Bill flipped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of Fred and George's room. It wasn't the first Christmas Eve that he'd found it hard to sleep, though it was the first in over fifteen years.

Back when he'd been a small child, he'd often find himself excitedly staring up at the ceiling, pondering what presents the day ahead would bring him and Charlie. In those days, he'd almost felt a bit spoiled by the gifts they'd received. They'd been in the thick of war and were stuck in the house for long days at a time trying to survive. Their parents had done everything in their power to alleviate the stress this created; they'd tried to make those seemingly endless hours hiding out feel normal. He and Charlie often got much of what their little hearts could think of asking for when it came to toys, games, or books; he could still remember the Christmas that Charlie had received his first dragon toy. No one could have predicted what the little Horntail would eventually birth in him, but it had brought him so much joy. Those memories were filled with much joy.

But then Percy had come along. Then the twins. Ron. Ginny. Money got tighter and joy was gradually forced to take a new form. Over time, Christmas morning became less about getting what you wanted and more about what you needed; more about the thought one put into gifts. Suddenly there were loads of crafty, handmade presents under the tree, such as wool hats, socks, or—famously—their mum's annual Christmas jumpers. Those turned up when Bill was eight—her way of making them all feel special without spending too much.

She put a lot of time and effort into those jumpers, and they were lovely, but they didn't exactly lend to an excited night of childlike wonderment spent staring up at the ceiling in anticipation for the day ahead anymore. By nine-years-old, Bill was sleeping rather soundly on the night before Christmas.

Until tonight that is, but that had nothing to do with jumpers, or presents, or Christmas excitement. No, tonight it had everything to do with the fact that Fred and George snored like bloody foghorns.

He sat up in his bed and started rubbing his eyes, just as another loud snore courtesy of one of the twins ripped through the air. He'd been asked to share a bedroom with the boys for the night due to having extra company at the Burrow, and he'd been soundly sleeping up until five minutes ago. That was when their window-rattling snores had awoken him around two in the morning. Worst yet, not only were they loud, but Fred and George had somehow managed to create a snore pattern that was just out of sync with each other. When one inhaled, the other exhaled, which didn't allow for a moment of reprieve.

The one time they didn't do something identically...

Bill pulled himself up in bed, deciding then that he fancied a glass of water before he would cast a silencing spell to block out all of the noise. He shook himself a bit since it was cold and reached out to pull his Christmas jumper from the year prior over his head. Fred let out a very loud snore at that exact moment, which startled Bill and had him questioning whether his brother was actually part beast of some kind. He shook his head before he stood and crept out of the room.

On his way down the stairs, he glanced at Ginny's closed door, knowing Fleur was in there and hopefully sound asleep. He missed not having her in bed with him—it was actually harder to sleep when she wasn't—but it wasn't altogether uncommon these days given all of her trips home for wedding planning. It was, however, uncommon when they were both under the same roof.

It truly was the world's worst kept secret that they were spending their nights sleeping together despite claiming otherwise. He was fairly certain his entire family had been well aware of the situation for months, though no one ever spoke to it. Out of sight, out of mind seemed to be the way they all went about things; not that anyone outside of his mother really cared.

And truthfully, Bill had been starting to believe that she didn't ultimately care either, as long as they didn't make it obvious. As far as he was concerned, that spoke volumes to how much she was coming around on this engagement situation; accepting it for what it truly was and that it was definitely happening.

Fleur didn't agree. She felt his mother wasn't coming around willingly, rather she was finally starting to realize that she couldn't stop this moving train that was their relationship.

"It iz 'er choice whezer she gets run over," Fleur had told him weeks prior. "Or whezer she steps out of ze way. Because it iz coming and nozing is going to stop it."

That was true. He supposed he didn't care either way which one convinced his mother, because this train had no plans of stopping. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

But he did truly believe his mother was warming up bit by bit, even though he could completely understand why Fleur didn't. He wasn't stupid; he could still see the looks and the general tension between these two women who were both very important to him. While he'd love it if they could become friends, he knew that simply wasn't in the cards given how different they were.

They had their good days and their bad, but unfortunately as of late, things seemed to have come to a bit of a head…

It had all started a few days prior. Ron and Ginny were home for Christmas, and Harry had come along as well, so life at the Burrow was busier than usual. Fred and George were popping in more often, likely looking for some hot meals and a chance to see everyone who was home.

