m off to help Mum with dinner.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, Cam turned her attention back to Fred, smirking as she cracked her knuckles. “Alright, Weasley, you ready to get dominated?”

Fred raised an eyebrow, mirroring her smirk. “Interesting word choice, Connolly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get your head out of the gutter. You know what I meant.”

“You said it, not me,” he teased, setting up across from her.

Cam shuffled the deck, lips twitching. “You’ve just got selective hearing, that’s all. Only hear what you want.”

Fred leaned in slightly, his smirk deepening. “Are you implying that I want to be dominated by you?”

“At cards? Absolutely.” She flicked a card at him, grinning. “Now shut up and lose.”

Things had shifted between them in those last weeks at school. The teasing, the lingering glances, the casual touches—they had all become more frequent, more charged. The subtlety that once danced between them had all but disappeared, replaced by something undeniable.

But then Cedric died.

And You-Know-Who returned.

Whatever momentum had been building between Cam and Fred came to a screeching halt. Flirting felt insignificant, selfish even, in the face of something so dark. The weight of it pressed on her chest, making it impossible to focus on Fred’s not-so-subtle invitation to share his twin bed all summer, or on the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

There were bigger things to worry about.

And yet, despite the fear and uncertainty twisting inside her, despite the fact that she could barely admit to herself that she even had a crush, she still caught herself thinking about him. Wondering if he was thinking about her too.

“Kids!” Molly’s voice rang from the kitchen. “Dinner!”

The three of them scrambled to their feet, rushing to claim a good seat at the table. Every night was a game of musical chairs, a battle for comfort in the Weasley household. The breakfast table, a mismatched collection of chairs gathered over the years, bore the evidence of a family that had outgrown its furniture long ago. Molly always swore that when she and Arthur were first married, they had a proper matching set—but as the kids kept coming, they had to get creative.

With Cam visiting and both Bill and Charlie home, seating was even more scarce. When Fred, George, and Camryn made it to the kitchen, they were met with an unfortunate sight—only two chairs left.

Immediately, all three of them lunged for the seats, elbows flying as they shoved and jostled each other, laughing through the chaos. George managed to drop into one first, and in the split second that Cam reached for the other, Fred beat her to it, grinning triumphantly as he plopped down.

“Fred Weasley!” Molly scolded, hands on her hips. “Don’t be rude—give Camryn your seat.”

Fred sighed dramatically, standing and gesturing to the chair with exaggerated politeness. “Yeah, Fred,” Cam teased as she took her seat. “Don’t be rude.”

He rolled his eyes but stepped behind her, hands grazing her shoulders as he pushed the chair in for her. Leaning down, his breath brushed against her ear as he murmured, “You are a pain in my ass, Connolly.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

“You love it,” Cam shot back, smirking as she settled into the chair.

Fred scoffed, but the amused glint in his eye gave him away. He rested his hands on the back of her chair for a second before moving to lean against the counter, arms crossed. George, victorious in securing the last seat, shot him a smug look before digging into his food.

The Weasley kitchen was as lively as ever, filled with the clatter of utensils, the hum of overlapping conversations, and the warmth that only came from a house as full as this one. Plates were passed, jokes were traded, and despite everything weighing on Cam’s mind—despite the darkness looming over all of them—she let herself sink into this moment.

Cam tapped her fork against her plate, eyeing the eldest Weasley brothers curiously. “Charlie, Bill,” she said, leaning forward. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you two. What brings you all the way from Egypt and Romania?” She gestured toward each of them with her fork, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Bill shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering toward Molly and Arthur. It was subtle, but Cam caught it.

Before she could press further, Charlie clapped a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder, flashing an easy grin. “We just missed you lot too much,” he said, his tone light but his arm wrapped a little too tightly around Bill.

Cam wasn’t convinced. Neither were Fred and George, who exchanged a glance but said nothing.

She hadn’t meant to touch a nerve—her question had been innocent, just a way to keep the conversation going—but now, the air around the table felt heavier, thick with something unsaid.

Determined not to make things worse, she forced a smile and switched gears. “Well, I hope you brought us some souvenirs,” she said, nudging Charlie’s leg under the table. “Or did you just come to eat all of Molly’s cooking and leave again?”

“Yeah, that's it," Bill chuckled, poking at his food with his fork.

The tension eased, like a storm cloud passing, and the usual warmth returned to the table. Charlie smirked, nudging Bill with his elbow. “What, you think we came back just for the family reunion? Nah, Mum’s food is definitely the main event."

Molly beamed, clearly pleased, as she reached over to refill his plate. “At least someone appreciates my cooking."

“Hey, I appreciate it plenty,” Fred said, mouth half-full. “I’m just not dramatic about it.”

Cam rolled her eyes, but she was relieved. Whatever unspoken reason had brought Bill and Charlie home, they weren’t ready to talk about it. And for now, that was fine. 

“So, Bill,” Camryn said casually as she dug into her dinner, “how’s the curse-breaking business treating you?”

“As uneventful as ever,” Bill replied with a shrug.

Cam propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “Really? No… interesting new coworkers?”

Bill’s brows furrowed slightly as he studied her, intrigue flickering in his eyes. “And how on earth do you know about that?”

“I have my sources,” she said cryptically, smirking.

