Brooklyn woke up to the feeling of soft sheets and the scent of something warm and homey drifting through the air. For a moment, she didn't move.

The bed beneath her was far too comfortable. The air around her wasn't tense, wasn't charged with the ever-present fear she'd grown used to.

Then, as her eyes fluttered open, she saw it.

Ginny's room.

The walls weren't bare like the cold, unforgiving space she'd been locked in for weeks. Instead, her things had been unpacked. Her trunk sat neatly in the corner, and her beloved Quidditch posters were pinned to the walls—her Holyhead Harpies one front and center, fluttering slightly as if the players were waiting for her to wake up.

Her broomstick leaned against the wall by the window, gleaming in the morning light. It looked like home. Like it belonged to her.

She was safe.

The thought almost didn't feel real.

Brooklyn slowly pushed herself up, her body still sore but nothing compared to before. She was still processing everything when the door suddenly burst open.

"Finally!"

Before she could react, two identical blurs barreled into the room.

Fred and George flung themselves onto the bed, nearly crushing her in the process. They plopped down next to her, signficantly taller then the last time she had seen them, finally hitting that growth spurt Fred insisted was coming.

"She lives!" George announced dramatically, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"More importantly, she's here!" Fred grinned. "And you're never going back to those miserable old bastards again."

Brooklyn blinked, still trying to catch up.

"What—" her voice came out hoarse, and she cleared her throat. "What happened?"

Fred and George exchanged a look, then practically vibrated with excitement.

"Our parents got custody this morning," George said, practically bouncing on the mattress. "Like officially—you're a Weasley now, Brooklyn."

Brooklyn's lips parted in shock. "I—I am?"

Fred nodded. "Dad left right after they got the ruling to bring you home. Which is why when he got there and found you—" his voice darkened slightly, "well, let's just say Moody and Kingsley were not pleased."

Brooklyn swallowed hard. She remembered the last thing that had happened before she blacked out—Arthur's horrified face, the anger in Kingsley's voice, the sheer relief of knowing she was being taken away.

She shivered, and George immediately squeezed her tighter.

"None of that matters anymore," he told her, voice softer now. "You're safe. You're here. And you're never going back there again."

Brooklyn exhaled slowly, letting the words sink in.

She was safe. She was at the Burrow. And she wasn't going back.

For the first time in her life, she was free.

That summer was unlike anything Brooklyn had ever experienced.

For the first time in her life, she felt free.

No walking on eggshells. No flinching at every loud noise. No fear. Just days filled with warmth, laughter, and pure, unfiltered chaos.

The twins made sure of that.

If they weren't out on their brooms playing Quidditch in the fields behind the Burrow, they were testing out joke products (sometimes on an unsuspecting Ron, which usually ended in him chasing them around the house). They spent hours perfecting tricks and plays, with Brooklyn and Fred always trying to one-up each other while George pretended to be the unbiased referee.

Ginny had been eager to learn from them, and Brooklyn took it upon herself to teach her everything she knew. By the end of the summer, Ginny was pulling off passes and shots that would make any seasoned Chaser proud.

"She's gonna be better than all of us," George had said one evening as they lay sprawled in the grass, watching the sky fade into twilight.

Brooklyn grinned. "Give her a few years, and Wood's gonna be begging her to join the team."

Ron, meanwhile, was having a much less enjoyable summer.

"Still no letter?" Brooklyn asked one afternoon as he stomped into the living room, looking particularly grumpy.

"No!" he groaned, flopping onto the couch. "Harry hasn't written once! Not to me or Hermione! What if something happened?!"

Fred snorted. "Mate, maybe he just forgot to send a letter."

"Harry wouldn't forget!" Ron argued. "Something's wrong, I know it!"

Brooklyn exchanged an amused look with George.

"Well, if he's being held hostage or something, I'm sure he'll send us a distress signal soon," she teased.

Ron just groaned and covered his face with a pillow.

The days blurred together in a haze of sunlit afternoons, late-night storytelling, and stolen sweets from the kitchen.

For Brooklyn, it was the happiest she had ever been.

The Burrow was quiet that evening, the warm summer air filtering through the open windows. Brooklyn was sitting on the couch with Fred and George, lazily tossing a Quaffle back and forth, when Ron burst into the room looking pale and anxious.

"I think something's really wrong with Harry," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting their mother to appear out of nowhere.

Fred caught the Quaffle and leaned forward. "You've been saying that all summer, Ron."

"Yeah, but this time I know it," Ron insisted. "I borrowed Errol to send another letter, and he still hasn't written back! It's not like him. Something is stopping him."

Brooklyn exchanged a look with the twins. She had been worried too, but hearing the panic in Ron's voice made it real.

George frowned. "So what do you wanna do? Storm the Dursleys' house and drag him out?"

"Yes!" Ron said immediately. "But—I don't know how we'd even get there—"

Brooklyn sat up suddenly, an idea forming in her mind. "The car."

The twins looked at her in confusion.

Ron blinked. "What?"

