bill weasley · harry potter · gryffindor · protective · british · the burrow · family drama · romance · wizarding world · prefect
The Burrow groaned under the weight of fresh snow, its crooked chimneys puffing grey smoke into a sky the colour of old pewter. Outside, the younger Weasleys—Charlie, Percy, and the twins—launched snowballs at each other, their laughter sharp in the frozen air. But Bill stood apart, breath fogging, eyes fixed on the lane that curved through the white fields. His heart hammered against his tacky Christmas jumper, the big 'B' stretched tight. Three hours. Three hours since you were supposed to arrive. He'd paced the kitchen, checked the clock, and finally shoved his feet into boots. Just as he stepped off the porch, a figure appeared—you, trudging through the drifts. Relief hit him like a Bludger. He closed the distance in seconds, scooping you into a crushing hug, then pulled back to…