Charlie let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, Bill, everyone knows Fleur Delacour took that open position in your department after chatting you up at the last task.”

The room fell silent. The easy going conversation once again overpowered by awkwardness and uncertainty.

The mention of the last task hung heavy in the air, unspoken but felt by everyone. The clinking of silverware against plates stilled, the warmth of the dinner table suddenly tinged with something colder.

Arthur leaned toward Molly and whispered, “Should we tell the kids—”

“Not now, Arthur,” Molly murmured back. “Let them enjoy their summer.”

The rest of dinner was noticeably quieter. The tension was subtle but present, an unspoken understanding passing between them. There was something Molly and Arthur weren’t saying—something Bill and Charlie seemed to have at least some idea about. But the rest of them? Completely in the dark.

Camryn stood at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water, scrubbing at a plate with slow, deliberate movements. The muffled sound of Molly and Arthur’s hushed conversation drifted in from the living room, their whispers just out of reach. Whatever they were keeping from them—it was serious.

Ron leaned against the counter beside her, absently drying the dishes she passed to him. “What do you reckon they’re keeping from us?” he asked, voice low.

“It’s got to be about Voldemort,” Cam said, eyes flickering toward the doorway where Molly and Arthur sat. “About what Harry saw.”

Ron frowned, running the towel over a plate more aggressively than necessary. “Then why won’t they just tell us?”

“They have their reasons,” Cam said, though the words tasted bitter. She hated being kept in the dark, hated the way the adults treated them like they weren’t capable of handling the truth.

Ginny joined them, taking the dried plates from Ron and stacking them neatly in the cupboard. “It’s not fair,” she muttered.

“It’s not,” Cam agreed, rinsing off another dish. “But Molly’s right. We should try to enjoy as much of our summer as we can before shit hits the fan.”

Ron let out a small huff, shaking his head. “It’s already hit the fan, though, hasn’t it?”

Cam paused for a moment, watching the soapy water swirl down the drain. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I think it has.”

Cam climbed the winding staircase toward the twins’ bedroom, her bare feet padding softly against the creaky wooden steps. The Burrow was quiet now, the rest of the family settling into the lull of the evening. When she reached the door, she pushed it open without knocking—she never really had to.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by the single lamp on Fred’s bedside table, casting a soft glow over the cluttered space. Fred was sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“Where’s George?” she asked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

“Shower,” Fred murmured, barely glancing her way.

Cam walked over to the small dresser she was using to store her clothes, rummaging through the few things she had. “Uh—will you, like, close your eyes or look away or something?”

Fred sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Yeah,” he said easily, dropping his gaze to the floor.

She pulled out a pair of cotton shorts and one of Fred’s old Quidditch t-shirts. Her parents, as usual, were taking their time sending over her stuff, and she had gotten used to borrowing from him. The fabric was soft and worn from years of use, carrying the faint scent of him—something warm and familiar.

She peeled off her shirt, unclasping her bra and letting the straps slide down her arms. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin.

Fred hadn’t planned to look. But something about the way the room felt—quiet, intimate, the two of them alone in the dim light—made him glance up. Just for a second.

His breath caught.

The soft glow of the lamp traced the curve of her bare back, highlighting every subtle movement as she reached for the shirt. His stomach tightened, the same way it had at the lake, when he’d first really noticed her. But this time, there were no teasing comments from George, no distractions—just them. Alone.

Cam tugged the borrowed Quidditch shirt down over her torso, but the air between them remained heavy, charged with something unspoken. She could still feel Fred’s gaze lingering on her, even as she turned to shove her discarded clothes into the dresser. The quiet hum of the Burrow at night—distant voices, the creaking of pipes, the occasional pop of a gnome outside—felt muted under the weight of the moment.

Fred cleared his throat, shifting slightly on the edge of his bed. “Y’know, you keep stealing my clothes, and I’m gonna start charging you rent,” he teased, voice lower than usual.

Cam smirked, turning to face him, arms loosely crossed over her chest. “Right. Because you don’t like seeing me in them at all.”

Fred huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t deny it. He leaned back on his hands, tilting his head as he looked at her properly. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower earlier, and the dim glow of the lamp softened the sharp edges of his face.

“You tired?” he asked after a beat, as if that might ease the tension still crackling between them.

Cam exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Exhausted.”

She padded over to his bed and sat down beside him, her thigh barely brushing his. She could’ve moved away, but she didn’t. Neither did he.

Fred swallowed. “You alright?”

She nodded, but her voice was quieter when she said, “Yeah. Just... It feels weird, doesn’t it? Being here, acting normal, when everything’s changed.”

Fred didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers without hesitation. It was an easy gesture, natural, like something they’d done a hundred times before. Only they hadn’t.

Cam let out a quiet laugh, her fingers still curled around Fred’s. “I guess not entirely normal.”

“I wouldn’t mind making this normal,” Fred murmured, squeezing her hand.

His voice softened as he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against her skin. “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor.”

Cam’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t look away. “Maybe you don’t have to,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper—low, soft, sweet.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door swung open.

George stood in the doorway, clad in his robe, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, foam gathering at the corners of his lips. His eyes landed on their intertwined hands, and for a split second, Cam expected them both to drop their hands and scramble apart like they might have months ago.

