The Burrow is a beautiful building located at the edge of a large wood on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. Hidden behind Stoat's Head Hill, the higgledy-piggledy house consists of several stories piled haphazardly on top of each other.
It's a wonder it's still standing after all this time.
Yet, the magic that keeps the fifth floor extended out above the front porch and the seventh-floor attic balancing precariously right at the top creates an electric atmosphere around the home and its grounds. But, if a Muggle were to approach it or attempt to break the protective wards, all they would see is a derelict pigsty.
Although Devon rarely experiences heavy or sustained snowfall, a blanket of white has settled over the abode and its gardens over the last couple of days, bringing with it heavy silence that masks the craziness inside.
The sky is clear of clouds on the morning of the 25th of December. The chickens cluck away in their pen, and smoke rises from the chimney teetering high above the Burrow. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
A quiet pop breaks the silence, although it goes unnoticed by the many people crammed into the tiny house. A gangly man appears, unfolding himself out of nothing as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. He dusts off his red and black checked jacket and peers across the hedgerow at the pigsty, looking for any signs of life.
Ron Weasley lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping under the weight of the bags of presents in his hands. He should have minimised them before he left, but he was in too much of a rush.
Another Christmas at the Burrow. Why the fuck do I put myself through this torture every year?
The familiar buzz of magic washes over him as he pushes open the old wooden gate, being careful not to get a splinter. As soon as he's within the boundaries, the Burrow appears, standing proudly over him. His heart skips a beat. No matter how much he complains about it, it's always nice to come home.
But the appearance of the building brings with it a sense of foreboding, too. Before it even starts, Ron knows how today will go. First, he'll be attacked by the ever-growing litter of nieces and nephews, each one of them keen to bury him under a mountain of hugs and kisses. Once he's removed his coat and peeled the cretins from his legs, Mum and his siblings will enquire about the status of his love life without checking to see if he's okay.
Then he'll eat and fall asleep whilst the family listen to Celestina Warbeck's Annual Festive Pageant in the front room.
Another sigh escapes his lips, clouding up the air in front of his face. "Let's get this over and done with."
The temperature drops as soon as he crosses the magical threshold. Ron shivers, wishing he'd taken more than one shot of Firewhiskey before apparating from his flat in London. Snow collects on his fiery red hair and soaks through his coat. He's not sure why he hasn't dressed more suitably; his dad has been using the snowfall charm on the grounds since before Ron can remember. Still, it always takes him by surprise.
He traipses through the garden, the path he carves disappearing straight away, replaced by fresh flakes. Ron makes a mental note to remember to floo here next year, so he's not subjected to the cold wetness soaking through his trainers and socks, threatening to give him frostbite.
Shaking the water from his feet, he raises his hand to open the door, smiling at the forty-year-old wreath hanging off the knocker. Before he can grasp hold of the shining gold knob, the door is yanked open, and a blast of heat hits him in the face.
"Uncle Ron!" the eldest of his nieces shrieks at a level only audible to dogs. She throws himself at his soggy legs and holds on tighter than a Doxy. It doesn't take long for Dominique, James, and Fred Junior to join Victoire in their attempt to tackle Ron to the floor.
Fortunately, Bill is there to rescue his younger brother, peeling at least one red-haired child off of Ron's limbs so that he's able to toe off his trainers. "Kids, can you at least let Uncle Ron come into the house before you harass him?" Bill sets Molly on the floor before grinning at Ron. "How's it going, baby brother?"
"S'alright." Ron shucks off his coat and hangs it on the old rack, piled precariously high with everyone else's stuff. "Busy in the ol' Auror office. You know, the other day…."
He trails off when he notices Bill is no longer listening, too distracted by helping Dominique with one of her new toys.
Ron ventures further into the house once he's dumped everything, surveying the chaos. It looks like the remains of a nasty explosion at Santa's grotto. Crumpled wrapping paper is strewn everywhere, hiding the copious amounts of presents the kids have received this year. Baubles dangle at the edge of a sad-looking Christmas tree as if someone has tried to get hold of them. They look like they're contemplating their life, and one looks close to jumping off, and prematurely ending its little decorative life.
"Oh shit!"
Albus sits underneath the lowest branches, eyeing the fairy lights with wide eyes. Ron hurries over, scooping the baby up before he tries to gum them and electrocutes himself. "Where's your parents? Have you not been fed? You know lights aren't the tastiest."
Shifting the baby onto his hip, he carries Albus to the kitchen. The adults in the room turn to welcome him, and the cacophony of noise scares Albus, causing him to burst into tears. Ron seeks out Ginny, desperate to palm the kid off. He's no good with children and especially not the ones bawling their eyes out.
"Thanks, Ron." Ginny kisses his cheek as he holds out the baby as if it's a bomb waiting to go off. She continues in a conspiratorial whisper, "Be careful of the twins. Mum let it slip you didn't show up to any of the dates they set you up on. They're livid."
As if on cue, Fred and George march over to Ron and loop their arms into his. They pull him away from the rest of the family and pin him against the furthest wall of the kitchen.