The twins increased presence had spurred their mother to tell them to finally get the boxes that they'd left behind over the summer out of the Burrow. She'd had it with them using the house for storage, and truthfully Bill agreed. There would often be random smells and odors that would sometimes drift from their unoccupied room, as if something had spoiled in there. At times there was even a random mild explosion in the middle of the day—or worse, night—from something in those boxes.

The lads had finally obliged to move their things, but leave it to them to never just do things properly…

It had happened only two days earlier. George had come dashing down the stairs first into the kitchen, his nose wrinkled and gagging for air as he headed straight for the door. Fred had followed after, making a similar face, though there was also amusement there as he dashed after his brother. As they passed both Bill and Fleur sitting at the kitchen table, Bill caught a horrendous odor wafting off of them. Fleur must have too, because she immediately covered her mouth and nose and jumped up to move away.

"Zat iz awful," she said, her voice muffled in her hands.

"What the hell is that smell?" Bill said, his face wrinkled in disgust and trying not to gag.

"As it turns out," Fred said from just outside the kitchen door, "Dungbombs do not age well in an enclosed space. We really shouldn't have kept our very large collection of them in a cardboard box next to the window."

"We really shouldn't have opened it in a room without proper ventilation," George shouted from somewhere out of sight. They could hear him coughing.

Bill groaned, trying to expel the smell from his nostrils. Fleur still hadn't budged from her corner of the room, her nose pinched and her eyebrows narrowed on the twins. She and him both exchanged looks before Bill asked, "So wait, does the whole upstairs reek now?"

"Second floor does," George said, "but we opened the windows."

"Had to," Fred said, "In order to throw everything outside."

Bill stared at them. "You threw Dungbombs out the window into mum's flower garden?

Fred made an obvious face. "Did you want us carrying them through the house or chucking them as soon as possible?"

"We were doing you all a favor," George quipped as he reappeared in the doorway, his eyes watering.

Bill sighed, rubbing his nose. "This wouldn't have happened if you moved your shit out this summer like you were supposed to. Now those of us who live here have to smell that rubbish, but you get to go back to your place at the end of the day." He made a face. "You better hope the smell wears off by the time you two are planning on staying over for Christmas."

George shrugged. "Don't worry, we planned ahead so as to not stink up our room."

"Yeah, you think we're thick?" Fred asked. "We didn't open that box in our room."

"Then where did you…?"

"We took the box next door into Percy's room and opened it there."

George smiled. "Yeah, so now it's his room that smells like shit."

"And it's awful," Fred said, also smiling. "Awful enough for me to suddenly be alright with the idea of him turning up for Christmas. If it means he's up in his room for the night."

Both twins laughed, though Bill had immediately frowned. His eyes shot over to Fleur, who was now looking completely alarmed at that last bit of information. She quickly muttered, "Oh no…" before dashing toward the stairs.

"Uh-oh. She going to be ill?" Fred asked.

Bill stood from the table and threw both of his brothers a very irritated look. "Percy's room is Fleur's room. She's been using that room."

Both the boys' faces turned confused in nearly the exact same way. It was George who asked, "Why doesn't she live with you in your room?"

"Have you met our mother?!"

"How were we supposed to…?" Fred began to argue. "We thought she lived in your room! You can't blame us for assuming…" He trailed off. "You two actually sleep separately?"

"No, she sleeps with me, but she uses Percy's room as her own space during the day. And as far as mum's concerned—"

He didn't get to finish that sentence because a moment later, Fleur had returned from the stairs gagging and struggling for air. She immediately rushed past them all to go outside, muttering something about, "I cannot go up zere! Ze odor iz foul!"

"Oh yeah, it's bad," George agreed, watching Fleur as she went. "Much worse in Percy's room."

"All of her things are in there!" said Bill.

"That…is not good," Fred mumbled.

"Sorry about that," George offered, immediately turning towards the door to shout the message outside for Fleur's benefit.

It definitely was not good, because that odor lingered impossibly long. Ron, Ginny, and Harry had returned from their flying out in the garden, only to all immediately dart back out of the house claiming the house smelled like old cheese and feet. When their mother had returned later that day from her errands, she'd gone rather mental at the state of the house—especially since Christmas was only two days away.