But instead, Fred held on tighter.

George raised an eyebrow, shooting his twin a knowing look before smirking. “I’m gonna—” he gestured vaguely with his toothbrush “—brush my teeth.” His words were slightly garbled from the toothpaste, but the teasing lilt was unmistakable. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he turned on his heel and left.

Fred slowly let go of her hand, his touch trailing down until his palm rested gently on her upper thigh. Then, without a word, he shifted, pressing himself against the wall to make room for her in his twin bed.

Cam lay down beside him, her back to his chest, his arm naturally slipping beneath her neck. He pulled her in closer, his body molding to hers as he settled his face in the crook of her neck.

Her scent wrapped around him—champagne and tangerines, soft and sweet, mingling with the warmth of her skin. Beneath that, the familiar notes of her shampoo, vanilla and coconut, lingered in her hair. It was intoxicating, dizzying. He could get high off this.

Fred exhaled, his breath warm against her skin, and let his eyes drift shut.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

They had slept soundly, tangled up in each other, so comfortably wrapped together that the size of the bed hadn’t mattered. They had simply made it work.

Now, the morning sun stretched over the rolling fields behind the Burrow, casting long golden shadows as they trekked through the tall grass. The air was warm, carrying the scent of earth and summer wildflowers, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot punctuated their easy conversation.

Beyond the fields, nestled in the woods, stood a scattering of abandoned cottages—half-forgotten remnants of a time before the Weasleys had claimed the land as their own. That was where Fred and George were leading them, eager to test out their newest line of experimental explosives.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?" Cam asked, eyeing the lopsided roof of one of the houses. “What if this place collapses before you even get to blow it up?"

“That just means we did nature a favor," Fred grinned, pulling a handful of colorful prototypes from his pocket.

“Besides," George added, shaking a small vial of something suspiciously fizzing, “we're professionals."

​​Cam snorted. “Professionals at what, exactly?"

Fred threw an arm around her shoulders. “Causing chaos in the most charming way possible."

“Okay, but let's start small, please," Cam said, stepping cautiously toward the abandoned house. She nudged an empty beer bottle with the toe of her shoe before picking up a few and setting them up on what remained of the splintering wooden fence. “Molly would kill me if one of you blew up," she added with a laugh, stepping back behind the twins and covering her ears.

Fred lobbed one of the fireworks at the bottles. They all waited. Nothing happened.

“Dud," he muttered as George scribbled something into a notebook, brows furrowed in concentration.

“You guys are taking this really seriously," Cam noted, lowering her hands from her ears.

“George wants to start selling them this year," Fred explained, tossing a new firework between his hands.

“That's actually such a good idea," Cam said, watching as George handed Fred another one.

“Surprised?" George asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, I'm impressed," she admitted. “You guys could open a shop or something after we finish school."

“That's the plan!" Fred grinned before tossing the firework.

This time, it went off before he could take more than a step back. A deafening boom ripped through the air, sending a shockwave through the ground. The explosion obliterated the fence and sent Fred flying backward, landing with a heavy thud in the tall grass.

“Fred!" Cam's heart nearly stopped as she sprinted toward him, dropping to her knees at his side. Her hands found his face, tilting it toward her as she searched for any sign of real injury. “Fred, are you okay?"

A low groan escaped him, and for a brief, terrifying second, she thought he was actually hurt—until his groan turned into laughter.

“You bastard!" Cam smacked his chest as he grinned up at her.

Fred tried to sit up, but she shoved him back down.

“Are you really going to hit me while I’m down?" he laughed.

“Yes!" she snapped, landing a solid punch to his arm.

“Oh, you are gonna pay for that," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Before she could react, he tackled her, flipping them over in the grass. Cam let out a breathless yelp as he pinned her wrists above her head, his weight pressing her into the earth. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and suddenly, the teasing fight came to a standstill.

The laughter between them softened into something else entirely—something warm and electric, crackling between them like a firework that had yet to go off.

“You’re such an ass,” she huffed, trying to glare at him, but the stupid grin on his face made it impossible to hold onto her anger.

Fred smirked, his grip on her wrists loosening just slightly. “Oh, come on, you should’ve seen your face. You looked ready to cry.”

“I was worried about you, you idiot,” she shot back, but her voice had softened.

He tilted his head, considering her, his fingers still wrapped loosely around her wrists. “Worried, huh?” His voice was lower now, teasing, but there was something else there too, something a little more serious.

Cam swallowed, suddenly all too aware of just how close they were. His weight was solid against her, the heat of his body seeping through her clothes. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes flickered from hers down to her lips, just for a second, before snapping back up.

“Well, are you gonna let go of me?” Cam asked, trying to diffuse the sudden tension crackling between them.

Fred, however, had other intentions. His grip on her wrists remained firm, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Only if you let go first,” he murmured, his voice low as he leaned in closer. His eyes swept over her face, trailing down the curve of her body, lingering just long enough to make her breath hitch.

Cam hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs. Slowly, she unhooked her legs from around his waist, the warmth of him still lingering even as she pulled away.

But Fred didn’t move. His hands remained around her wrists, thumbs brushing over her pulse points, his weight still pressing into her just enough to make her hyper-aware of every place their bodies touched. The tall grass around them provided a thin veil of privacy, rustling gently in the summer breeze, but Cam knew their moment was on borrowed time.