"What's this we hear about Ronniekins?"
"You didn't show up to The Potions Dungeon last Saturday night?"
"Or The Three Broomsticks at the start of November…"
"...or The Three Broomsticks at the start of October."
Ron squirms, but he doesn't say anything. Giving his brothers any indication that he's annoyed at the conversation will only make it ten times worse. The twins have used their tag-team-thing on him since he could walk and talk. At first, it worked. Once, they even tried to make him take an Unbreakable Vow, and if Mum hadn't intervened, he might still owe them half of his pocket money. But over the years, their magic has worn off and now, it's tiring.
"Yeah, well, I'm not sure I want to date a girl who regularly frequents Weasley Wizard Wheezes. An occasional visitor, or someone who popped in once, then maybe. But anyone who wants to spend more than a couple of visits to your place must not be right in the head."
"We'll have you know we only pick the highest quality candidates for you, dear brother." George smirks.
"Yeah, at least a five."
Ron scoffs. "A five? Jeez, is that all I'm worth nowadays?"
"Well, you would have had at least a nine a few years ago. You're a handsome lad. And if we can pull tens, then you're a shoo-in for a five. Lav was a nine, for sure." Fred ignores the heated look Ron gives him and continues his spiel. "But the older you get, well, you have to lower your expectations."
"Great, well, thanks but no thanks. Honestly, at this point I'd rather Mum set me up than you two."
As soon as the words escape his mouth, Ron regrets them. Fred and George's eyes light up, and they release their grip on him before wandering away. Ron swears he'll apparate straight out of this place if his mum comes up to him and suggests some potential dates. He can't handle this constant interference in his love life for much longer.
At least it smells like dinner is almost ready. Ron's stomach growls. He knew he should have had breakfast before leaving, but he wanted to save space for as many seconds or thirds as he could squish in. His mum's cooking is the best thing he's ever tasted.
Ron helps himself to a beer and seeks out the one person he knows will be on his side. The specky git is over by the sink, watching out the window at the continued snowfall. Ron sidles up to his best friend and taps his bottle against Harry's. "Alright, mate?"
Harry spins around and gives Ron a huge smile. "I was wondering when you might show your face. Did you stay late at the party last night? You missed the present opening!"
"Oh did I? That's a shame. Yeah, I didn't get home until two, maybe three. Robards stuck a few galleons behind the bar and I thought I should make the most of it. Only woke up an hour ago."
"Don't. James was awake at four."
"Gross." Ron grimaces. "How's it been here?"
"Mental as always. Seriously, I'd take a whole gang of dark wizards over your family at Christmas."
"Well, you chose to marry my sister mate, so the jokes on you!"
The pair laugh and clink their bottles again before taking a long swig. Soon enough, they fall into comfortable conversation, ignoring the cauldron of chaos brewing around their feet. Someone else can deal with it for a change.
⁂
Ron doesn't have to wait long for his mother to yell through the house that dinner is about to be served. His stomach gives another growl of protest at how long it's been since he last ate.
Last year, Ron and his brothers gifted his parents with a dining room, which they magically attached to the other side of the kitchen. It helps them to accommodate the ever-growing family. If Molly is adamant she's going to cook for everyone, she should have the space to do so comfortably.
He wanders into the new room, admiring their handiwork. They did a pretty good job for their first go at installing something like that. It blends in with the rest of the house, adding to the cosy cottage decor Molly and Arthur have spent years creating.
A light wooden table takes up most of the space, complete with uncoordinated chairs. Ron licks his lips as he sets eyes on the giant turkey sitting in the middle. Place cards dictate where everyone in the family should sit, and he wanders up one side and down the other, frowning when he can't find his spot.
"Uhmm, Mum?" he asks when she bustles into the room, levitating four bowls overflowing with roasted vegetables. "Where's my spot?"
"On the smaller table."
She gestures with a plastic spoon, and Ron's eyes follow, his jaw dropping in dismay. Someone has put a bright green circular table in the corner, and all the children are sitting around it, waiting for their dinner with empty plastic plates in front of them.
"What? Why the fuck am I on the kiddie table? Surely there's space to stretch the table out to make space for me?"
Molly shrugs, but there's a sympathetic smile on her face as she wanders over to her son. "When you're the only single one in the family, you get relegated to the kiddies table. Otherwise, there'd be an uneven number on the big one."
"The only single one? But Charlie—"
"Charlie brought a date."
Charlie has never had a date. He's a confirmed bachelor for life. Ron scowls at the man, who is helping a slim, blonde woman into the seat next to his. She's wearing the tiniest dress, and every movement threatens to expose a part of her the children should not see. Ron's surprised his mum hasn't commented on it yet.
Molly lowers her voice. "He met her at a bar."
"Oh for fuck's sake!"
"Language, Ronnie." She raps him on the arm with the spoon. "You're almost thirty. If you tidied yourself up a little, had a shave, maybe wore some nicer clothes you'd have no trouble getting yourself a date. At least let me give you a haircut before you leave?"