And she was angry at not only the odor infecting the rest of the house during holiday preparations, but also at the idea that Percy's room now was uninhabitable. She seemed very concerned that if Percy did decide to have a complete change of heart and pop in soon, he would have no place to stay.

"She can't possibly think Percy's coming home," Fred had muttered to the rest of them—well out of earshot of their mother—as he, George, Bill, and Fleur all used every spell they knew to attempt to drive the smell out of the house.

"I think it's less she thinks, and the more she hopes," Bill said, coughing as he pointed his wand down the second floor landing.

"Well, she's the only one..." George mumbled.

Bill and Fleur had taken turns braving the trip into Percy's room to gather all of Fleur's things, taking them all outside to air out. Her clothes and accessories all reeked, and she was not only upset about her things smelling, but also because her belongings were now strewn about outside in the garden for all to see. She was especially cross that they now had to wash or somehow charm each item individually just to get them smelling back to normal..

On top of that, it also didn't quite sit right with her that his mother seemed more upset about Percy not having a place to stay—despite not giving any indication he would be even visiting, let alone staying—than she was with the fact that Fleur was now completely dispersed from her space in the house until the smell cleared.

"If your brozer," Fleur began to say as the pair of them worked on hand-watching some of her clothes, "does pop in on Christmas—"

"He won't," Bill assured her as he charmed one of her more delicate pieces of underwear—a set of knickers he actually really liked and had very fond memories of taking off her—to gently scrub itself in a basin.

"But if 'e does," Fleur said, turning to face Bill with one of her dresses in her hand. "Was I to be simply kicked out of zat room? Because ze way your mozer iz speaking of all of zese 'what ifs', it makes me zink I would 'ave been. Just moved like zat—" She snapped her fingers, "to accommodate your brozer."

"You wouldn't have been moved because there is absolutely no way Percy is showing his face anywhere near here. Deep down my mother knows that."

He shrugged as he charmed her knickers to dry and fold themselves. "But you know what? A part of me is glad all of this is happening because now that you can't be in Percy's room, the only place you can go is my room. We don't have to sneak around anymore."

At that news, she begrudged him a smile since that part was true. The only good thing to come out of all this stink and trouble was that Percy's room was now closed for the time being. They'd managed to drive the odor away from everywhere else, but it had been simply too concentrated in Percy's room for anyone to sleep in there for the time being. Fleur would have to officially move in with him.

Finally.

"Oh," his mother had told him later that night, after the day's events had been retold again for his father's benefit once he'd returned home from the Ministry. "I was actually thinking she could bunk with Ginny. We can put a camp bed in there. She'll be comfortable."

Bill looked at his mother as if she'd officially lost her bloody mind. He glanced over at his father, who was eating leftover beef stew from dinner. Even he looked surprised by his wife's suggestion.

"You cannot be serious."

"Of course I'm serious," his mother said. "Bill, again, you are not married yet and your brother and sister are home. If you would like to speak about you and Fleur sharing a room once they've all gone back to Hogwarts, that's another story. But I have three teenagers in this house who do not need to go and get ideas in their head about—"

"No," Bill said, shaking his head. "No, this is getting ridiculous. You seriously want to put both Fleur and Ginny out for the next few days just so you can keep up appearances? Do you really think Ron and Ginny are dumb enough to think Fleur and I don't sleep together every night?"

She frowned at that, clearly not liking where this was going.

"Ginny's fifteen and Ron will be seventeen soon! They've both in their own relationships right now last I heard, so do you really think—?"

"Exactly!" his mother said. "They're impressionable right now and they're experimenting with their own romances. The last thing I need them seeing is their older brother—"

"Seeing what? I'm not inviting them into bed with me!" He laughed at his own comment. "I'm sorry, but Fleur is going to sleep with me in my room now. That's it. That's the conversation."

His mother looked immediately over at his father, which made Bill look back at him as well. It seemed she wanted his input, though given his expression, she may not have liked what she was about to hear. At least Bill wasn't alone in thinking all of this was mad.

"Molly, he's right. The kids aren't dumb and we all know he and Fleur spend time together. This all seems silly. We had three children by the time we were his age…"

"We were married!"

"And the only reason Bill isn't is because you asked him not to rush and do it properly."