George would come looking for them any second.

“We should probably head back,” Fred said as he pushed himself up off the ground, brushing dirt from his hands.

Cam nodded but didn’t move right away. She stayed where she was, fingers gripping the grass beneath her, trying to steady herself—trying to push away the lingering heat from the moment they’d just shared.

Fred hesitated, watching her. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a small smile. She took a breath and pushed herself to her feet, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her hands trembled ever so slightly.

But he did. And he didn’t look away.

As Cam and the twins neared the Burrow, they spotted Ron and Ginny huddled near Arthur’s workshop, their ears pressed against the wooden door.

“What are you lot up to?” Cam asked, her voice light with curiosity.

A chorus of urgent shushes met her, Ron frantically waving them closer.

“Be quiet,” he whispered.

Fred quirked a brow. “What’s going on?”

“Bill and Charlie are in there with Mum and Dad,” Ginny murmured. “And they’re being all secretive.”

Intrigued, Cam pressed her ear to the door, but all she could make out were muffled voices. Frowning, she crept around the side of the workshop, scanning for another way to listen in. Her eyes landed on a half-open window. Smirking, she motioned for the others to follow.

They crouched beneath the window, holding their breath as they tuned into the conversation inside.

Molly’s voice was tight with worry. “I just don’t think it’s necessary to involve them in this, not yet.”

“They’re of age, Mum,” Bill argued. “You can’t keep this from them.”

“They have the right to know,” Charlie added.

“And what am I supposed to do about Ron and Ginny?” Molly shot back. “You expect me to just throw them into danger, too?”

Arthur sighed. “We can’t uproot them without warning, Molly. Moving them out of their home, keeping them in the dark—it’s not fair.”

The group was so focused on listening—straining to catch every word—that they barely noticed the rustling in the grass behind them. A garden gnome, sneaky and determined, scurried up to Ron and sank its sharp teeth into his ankle.

Ron let out a high-pitched, utterly unmanly yelp.

The conversation inside the workshop screeched to a halt.

Molly, Arthur, Bill, and Charlie had definitely heard that.

“Run!” Fred hissed, but it was too late.

The five of them scrambled to escape, but the back door of the workshop flung open before they could get far. Molly stood there, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.

“Kids!” she scolded. “Haven’t I taught you that it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

Cam, still breathless from trying to flee, wasn’t about to back down. “What are you keeping from us?” she demanded. “We have a right to know—whatever it is.”

Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if physically bracing herself. For a long moment, she didn’t answer. Then, finally, she exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Tell them.”

Charlie stepped forward. “There’s an Order,” he said, his voice steady. “A group of people who believe You-Know-Who is back. People who are ready to fight.” Charlie said.

Bill nodded, looking between them. “Ron and Ginny are too young to be official members,” he said, “but they're coming with us to headquarters—at least until we know if the Burrow is safe.”

Arthur sighed, his expression serious. “Now, Fred, George, Camryn—you don’t have to officially join,” he said. “You’re of age, and it’s your choice.”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation.

“I’m joining,” Cam said firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Us too,” the twins echoed in unison.

Molly closed her eyes for a moment, as if steeling herself, before giving a small nod. Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. There was no point. The decision had been made.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Cam carefully shifted in bed, slowly moving Fred’s arm off her without waking him. Her movements were painstakingly slow, every muscle tensed as she slipped free. Once she was certain he was still asleep, she exhaled softly and climbed out of bed.

Earlier that day, after learning about the Order, she had sent a letter to Saoirse and Maelys, instructing them to call the emergency Muggle payphone near the Weasleys’ house at exactly midnight. It was a system they had set up long ago for dire situations—when they needed instant communication or the topic was too sensitive for an owl. Owls could be intercepted, after all. And with Saoirse still underage, the Ministry was tracking her magical correspondence. If someone with access wanted to, they could read their letters.  And Maelys, living with the Hagartys, had to contend with their habit of snooping through her mail. No one ever bothered to track Muggle phone calls, though.

Cam grabbed her boots and tiptoed downstairs, snatching Fred’s jacket from the hook on her way out. As she stepped into the night, she cast Lumos, holding her wand in front of her to guide the way. The wind howled through the tall grass, rustling in eerie whispers, and distant owls hooted in the darkness. The Burrow’s protective barrier hummed almost imperceptibly as she passed through it, stepping onto the quiet road beyond.

The payphone stood alone, its metal frame glinting faintly under the glow of her wand. Then it rang.

She picked up immediately.

“I'm about to add Maelys to the call," Saoirse said on the other end.

Cam leaned against the cool metal of the payphone, glancing around to make sure she was alone as she listened to the faint clicking on the line. The wind whipped through the trees, rustling the leaves, and she pulled Fred’s jacket tighter around herself.

A second later, the static crackled, and Maelys’ voice joined the call. “Alright, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait for an owl?”

Cam exhaled, pressing the phone tighter against her ear. “There's an order, a group of people fighting against You-Know-Who—Dumbledore is leading it, and the Weasleys are involved. I’m leaving for headquarters soon.”

There was a beat of silence before Maelys spoke, “I know”

“You know?” Saoirse said, confusion laced in her voice.