"The car," she repeated, standing up now. "Arthur's flying car. We can take it to Privet Drive, get Harry, and fly back before anyone notices."

Fred's face lit up. "Brooklyn, I could kiss you."

"Not now, Fred."

George grinned. "You do realize we have no idea how to drive that thing?"

Brooklyn smirked. "Maybe you don't."

The twins stared at her.

"You know how to drive?" Ron asked incredulously.

She shrugged. "Spent summers sneaking out and stealing my dad old broomstick. Got bored. Taught myself to drive my mum's old car too."

Fred let out a low whistle. "Merlin, Brooklyn, you just keep getting better and better."

"So are we doing this or what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ron nodded eagerly. "Absolutely."

George grinned. "You had me at 'stealing the car.'"

Sneaking out was surprisingly easy. They tiptoed down the stairs, past the sleeping forms of their parents, and out into the yard. There, sitting hidden under a tarp, was the enchanted Ford Anglia.

Fred and George immediately went to work on unlocking it, whispering excitedly to each other as they tinkered with the locks. Brooklyn leaned against the hood, arms crossed.

"You do realize I could've done that in five seconds with the key, right?"

Fred smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Finally, the car door clicked open, and they all scrambled inside. Brooklyn took the driver's seat, Fred beside her, while Ron and George squeezed into the back.

Brooklyn took a deep breath, grinning as she ran her hands over the controls. "Alright, boys. Hold on tight."

She pressed the ignition, and the engine roared to life. The car trembled before lifting smoothly off the ground.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, pressing his face to the window as the Burrow grew smaller below them.

"See? Nothing to it," Brooklyn said smugly, steering them higher.

Fred clapped her on the shoulder. "Brooklyn, you are officially my favorite person."

She smirked. "I know."

They hovered outside Harry's window in the early hours of the morning, the street below dark and silent.

Ron pressed his face against the glass. "There he is!"

Harry was lying on his bed, looking absolutely miserable. Brooklyn leaned out the car window and knocked on the glass lightly, making him jump. His eyes widened as he saw them in the floating car.

"Come on!" Ron hissed, motioning for him to open the window.

Harry scrambled up and threw it open. "What—how—what are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, obviously," George said cheerfully.

Harry looked over his shoulder, then back at them. "I—I'm locked in. The bars on my window don't move!"

Brooklyn narrowed her eyes. "Bars? What, are they keeping you prisoner?"

"Basically," Harry muttered.

"Right," Fred said, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's fix that."

Fred and George worked quickly, tying a rope around the bars and securing it to the car. Brooklyn revved the engine.

"Hold on," she warned before stepping on the gas.

With a loud CRACK, the bars wrenched free from the wall, tumbling to the ground below.

"Oops," George muttered, peering down. "That was loud."

Harry scrambled to grab his trunk while Ron helped pull him into the car.

"Wait, Hedwig—" Harry gasped, reaching for her cage.

"Got her!" Fred announced, grabbing it just in time and hauling it inside.

Just as Brooklyn shifted the car into gear, a furious voice bellowed from inside the house.

"BOY!"

Harry paled. "Drive! Now!"

Brooklyn didn't hesitate. She hit the gas, and the car shot forward into the night, leaving a red-faced Vernon Dursley yelling after them.

They soared higher, the rooftops shrinking below them.

Harry let out a breathless laugh. "I can't believe you guys came to get me."

"Of course we did," Ron said. "We were worried sick!"

Harry looked at Brooklyn. "And you drove?"

She smirked. "You sound surprised."

Fred threw an arm around her. "Our Brooklyn is full of surprises."

Harry grinned as he settled into the seat, finally free. "Best rescue ever."

The flight back was smooth—until they got close to the Burrow.

As Brooklyn brought the car down over the orchard, she noticed the lights were on inside the house. Her stomach twisted.

"Uh, guys?" she muttered.

Ron groaned. "Oh no."

"Think we can sneak in?" Harry asked hopefully.

Fred let out a hollow laugh. "Oh, mate. You have no idea what we're walking into."

Brooklyn landed the car as gently as possible, but before anyone could get out—

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Molly Weasley's voice rang out through the night like a Howler come to life.

They all froze. Brooklyn swallowed hard and turned to Fred. "You sure we can't just run for it?"

"Not a chance," he whispered.

The car doors creaked open, and they stepped out hesitantly. Mrs. Weasley stood at the door in her robe, her arms crossed, face livid.

"You—" she jabbed a finger at Fred, George, and Ron. "—stole the car! In the middle of the night!"

She turned to Brooklyn and Harry, her eyes flashing. "You two—why did you go along with this madness?"

Brooklyn opened her mouth to answer, but Molly steamrolled over her.

"Flying halfway across the country—rescuing people in the dead of night—" She threw her hands up. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"

Brooklyn winced. "To be fair—"

"Not one word, young lady!"

Brooklyn immediately shut up.

Ron, meanwhile, had made the mistake of saying, "But Mum—"

"DON'T YOU DARE 'BUT MUM' ME, RONALD WEASLEY!"

All four of them flinched.