His mother balked at that, though apparently had no follow up. Bill let his expression turn very much, "He's right…" but it was clear she wasn't a fan of any of this. Her face was set very sharply; she didn't like the rules in her home being questioned. She immediately turned and walked straight out of the room without another word.

His father sighed loudly, which immediately prompted Bill to say, "I appreciate you having my back."

His father smiled, though he sounded tired when he said, "Fleur's fine in there with you." He looked down into his empty stew bowl. "And I'll apparently be sleeping on the sofa…"

As it were, no matter how much it annoyed his mother, Bill was going to enjoy every minute of that first night where he and Fleur were now proper roommates. Sure, they slept together every night anyway, but her being officially snuggled up against him—them all wrapped up in each other because this was her spot as much as it was his now—it was special. It made him all the more excited to move out and officially get a place of their own. To get married and start their life together properly.

But he also should have known better that his mother always got the last word...

"Remus will be joining us for Christmas!" she had declared excitedly the following morning, having just received an owl over breakfast. Only she, Bill, his father, and Fleur were awake, seeing as Bill and his father both needed to put in some early hours at their respective jobs before being able to cut out for the holiday.

"That's wonderful," his father said. "I didn't think he'd make it."

Bill was smiling as if to agree, finishing up the last of his toast because he needed to go. The sooner he got into work, the sooner he could leave.

"Yes, he'll be arriving later today," his mother said, reading over the letter. "And he'll be staying the night." She looked up. "Oh, it's a shame we don't have the extra room now that Percy's room is…" She made a face.

"Does it smell any better today? Bill asked.

"I haven't checked, but I'm sure it's still dreadful," she said. "Which means we'll have to put Remus somewhere else." She suddenly paused as if thinking that over. "The twins will be in their room so that doesn't work, and Ron's got Harry up in his..."

"He could go in Ginny's," Bill offered.

"I don't think Remus would be comfortable in a teenage girl's room," his mother said matter-of-factly. "And plus, where would Ginny go? Can't be with Ron because Harry's up there and that's inappropriate. I wouldn't want her to be in with the twins or, Merlin forbid, anywhere near that terrible odor…"

She looked at Bill, but he didn't like the way she was doing it. It made him quickly say, "Don't say you want to stick her in there with us."

Fleur's head shot up in alarm. She immediately glanced at Bill.

"No, don't be silly," his mother said, which made Bill actually sigh with relief. For a second he thought his mother was going to be completely nonsensical and stick his baby sister in the same room with him as his fiancée just to prove a point—because that was very much something he wouldn't put past her.

"No," she continued. "It'll be much easier to leave Ginny where she is and have Remus take your room. It's much larger than the others anyway and would be the most comfortable for him."

Both he and Fleur stared at her. Hold on. Did she just suggest…?

"Wait, you're asking these two to move?" his father asked. "Why…?"

"Because Remus had been living underground with werewolves for the last six months and deserves a nice warm bed and his own appropriate room for a single night." She looked back at Bill and Fleur. "I'm sure you both can agree with that."

Bill stared at her. "Ginny's room is plenty comfortable…"

"For Ginny it is, but not for a grown man who needs a good night's rest," his mother said. "Poor Remus, after everything he's been through…" She frowned for a moment before affirmatively nodding. "This will be the best plan. It makes the most sense."

"And where are we to go?" Fleur asked before Bill could.

"Well, Bill you can kip with the twins—"

"I can, but Ginny can't?"

"Yes, because it makes more sense to keep the boys together. And with Ginny in her room, Fleur can then bunk with her." She smiled. "That came together nicely, didn't it?"

Bill blinked. Fleur actually laughed at that; for once, he let her without so much as an attempt to calm her aggravation. By god, his mother was a mastermind when it came to passive aggressive power plays. A bloody mastermind.

And this time he didn't have his father chiming in on his side; he actually agreed that Bill's room would be the nicest for a guest and Remus did deserve a bit of peace and comfort. It was only one night after all…

Bill couldn't even be bothered to put up much of an argument—what was the point? Fleur wasn't happy, but it had less to do with giving up the room or being forced to bunk with Ginny, and more to do with the game of it all. She was exhausted from the constant games they had to play with his mother.

And honestly, he couldn't blame her because he was tired of playing them too.