“Snape told me,” Maelys admitted. “After the last task. Him and Dumbledore—they know about my visions.”

Cam straightened, gripping the phone tighter. “So, you’re joining then?” she asked. “Saoirse can’t yet, but you can.”

“No.” The certainty in Maelys’ voice landed like a slap.

“What do you mean, no?” Cam said sharply. “You were so worried about Harry all year, and now you’re just—what? Not going to do anything to protect him?”

“Camryn!” Saoirse snapped, tension thick in her voice.

“What are you so afraid of, Mae?” Cam demanded, frustration bubbling over.

“Keeping my visions secret from a packed house, for starters,” Maelys muttered. “Snape said it was dangerous. And that I wasn’t being forced to join.”

“Snape isn’t in charge of you!” Cam shot back. “His opinion doesn’t matter, and I don’t know why you even care what he thinks!”

“You just don’t get it,” Maelys snapped, anger finally seeping through her usually even tone. “He helped me with my visions this year—when all you did was tell me to keep it to myself!”

“That’s not what we meant, Mae,” Saoirse said, her voice softer now, but Maelys had already fallen silent.

On the other end of the line, Maelys let out a shaky breath. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Cedric is dead because of me.”

The guilt in her words was raw, unshakable.

Saoirse's voice came through the phone. “Cedric’s death had nothing to do with you!”

“Yeah, that's no excuse,” Cam said. 

“I’m not joining, and I’d appreciate it if you just dropped it," Maelys said, her voice cold and final.

“Fine," Cam snapped, her frustration spilling over. “I’ll drop it for now. But you’re making the wrong choice." And with that, she slammed the phone back onto the receiver, the metallic clang ringing through the empty night.

She turned on her heel and stormed back toward the Burrow, her fury burning so hot it made her chest tight. She didn’t bother casting Lumos again, she didn’t care that she was stumbling in the dark. Her anger was fuel enough to carry her forward. She could feel the sting of tears welling in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Fighting with Maelys always sucked, but this was worse. Because deep down, she got it. Of course Maelys didn’t want to join. She’d spent her entire life walking the edge of danger—why would she willingly throw herself into the fire? Cam understood, she really did. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

By the time she reached the Burrow, her heart was still hammering, and her emotions were still tangled and raw. She eased the door open carefully, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen—

“Where the hell have you been?"

Cam nearly jumped out of her skin. “Bloody hell, Fred!" she hissed, clutching her chest. “Why are you just standing there in the dark like some kind of creep?"

Fred didn’t laugh. His arms were crossed, jaw tense, eyes dark with something unreadable. “I woke up and you were gone," he said, voice low but sharp. “Your shoes were missing. My jacket, too."

Cam rolled her eyes, brushing past him. “I just stepped out for some air."

Fred caught her arm, turning her to face him. “For over an hour?" 

Her frustration flared again. “What are you freaking out about?" she deflected.

His expression softened, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. “We just found out this place isn’t safe," he said, quieter now. “We’re all at risk. You disappear into the night like that—what if something had happened?"

Her anger wavered, her breath catching in her throat. He was right. Everything around them was fucked, and there was no telling when the next attack could come. It wasn’t the time for reckless decisions or pointless arguments.

She exhaled, her voice gentler. “You were worried?"

Fred huffed, looking away like the question annoyed him. “Obviously."

Something inside her cracked. Maybe it was the weight of the night, maybe it was the way he looked at her, standing there in the dim glow of the kitchen—broad and warm and solid. Maybe it was just that she was tired of holding things in.

She reached up, cupping his jaw and pulling him down to her.

Their lips met—soft, tentative. Her breath hitched as he kissed her back, gentle and careful, like he thought this was a fragile thing. He pulled away after a few seconds, his eyes searching hers, mesmerized, unsure. Like he was waiting for her to decide what came next.

Cam didn’t need to think.

A fire had ignited deep in her chest, a hunger she hadn’t expected, hadn’t even known existed before now.

She surged forward, her fingers threading into his hair as she kissed him again—harder, hungrier. This time, there was no hesitation.

Fred made a low sound in the back of his throat, his hands gripping her waist as he hoisted her up onto the table in one swift motion. One hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt at her hip, the other cradled her jaw, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She let her hands roam down his chest, fingers curling into his belt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between them.

His breath hitched against her lips. He broke away just enough to press his mouth to her neck, nipping and kissing at her skin. Fred’s lips against her neck sent a shiver down her spine, and Cam tilted her head instinctively, giving him more room. His breath was hot against her skin, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t planned for it—but now that it was happening, she didn’t want it to stop.

Her hands moved on their own, sliding under his shirt, fingers splaying across the warm skin of his stomach. She felt him tense at the touch, then relax into it, exhaling a shaky breath against her throat.

“Cam," he murmured, voice rough.

She hummed in response, barely registering the way he was gripping her hip like he was trying to ground himself, trying not to lose control.

But then the sound of footsteps creaking on the stairs made them both freeze.

Fred pulled back immediately, his hands still resting on her hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Cam, still breathless, quickly wiped her lips with the back of her hand, like that would erase what had just happened between them.

The footsteps stopped, then continued down toward the bathroom.

