Percy sat still and silent as Dad's footsteps climbed the stairs. Mum had not been out of her room all evening, and Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and Ron had gone upstairs over an hour ago, leaving Charlie, Percy, and George waiting for Dad to give up so they could implement their plan. Percy had been starting to suspect he was winding them up, as "a quick scan" of the paper had turned into a cover-to-cover perusal, followed by a book he'd been given for Christmas three years before, picked up to pass the time before the nightly news on the wireless. Dad never listened to the news on the wireless. The footsteps stopped, followed by a distinct click.

"That's it, let's go," Charlie said, standing up. "George, you get Ron. Percy, the Firewhisky. I'll Floo-call Bill."

The brothers scattered as ordered and five minutes later were standing in the grass outside the back door, waiting for George and Ron.

"What's taking so long?" Bill demanded.

"Maybe he's off somewhere with Hermione," Charlie said.

"You didn't think to check that before I came over here?"

"What were we supposed to do, go through the house room by room?" Percy said.

"You've never heard of homenum revelio?"

"That just tells you the number of people present, not who is present. It could just as easily be Ginny and Harry off somewhere if the count is two people short," Percy retorted. "Or Ginny and Hermione, or Ron and—"

"I get your point, Perce, you don't have to beat me over the head with it."

The back door opened and Ron appeared, but he turned round while he was still on the steps.

"I knew Hermione wasn't out here, you git—"

"Just get outside, Ron. We're not pranking you, I swear," George said impatiently, giving him a shove.

Ron looked around at all his brothers, lingering on Percy, who had placed both hands conspicuously behind his back. "What's this about, then?"

"You're seventeen—" Bill began.

"Eighteen," Ron and Percy said together, and Ron looked at Percy in mild surprise.

"The point is, you're of age," Charlie said, "and there's this little ritual we didn't get to carry out last summer."

Ron actually took a step back. "What little ritual?"

Percy brought his hands forward, revealing the Firewhisky and five glasses. Ron looked relieved but still confused.

"We're going to have a drink in the garden? What's wrong with the kitchen? With, you know, chairs? And biscuits?"

"Oh!" George ducked inside the house.

"No, not there—" Bill disappeared. "Up here!"

"What?" Ron craned his neck to see Bill grinning down from the first floor roof.

"Don't miss it," Percy said, and turned on the spot.

George was already there with the biscuit tin open in his lap.

Ron Apparated up a moment later, staggering a couple steps on the pitched roof before recovering his balance.

"Well, you did better than Fred," George said matter-of-factly. "He landed in the chimney."

"And you're the idiot who tried to summon him out of it," Percy said, helping himself to a handful of biscuits before levitating the shot glasses in a row and beginning to pour. "Mmm, these are good. How did a whole tin of Mum's biscuits go uneaten for a week?"

"They're not Mum's," Ron said. "Ginny made them today."

"Ginny burns everything she bakes."

"No, Ginny burns everything she cooks," Bill said. "She's been a decent baker for a couple of Christmases, at least."

Of course. She'd only been thirteen the last time Percy had seen her bake anything. When would he stop being surprised by his youngest brother and sister?

"So," Bill said, holding his glass aloft. "We missed your seventeenth birthday, Ron—"

George snorted. "Ron nearly missed his seventeenth birthday."

Ron, Bill, and Charlie laughed.

Percy looked round the group. "What? What did I miss?" He cringed at his poor choice of words and hoped it wasn't visible in the darkness.

"I, er, got served a drink that was intended for someone else. It was poisoned."

"Harry shoved a bezoar down his throat and saved the day," Bill said, glass still raised to toast.

"What, he just happened to have a bezoar with him?"

"We were in the potions master's room. Harry knew he had one because he'd given it to him in class a few weeks before, when we were studying antidotes."

"Why were you in the potions master's room?" Percy asked.

Bill let his arm drop with a sigh, but Percy hadn't heard anything about Ron being poisoned.

How many other near misses had he never heard about?

" 'Cause somebody gave Ronnie a loooove potion," George leered. His shot had already disappeared and been refilled.

"She did not! It was Harry's, not mine. And I didn't know it was love potion, did I?"

"I certainly hope you weren't desperate enough to knowingly take a love potion," Charlie said, drinking the shot intended for the toast.

Percy did the same. "Who was it, Ginny?"

Ron scoffed and downed his own. "Unfortunately, she has no need of it," he said. "Harry would follow her around, anyway."

"You're one to talk," Bill said.

