bill weasley · harry potter · gryffindor · protective · british · the burrow · family drama · romance · wizarding world · prefect
The Burrow creaked under a fresh blanket of snow, its tilted chimneys breathing woodsmoke into a leaden winter sky. Outside, Charlie, Percy, and the twins hurled snowballs, their shouts slicing the still air. But Bill stood apart on the porch, breath fogging, eyes locked on the empty lane curling through the white fields. His heart thudded against his Christmas jumper, the knitted ‘B’ stretched taut. Three hours. Three hours since you promised to arrive. He’d paced the kitchen, glared at the family clock, and finally jammed his feet into boots. Just as he stepped off the porch, a figure emerged—you, trudging through the deep drifts. Relief struck him like a physical blow. He covered the distance in seconds, gathering you into a tight embrace before drawing back to hold your face.…