Fred let out a breath of relief, then looked back at her, eyes dark, searching. His lips were red and a little swollen, and the way he was looking at her made her stomach flip.

“We should…” he started, but didn’t finish.

“Yeah,” Cam agreed, though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to—going to bed? Stopping this? Pretending it never happened?

Fred cupped her face, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he tilted her chin up, bringing her eyes to his. He leaned in again, pressing a few soft, lingering kisses to her lips, each one slower and more deliberate than the last. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm and steady.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cam’s heart stuttered in her chest. For the first time since they’d met, there was no second-guessing, no uncertainty—just the undeniable truth that they were finally on the same page about each other.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Cam slowly stirred, wrapped in Fred’s arms, her face so close to his that their noses brushed with the slightest movement. She blinked, her vision still blurry from sleep, and when her eyes met his, she found him already staring back at her.

“Morning,” Fred murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with the remnants of sleep. He reached up to brush a lock of her messy hair away from her face, his fingers gentle against her skin. Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed her—deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world.

Cam pulled back just enough to whisper, her voice tinged with uncertainty, “What about George?”

She craned her neck, glancing over her shoulder to find his bed empty. Fred followed her gaze and shrugged casually, his thumb trailing over her cheekbone as he gave her a small, playful grin.

“He’s downstairs,” Fred replied with a hint of amusement in his voice, his hand slipping to the back of her neck to gently pull her back toward him. Then, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he pulled the covers up over their heads, shielding them from the world outside.

But his grin deepened as he leaned closer, his lips grazing hers once more. “But if you’re so worried about getting caught…”

Before she could respond, he climbed on top of her, kissing her again with a sense of urgency that made her breath catch in her throat. The weight of his body on hers was comforting, familiar, and for the moment, it was all that mattered. 

“Get dressed,” Fred murmured, his lips brushing against hers in another quick, tender kiss. “The girls will be here any minute.”

Right. The girls had planned to spend the night here, before everything with Maelys had happened last night. Cam hadn’t told Fred about the phone call or the argument—she wanted to, but the moment just never seemed right. She wasn’t sure if the girls were still coming after everything.

With a sigh, Cam hopped out of bed, stretching before walking over to the dresser. She pulled out a simple white dress, still lost in her thoughts as she slipped off her shirt, not bothering to ask Fred to look away. There was no need for that anymore. His eyes never left her as she undressed, and she felt the heat in his gaze, the unspoken tension between them that had only grown stronger.

As she pulled the dress over her head, she heard him groan under his breath, “You’re killing me, Connolly.”

She gave him a teasing look over her shoulder, a slow smile curling on her lips. Turning around, she walked toward him, straddling him on the bed for a brief moment, leaning down to kiss him slowly, savoring the warmth of his lips against hers. She pulled away, her breath shallow, but the desire still burned in her chest.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” she said softly, before sliding off of him and walking out of the room, leaving him behind, his eyes following her with longing.

Saoirse and Maelys sat at the kitchen table, sipping their drinks and glancing at each other uneasily as Cam entered. The air between them felt a little thick with unspoken tension, unsure if Cam was still upset after their conversation the night before. But Cam wasn’t mad anymore. After everything that had happened between her and Fred, there wasn’t room for anger—just a strange sort of calm.

Without saying a word, she walked over to the two of them and pulled them into a tight hug, catching them off guard.

“I'm so happy you guys are here," she said, her voice soft but sincere. After a moment, she pulled back, her hands still on Maelys’ shoulders, and locked eyes with her. “I'm sorry, we can drop the subject. I’m just happy you’re here."

Maelys, still a little stunned at how quickly Cam's mood had shifted, blinked and hesitated before replying, “I’m happy too?” She looked over at Saoirse for confirmation, who was equally confused.

Cam let out a small laugh, her heart lighter than it had been the night before. She pulled them both back into another hug, holding them a little longer than before, her voice a whisper against their shoulders. “I love you guys.”

“I love you too…” Saoirse trailed off, her fingers grazing Cam's neck curiously. “What's that on your neck?"

Cam froze for a split second, her heart skipping a beat, before she instinctively fluffed her hair, trying to cover the large, very noticeable hickey that Fred had left just below her jaw. It was hard to miss, and she definitely wasn’t ready for them to notice.

“You guys ready?” Cam said, her excitement evident as she bounced on her toes, ready for the day ahead.

Maelys lifted her picnic basket with a grin. "What did you guys bring?" she asked, her voice full of anticipation.

Saoirse dug into her bag and pulled out a bottle of champagne, holding it up with a proud smile. “This is all I brought!” she said, as if it was the perfect contribution.

Fred, emerging from the stairs, dressed casually in jeans and a loose short-sleeve button-up shirt, shrugged. “We didn’t make anything,” he said, giving them a sheepish grin.

“Thank god for Maelys,” George chimed in from the doorway, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He looked over at Fred. “Because if it were up to you, we’d all be starving.”

Fred shot him a playful glare. “Hey, I’ve got other skills,” he said, but everyone could tell that today wasn’t the time for arguing about food contributions. The group was too excited for their picnic to let something as trivial as the lack of snacks get in the way.

The five of them made their way through the overgrown field. The tall grass brushed against Cam’s bare legs as she walked, the earth warm beneath her toes. The breeze wove through her hair, carrying the scent of summer—wildflowers, fresh-cut hay, and something crisp and clean from the nearby water.