"We need to move," Fleur had told him the moment he'd arrived home later that day and followed him upstairs into his room—his now very clean room, which his mother had already made up for Remus—to change out of his work robes.

He sighed. Things had apparently only got worse while he was at work. He could tell because Fleur was now in a mood; when she was in this kind of mood, those tended to be the days she and his mother butted heads the most.

"We are," he said, pulling his robes over his head and flinging them to the side. "And soon enough we're going to move into the seaside home of our dreams with all the money we're saving from living here. I promise. We just have to deal with a few more months of this."

"I am starting to zink living in a box in an alley would be preferable," Fleur said, very agitated as she sat on the edge of the bed watching him change. "Earlier today, I made some suggestions about all ze Christmas decorating Ginny was hanging in ze sitting room—all zese ghastly paper chains zat look ridiculous and 'ave so very little to do wiz Christmas—but Ginny did not want to 'ear it. And your mozer immediately agreed wiz 'er, so now your sitting room iz covered in zis paper rubbish."

Bill chose not to mention that they traditionally did the paper chains at Christmas because they couldn't always afford proper decorations. Fleur clearly just wanted to vent, so he let her.

"Everyzing I offered to help wiz today, I was dismissed," Fleur continued. "Unless it was cleaning somezing, your mozer kept claiming to 'ave zings—she made air quotes—'under control.'" She made a face. "I am very good at Christmas preparation, but she would not 'ear it!"

"She's stuck in her ways…" Bill mumbled half-heartedly. If he was honest, he really didn't have it in him to defend her much today.

Fleur was shaking her head. "So given zat I was of no use wiz ze Christmas decorating, I decided to do some wedding planning instead. I made a list of ze music we want to play—"

"Oh, did you put a heavy rotation of Weird Sisters on the list?" Bill asked as pulled on his trousers. "Because while I'm giving you executive control over everything else, I've got to have my favorite band."

"Zey are on ze list," Fleur said, smiling for the first time since he'd got home—though it was brief. As soon as she spoke again, she was frowning. "Zough if it were up to your mozer, zey would not be played at all. She zinks zey are 'noisy.'"

"She always has," Bill said with a shrug. "Since I was a teenager. I don't care. If I want them played at my wedding, they'll be played."

Fleur nodded as if she agreed. "She did not seem to enjoy much of the music we 'ave chosen. Your favorites are noisy. My favorites are 'obscure' and 'unknown.'" She made another face. "Because zey are French. God forbid, people listen to somezing in anozer language…"

"She's older," he muttered. "You should hear some of the stuff she listens to. She's not one to comment."

"I would love to hear it!" she sniped. "Because zen I can give some of my own opinions." She looked up at him, "I cannot take it anymore. I cannot breaze wizout 'er commenting zat I am doing it wrong!"

"I know," Bill said, walking over to lean down and get eye level with her. "I'm not faring much better lately myself, but we'll get through it. You and me. We need to keep the end goal in sight. We're saving money to buy the house we want."

She put her arms around his neck and leaned her forehead onto his. "Ze 'ouse I want iz ze one zat does not include your mozer. I do not care where it iz."

He smiled. "The house you want does not have my mother and has seaside views. We're going to get there."

"Yes, but will we 'ave gone insane first?"

That was a good question.

When Bill emerged into the pitch black kitchen in the middle of the night to find his glass of water, he noticed through the window that a new dusting of snow had settled outside. He examined it as he charmed a glass out of the cabinet and had it fill itself with water before taking a few heavy gulps. He'd been drinking wine earlier given all the Christmas Eve festivities, so he was especially parched since red wine always made him thirsty.

The moon was out and offering some light over the snow, and he couldn't help but let his eyes sweep what little view he had for signs of trouble. With Harry here, he couldn't help but think someone out there was planning something. Even when Harry wasn't here, he couldn't help but think someone was planning something…

It was then that the sounds of a pair of footsteps on the stairs caused him to snap out of his thoughts and turn toward the noise. He knew the sounds of this house well enough to know when someone was on the final set of stairs; when he heard that, he quietly called out, "I'm in the kitchen, so don't curse me."

Because wandering around this house in the dark at two A.M. could very likely get you cursed if you didn't announce yourself.