"So are you!" Percy, Charlie, and George said together, and were flipped off for their trouble.

"Look, are we going to toast Ron's seventeenth birthday, or what?"

"Or what," George said, eating another biscuit.

"I'm eighteen!" Ron insisted.

"Just drink it already," Percy said.

"Oh, for—" Bill downed the shot and held out his glass for a refill.

Percy filled the glass to the brim, forcing Bill to sip it delicately in order not to spill it, and returned his dark look with a smirk.

"What did you do for your eighteenth, Ron?" Percy said, pouring all around.

"Dunno."

"There must have been something," Charlie said.

Ron shrugged. "Fleur made me a cake. We didn't find out it was my birthday until weeks later, when we— when we arrived at Shell Cottage. As far as what we were doing on the actual day, who knows? Even Hermione lost track of the days."

"You and Hermione Granger," Bill said, leaning back and stretching out. "Called that one, didn't we?" He and Charlie high-fived.

"I beg your pardon," Percy said indignantly. "That was ages after the Gryffindor betting pool started."

"What Gryffindor betting pool?"

"The one that started up—must have been during your third year," George said. "Everyone agreed you two would get together. The only question was how soon and for how long." He stared thoughtfully at Ron. "I suppose I have bets to pay."

"You did take your sweet time about it," Charlie said.

"Lavender," George coughed, and Ron scowled.

"How long has it been?" Charlie said.

"Six days."

Charlie choked on his Firewhisky. "Bloody hell, Ron—the night of the Battle?"

Ron frowned. "Wait, maybe it was before midnight … yeah. Yeah, it was. Seven days, then."

"It's been a hell of a lot longer than seven days," Bill said with a pointed look, which Ron ignored.

"I thought you two had been together all year," Percy said, wondering what Bill had observed while Ron and Hermione were at Shell Cottage.

"We're always together all year," Ron said easily.

"No, I meant … you know."

Ron turned serious. "In a way," he said, tracing the rim of his glass with his thumb. "In a way, it started at the end of last year, but … well, we needed to help Harry."

Percy considered this, the obvious display of maturity Ron showed in putting his wants aside for a friend's needs, but George scoffed.

"What, you couldn't hunt Voldy by day and shag by night?"

Ron shoved him in the shoulder. "It was complicated." He stared into his glass. "It's still complicated."

"It's always complicated," Bill said.

"Great," Ron muttered, and tossed back his drink.

"You said sixth year, didn't you, Perce?" George asked.

"I did," he confirmed, pouring Ron's refill. "But only once it was defined that seventh year started on September first. I thought it would be the summer after. Last summer."

Percy took some satisfaction in Ron's gobsmacked expression. He knew his youngest brother better than Ron thought.

"It nearly was," Ron said in amazement. "If it hadn't been for—"

"Lavender," George coughed again.

"Shut up, git, we were long over by then," Ron said. "How did you know?"

"What, that you fancied her?" Percy laughed. "Pick something, Ron."

"The acromantulas," George said with exaggerated solemnity. "To do that for a girl…. I knew you had to be serious about her."

"I was thirteen!"

"You're terrified of the little spiders that live in the corner of your room," George retorted.

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?"

"Not mine," George said in a sing-song voice.

Fred's memory hovered amongst them like a palpable presence.

"You liked Hermione more than you were afraid of spiders, and that's a hell of a lot," George said finally. "That's all I'm saying."

"That's right," Charlie said, sitting up and leaning forward to refill his glass. "She was Petrified, wasn't she? And you and Harry went into the Forbidden Forest because—why, again?"

Ron had told this story five years ago, when they had been in Egypt and Bill finally confronted them about what happened to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets.

Another one of Percy's spectacular failures with his family.

"Because Hagrid told us if we wanted to know anything, we should follow the spiders." Ron rolled his eyes. "Quite possibly the worst advice I've ever received in my entire life."

"I don't know, I think I'm with Bill on this one," Percy said, fishing around in the nearly-empty biscuit tin with one hand. "You two seem a lot more together than seven days."

"What would Hermione say if we asked her when you got together?" Bill said.

"Last Friday, I think. Or maybe Saturday…."

"I'll ask her for the bets," George said. "None of the girls would believe you anyway."

"Oi!"

"No, that's a good idea," Percy said. "You can't remember an anniversary if you don't know when it is."

Bill pointed a finger at him. "That's good advice, that is. Ask Hermione, George. We'll go by whatever she says."