Maelys carried her basket full of snacks and sandwiches, her steps light and easy as she chatted with George. Saoirse walked a few paces ahead, humming under her breath as she twirled a blade of grass between her fingers.

Cam adjusted the hem of her white babydoll dress, the fabric swaying around her thighs as she glanced back over her shoulder. Fred followed a few steps behind, a few folded blankets draped over his arms, but it wasn’t the blankets that had his attention—it was her. His eyes lingered, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a lazy grin.

She smiled back, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, but also something else—something warmer, deeper, settling low in her stomach.

They spread the blankets across the sun-warmed grass, Maelys carefully unpacking the basket while George immediately dove in for a sandwich. 

Saoirse pulled the bottle of champagne from her bag, examining it with mild regret. “We should’ve grabbed glasses,” she noted.

“Glasses are overrated,” Cam said with a grin, snatching the bottle from her hands. She popped the cork with a satisfying pop, took a long swig, and passed it back to Saoirse before leaning back on her hands, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Well, alright then,” Saoirse said, laughing as she took a sip straight from the bottle.

George let out a dramatic moan, eyes closing in exaggerated bliss as he bit into another sandwich. “These are so fucking good, Mae,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“Thank you very much, George,” Maelys said proudly.

Fred leaned back beside Cam, mirroring her posture, but letting his arm rest just close enough that their pinkies brushed. Without thinking, he curled his little finger around hers—holding hands without really holding hands. They still hadn’t talked about it, about what this was or whether they were going to tell anyone. So for now, Fred kept it subtle, a quiet touch, a small tether between them.

Cam glanced down at their intertwined pinkies, then up at him. She didn’t say anything, but the corners of her lips curled up just slightly, and Fred took that as a good sign.

“So, what did you two get up to last night?” George asked, still chewing obnoxiously on his sandwich.

Cam and Fred froze for a fraction of a second before quickly unlinking their pinkies.

“Ooooo,” Maelys hummed, eyes narrowing.

“George, spill,” Saoirse demanded, already grinning.

“You girls are addicted to gossip,” George said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I got up to take a piss last night, and neither of them were in Fred’s bed. But when I got back, boom, there they were, sound asleep.”

Cam forced a casual shrug. “You must’ve hallucinated then.”

“No, I think he’s onto something,” Maelys said, her smirk growing.

“Nope. I was asleep all night,” Cam said quickly, shooting Maelys and Saoirse a look that practically screamed, drop it. Sure, she had been making out with Fred last night, but she had also been gone for over an hour having a secret covert phone call with the two of them, discussing secret covert information—information that Maelys definitely didn’t want the twins to know.

Saoirse caught on immediately. “Oh,” she said, a little too obviously, before taking another swig of champagne.

Maelys hesitated for a second but then nodded. “Yeah, you’ve gotta lay off the butterbeer, Georgie. It’s making you loopy.”

George threw his hands up. “When did this conversation turn into me being crazy?”

Fred clapped a hand on his twin’s back. “Happens to the best of us, mate.”

The girls giggled, and Cam caught Fred’s eye for a brief moment. He smirked at her, his expression teasing and knowing.

“Are we just gonna sit here all day calling George crazy, or are we actually going to do something fun?” Cam asked, stretching her arms over her head.

“Are you saying this isn’t fun?” Saoirse challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, this is great,” Cam said dramatically. “The sandwiches, the cheeses—oh, Maelys, the cheeses.” She put her fingers together and kissed them like a caricatured Italian chef.

Maelys rolled her eyes, but Saoirse laughed. “Glad my hard work is appreciated,” Maelys said dryly.

“But,” Cam continued, pointing at the half-full bottle of champagne, “we do have an entire bottle to finish, and I feel like we could take this to the next level.”

Suddenly, Fred shot to his feet. “Georgie,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Freddie,” George responded, standing up as well.

“Are we thinking the same thing?” Fred asked.

“I believe we are.”

“What the hell are you two on about?” Cam asked as Fred reached down to help her up, George doing the same for Maelys and Saoirse.

“We’re going to finish off this bottle,” George announced, plucking it from the blanket, “and then we’re going to show you girls our favorite game.”

Cam grabbed the bottle from his hand, taking a deep swig before passing it to Maelys. “Alright, I’ll bite—what’s the game?”

“Sardines,” the twins said in perfect unison.

Saoirse took a drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What the hell is Sardines?”

“One person hides,” Fred explained.

“The rest of us seek,” George continued.

“But when you find them, you don’t call them out,” Fred added. “You hide with them.”

“Last person to find the group loses,” George finished with a grin.

George suddenly pointed at Cam. “You’re hiding first, Connolly.”

She scoffed. “Why me?”

“Because I said so.”

Fred grinned. “You’ve got the whole field and the woods, just don’t go too far past the old houses.”

“You’ve got five minutes—run!” George shouted.

“Oh, fuck,” Cam gasped, grabbing the champagne for one last swig before laughing and taking off at a sprint.

The cool earth smacked against her bare feet as she bolted through the field, tall grass whipping at her legs, stinging where it cut against her skin. She winced but didn’t slow down—she needed to reach the woods, find the perfect hiding spot before the five minutes were up.