"I had one the other day. Anyway, I like my beard, it's distinguishable. And not everyone wears a suit like Percy."
Her lips pull into a tight line. "If you say so."
"Even Albus gets to sit at the big table, and he hasn't brought a date," Ron mumbles.
"And Albus is still on the boob!" Molly glares at him. "Now, take your seat, dinner is about to be served."
"Come on Uncle Ron," Victoire beckons to him, patting the empty seat next to her and saving him from a further telling off.
Resigned to his fate, Ron folds himself into the tiny chair, his knees almost touching his chin. He should have taken Seamus' offer of a takeaway and shit Christmas movies. Anything's better than this rubbish.
⁂
Once dinner is over, and the smallest of the children are upstairs for their nap, the adults retire to the front room. Someone turns on the wireless, and Ron sinks into his favourite spot, trying to take up as much space as possible on the squishy sofa in the hope nobody comes over to bother him. After the shit storm that was dinner with five under-fives, he needs a moment of quiet to chill out.
But Christmas magic isn't on his side today. Charlie plonks himself next to Ron and passes him another beer. On the other side of the room, Charlie's date attempts to entertain Victoire with the contents of her makeup bag.
"Isn't she delightful?" Charlie asks before taking a long swig of his beer. "It's amazing who you meet at a bar."
Ron quirks an eyebrow at his brother. "Didn't you say that last year to me about Tesco?"
"I love Muggle supermarkets. We don't have many in Romania. Too many dragons around."
"Yeah, well. I won't be taking you up on your advice, but thanks."
"Will you relax, Ron? You know, that's a massive part of your problem. Ever since…" Ron shoots his brother a glare, and Charlie immediately changes tack. "Well, you've been so uptight for a while. It's not like I'm going to marry Sarah. She's my holidate!"
Ron chokes on his beer. "A holidate?" he gasps out, taking heaving breaths before he drowns in his alcohol.
"Yeah, you know—a date solely for the holiday. We'll stay for turkey sandwiches and wait for all the kids to go to bed, and I'll whisk her back to my flat. Well, it would be rude to not take full advantage of the situation, right? I'll make her a bacon sandwich in the morning and send her on her way. No fuss, no commitment.
"Do you want me to see if she has a friend?"
The idea tempts Ron. It's been over a year since he last had a pretty woman in his bed, despite his family's many attempts to set him up. But Charlie's idea of pretty and Ron's are at different ends of the spectrum.
"No. No way. I don't want to date some woman who's friends with the girl you met at a bar. But thanks, anyway."
Before Charlie can open his mouth to protest or sell Ron on the idea, Molly dumps a massive bag of presents at Ron's feet. "Here are all your gifts. I shrunk them and put them in a bag for you so you can open them when you get home."
"Or I could do it now?"
"Wait, wait, wait," Percy shouts, bringing the entire room to a hush. The family are surprised to hear him speak out since he's usually the quietest out of all of them. "Before Ron gets to his presents, I have something important I need to do."
Percy pushes his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose and clears his throat. His nerves are evident as he shifts closer to his girlfriend, Audrey, and lunges hazardously at her. When he settles on one knee in front of her, dread fills Ron's stomach.
No fucking way.
Christmas engagements are the worst, especially if performed in front of everyone. Percy is supposed to be the most clever out of all of them, so why is he acting like a fool? What if Audrey says no? How fucking embarrassing would that be, having to face being rejected whilst everyone you loves stares at you?
Ron concentrates hard on the back of Percy's curly head, trying to send him a silent message that this is not a good idea. But his brother continues with his mission, whipping a small black box out of the pocket of his chinos. Percy wipes his spare hand on his Fairisle jumper before reaching for Audrey.
What the fuck is going on? Maybe Percy is under an Imperius or something? He's never spontaneous, and Ron is positive the guy doesn't even like public displays of affection. Percy barely touches Audrey when anyone else is around, and it wouldn't surprise him if they slept in separate beds, just in case.
"Audrey, my love," Percy says, staring deep into his girlfriend's eyes. "I know we've been together for a long time, and you thought this moment might never come. But would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
"Yes!" She doesn't even take a moment to consider the question. Audrey throws herself at Percy in floods of tears. He removes the ring with a shaky hand and slides it onto the correct finger.
Molly is the first in the family to react. Whilst Ron and Harry share incredulous looks, the Weasley matriarch slides onto the floor to join in the couple's embrace. "That's five down, two to go. We're getting there, Arthur, love."
Ron sinks further into his seat, not even bothering to touch his presents or take a swig from the bottle of beer still in his hand. This might have been him if things hadn't gone tits up last year. Of course, there's no way he would have proposed in such a public way, but he knew it would have been on the cards eventually.
I even bought the fucking ring.
Shaking his gloomy thoughts from his head, he forces himself to his feet to join the rest of his family in their celebrations. It'll do him no good to dwell on the past, even though Christmas alone fucking sucks. Soon he'll be the only one left in the family unmarried and without kids.
Fuck Christmas, and fuck my life.