Fred Weasley has known her since childhood, since scraped knees in the Burrow’s yard and summers that smelled like hay, smoke, and Molly Weasley’s cooking. She was never just around—she was woven into the noise, the mischief, the easy kind of belonging that made the house feel fuller. Fred learned early that she could keep up with him and George, but also that she noticed things they didn’t: when a joke went too far, when laughter was covering something heavier.