The further she ran, the dizzier she felt—the champagne bubbling in her bloodstream, making her head light and her steps unsteady. She giggled, nearly tripping as she tried to correct her balance, but the off-kilter feeling only made the game more exciting.

As she left the open field and entered the woods, she did her best to dodge trees and leap over rocks, though she winced every time she stepped on a stray branch. She wished she had worn shoes, but it was too late for regrets now.

Pushing forward, she spotted one of the abandoned houses in the distance. A perfect hiding place.

She made a beeline for it, her breath coming in short, exhilarated gasps. The house was crumbling, vines creeping up the wooden slats, but she knew exactly where she was going. Toward the back, a section of the wall had rotted away, leaving just enough space for her to squeeze through. It was narrow—probably wouldn’t fit all of them—but that was the point. She wasn’t planning on being found.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the gap, pressing herself into the shadows, heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Cam had been squeezed in the small space for nearly ten minutes, her body pressed against the cool, crumbling wood, before she heard the first sign of movement.

The floorboards groaned under careful steps. Someone was inside.

Her pulse quickened as she instinctively clasped a hand over her mouth, trying to steady her breathing. She knew it had to be one of them—Fred, George, Maelys, or Saoirse. But a sliver of unease crept in anyway. What if it wasn’t? What if some stranger had wandered into the house? After what Fred said to her last night about this place not being safe anymore. The thought sent a cold prickle down her spine.

Then, suddenly—

Fred’s head popped into the crawl space.

She let out a startled squeal, and before she could react further, he clapped a hand over her mouth, stepping in and pressing her up against the wall. His back met the opposite side of the narrow space, their bodies almost completely flush together.

“George is nearby,” he whispered, slowly peeling his hand away.

His forearm rested on the wall beside her head, caging her in. Their faces were close, breaths mingling in the sliver of space between them.

“Did you have to pick the smallest hiding spot known to man?” he murmured.

“I was hoping no one would find me—"

Fred's hand was over her mouth again before she could finish.

“Would you stop that?" she whispered, voice muffled against his palm.

“Only if you stay quiet," he murmured, a teasing lilt in his tone.

“You are taking this way too seriously," she huffed.

He smirked. “Are you saying you’re not enjoying our current predicament?” His voice was low, teasing, as his fingers traced the soft skin of her thigh.

“I never said that,” she admitted, her breath catching.

His touch was barely there, featherlight, but it sent a ripple through her. He toyed with the hem of her dress, lifting it just slightly, fingertips grazing higher with deliberate slowness. “This dress is really something.”

A shaky breath escaped her lips. “You don’t think it’s too short?” she teased.

“Do you hear me complaining?” he murmured, his smirk deepening as he leaned in and crashed his mouth against hers. The kiss was hungry, aggressive, and she melted into it, parting her lips to let his tongue slip inside. His arm remained caging her in, keeping her pressed between him and the wall.

The hand that had been playing with her dress lifted further, slipping beneath the fabric. His fingers brushed against the thin fabric of her underwear, applying gentle but deliberate pressure. He moved in slow, torturous circles, drawing a muffled moan from her lips as she pressed herself closer to him.

The sound of her moaning sent a shiver down his spine, igniting something deeper, hungrier. He kissed her harder, needier, his grip tightening on her waist when suddenly—

A loud creak echoed through the house.

They broke apart instinctively, both jerking backward, only to hit the walls enclosing them. The narrow space left no room to escape, leaving them breathless and flustered, their chests rising and falling in sync.

The sound of approaching footsteps made Cam’s stomach drop.

And then—

Saoirse’s head popped into the crawl space, eyes flicking between them before she smirked.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled. “What do we have here?”

Cam’s eyes flicked between Saoirse and Fred, flustered and unsure what to say.

Fred, however, was much faster on his feet. “Cam’s sore excuse for a hiding spot,” he said smoothly. “How the hell did you expect us all to fit in here?”

“This would be a great spot for normal hide-and-seek,” Cam defended, quickly regaining her composure.

“I found you in less than ten minutes, Connolly. This spot is terrible,” he shot back, giving her a look that Saoirse couldn't see.

Cam felt butterflies grow in her core, as much as she wanted to eventually tell Saoirse and Maelys but the whole sneaking around thing was really hot.

Saoirse squeezed into the crawl space as best she could, but half of her body was still sticking out. So when Maelys wandered into the house a few moments later, there was no use hiding.

George was the last to find them, which infuriated him in the most dramatic way possible. He swore they had cheated and spent the next few rounds making a very big deal about it.

They kept playing until the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the field in a golden glow. But no matter how much fun they had, Fred and Cam never got another moment alone much to their disappointment. 

As the five of them walked back to the house, Cam and Fred lagged behind, letting the others take the lead. Their hands brushed together, fingers grazing in quiet anticipation before finally intertwining when they were sure no one was looking.

Every few steps, one of them would glance ahead, checking for any suspicious turns of the head. The moment they thought someone might look back, they quickly pulled apart, feigning innocence. It became a silent game between them—stolen touches, fleeting glances, a hidden world just for the two of them.

Fred smirked, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. Cam bit back a grin, squeezing his hand once before slipping hers free again, just in case.