Brooklyn had faced her share of terrifying situations, but a furious Molly Weasley? That was a whole new level.

"I should send all of you to bed without supper for a week!" Molly continued, voice rising. "But no, you'll be de-gnoming the garden first thing after breakfast! And don't think you'll get away with sitting around doing nothing for the rest of the summer!"

Brooklyn risked a glance at Fred and George, who both looked like they were struggling not to laugh. They'd clearly been on the receiving end of this kind of scolding before.

"And you—" Molly turned on Harry, her face softening slightly. "Are you alright, dear?"

Harry, who had been standing stiffly the whole time, blinked. "Uh… yeah?"

Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Come inside, all of you. And quietly! Your father is still at work, and I'd rather not wake Ginny."

They trudged inside, heads bowed.

Fred leaned over and whispered to Brooklyn, "Worth it?"

Brooklyn smirked. "Absolutely."

Once inside, Molly went back to the stove, frying eggs with a pointed expression of barely restrained annoyance, while Fred, George, and Ron sat at the table, looking far too pleased with themselves for a group that had been screamed at just minutes before Harry sat awkwardly next to Ron, trying not to make eye contact with Mrs. Weasley, who kept muttering under her breath about "flying cars" and "irresponsible boys." Percy joined them, not seeming surprised at all by Harry's presence.

Brooklyn slid into a seat between Fred and George, who wordlessly passed her a plate of toast.

Then, footsteps sounded from the stairs, and Ginny appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes landed on Harry.

She went scarlet, let out a small squeak of horror, and turned on her heel, bolting straight back upstairs.

Brooklyn blinked. "What was that?"

Fred grinned, elbowing Harry. "Looks like someone's got a fan."

Harry turned redder than Ginny. "What? No, she—"

"Poor Ginny," George added with a dramatic sigh. "She's been talking about you all summer."

"Shut up," Ron muttered.

Before Brooklyn could add her own teasing, the kitchen door swung open and in walked Percy, looking as stiff and self-important as ever. He sat down at the table, straightening his robes and carefully adjusting his Prefect badge.

"Morning, all," he said in a clipped tone. "I trust you ruffians didn't wake the entire house last night with your nonsense?"

"Good morning to you too, Perce," Brooklyn said dryly.

"How's the cauldron-bottom report coming?" Fred asked, feigning interest.

Percy shot him a glare. "I'll have you know, father and I have been quite busy—"

"Speaking of Father," George cut in, perking up as heavy footsteps sounded from outside the kitchen.

The door swung open, and in walked Arthur Weasley, looking tired but cheerful. "Morning, all!" He kissed Molly on the cheek before plopping down at the table. "You wouldn't believe the night I had! Two raids, Molly! We found an illegal collection of enchanted Muggle artifacts—someone had bewitched a toaster to attack the user! Absolutely fascinating work."

"That's nice, dear," Molly said curtly, slamming a plate of eggs down in front of him. "Did you hear what your sons got up to last night?"

Arthur blinked, looking around. "What did you do?"

"They stole the car, Arthur," Molly said through gritted teeth. "And flew it to Surrey!"

Arthur's jaw dropped. He turned to Fred, George, Brooklyn, and Ron, looking thoroughly impressed.

"Really?"

Molly let out an indignant huff, her wooden spoon clattering against the pan. "Arthur!"

Arthur coughed, trying to compose himself. "I mean—very wrong, indeed. You could have been seen!"

"We were careful," Ron insisted.

Arthur nodded, looking thoughtful. "Hmm… what was the ride like?"

"Arthur!" Molly screeched.

Brooklyn, Fred, and George bit their lips to keep from laughing as Molly shot her husband a murderous glare.

Before the scolding could continue, Arthur suddenly seemed to notice the extra presence at the table. He squinted at Harry. "Hang on—who are you?"

"Er—Harry, sir. Harry Potter."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Good lord— are you really?" He chuckled and shook Harry's hand, still looking pleased. "Well, this is a treat! Tell me, Harry, you live with muggles, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?"

Brooklyn groaned, dropping her forehead onto the table. "Oh, no. Don't drill him about that."

"Brooklyn, dear," Molly interjected, "you don't get to act above this—you also helped steal the car!"

"She drove the car," Fred corrected with a grin.

Molly looked like she might start throwing dishes, but before she could, a flurry of owls swooped into the kitchen, dropping letters onto their plates.

"School letters!" Ron announced, quickly tearing his open.

Brooklyn grabbed hers, heart racing. She hadn't been sure if her transfer to the Weasleys would affect anything, but there it was:

Miss Brooklyn McLair
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole

She exhaled, relieved.

Fred let out a groan as he scanned his book list. "Oh, brilliant. Look at this load of rubbish!"

Brooklyn glanced down and instantly winced. Nearly all the books were written by one name:

Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Oh, no," she muttered.

"Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Some pompous fraud," Fred said, making a gagging motion. "Mum's obsessed with him."

"I am not obsessed!" Molly said hotly. "Gilderoy Lockhart is a highly respected wizard and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"

Brooklyn and George exchanged a look.

This year was going to be interesting.