The footsteps stopped for a moment, but only briefly before they picked up again. The sudden appearance of a tall and lanky form emerged from the stairway, revealing Ron in his pajamas with some messy bedhead.

"You're up?" Ron said, stepping further into the kitchen.

"Surprised the whole house isn't the way Fred and George snore," Bill muttered as he finished the last of his water. "What's your excuse?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Woke up and couldn't fall back asleep, so I came down for some food."

Bill smirked. "You never stop eating."

"I'm growing," Ron half-heartedly joked.

"You've grown enough," Bill said, still finding it odd that he and Ron were now eye-to-eye when they stood next to each other. He'd spent his entire life literally looking down at him and now it was Ron who actually had an extra inch or so on him.

Ron had walked over and pulled an apple out of a bowl that their mother had left on the counter; he crunched into it loudly as he too leaned up against the nearest counter, just as Bill was. Ron's chewing was the only sound that filled the room between the two of them for a long moment, until Ron suddenly said, "That was one…interesting Christmas Eve."

Bill let his face react, but just barely. He had a good idea what Ron was referring to given some of the events earlier in the evening. Fleur had also had a few glasses of wine, and she'd got her wish to give her opinions on his mother's favorite types of music sooner rather than later. She hadn't shied away from sharing them.

He really should have known that his mother would have put on Celestina Warbeck's annual Christmas program that evening. She'd been a massive fan of the singing songstress for as long as Bill could remember; Christmas at the Burrow really was barely Christmas unless her songs were playing in the background. His mother lived for bouncing around and humming the tunes on Christmas Eve. It had all just slipped his mind since it had been so long since he'd been properly home for the holiday.

As it were, Fleur had genuinely not been a fan of Celestina from the moment the program started, and it had nothing to do with his mother. Barely one song in, she was already whispering, "What iz zis we are listening to?" in order to avoid the attention of the rest of the guests. However, it wasn't until Bill explained the significance of the singer and the songs to her—plus the wine—that Fleur let her whispers grow less and less quiet. By the end of the night, she wasn't even attempting to keep her voice—or her less than enthusiastic opinions—quiet.

His mother had not been amused, and everyone had noticed. They probably all assumed Fleur was just being rude, and on a certain level, she was, but if they knew the whole story they'd probably have more mixed opinions. Bill didn't care what anyone thought either way.

"Mum was annoyed," Ron added.

Bill shrugged. "The sky is blue." He looked over at his brother. "Let's not act like Fleur didn't say anything about Celestina that we all haven't thought at least ten times before and just been too afraid to say."

Ron grinned a little, which made Bill do the same. It also caused him to sigh in a tired way as he set his glass down and observed Ron.

If he were being honest, this was the first time he'd really seen his brother, at least on his own, since he'd got home. He'd been working loads at the bank; Ron was usually flanked by Harry, the two of them always up to something together. It had been awhile since he'd had any proper chat with his brother. And since they were both awake…

"How you been, Ronnie? School going well?"

Ron shrugged in a disinterested way. "Yeah, I guess."

"You and your friends keeping out of trouble?"

"I mean, compared to usual, yeah…"

Bill laughed. "Heard you got yourself a girlfriend."

Ron looked over at him, seemingly surprised that he knew that. He stood up straighter. "Uh, yeah. I do. Been together a couple months."

"What's she called?"

"Lavender."

He'd said her name without much fanfare or even much of a reaction. There wasn't any sudden light in his eyes or cheerfulness in his expression, which told Bill more than he needed to know about how this relationship was going. Still, perhaps this was just typical Ron. He'd always been a mess with girls. Knowing him, things could be true love and he'd still just shrug it off.

"That's great," Bill offered, watching Ron's face. He had to admit he was a bit surprised when he'd heard the news, considering he'd been fairly certain Ron fancied Hermione. But perhaps blurring those lines with your best friend was just as complicated as Bill assumed it would be. Truthfully, he was just happy to hear Ron had figured something out because for a bit there, he'd seemed rather hopeless.

"Yeah," Ron said rather absently.

"She cute?"

Ron nodded a bit faster this time. It was the most energy he'd put into any of these answers so far.

"Got a photograph or anything?"

He shook his head. "No. I never thought to ask for one.

Bill stared at him. "You never thought to…?"

"Should I have?"

Bill looked away, trying not to laugh. "I mean, mate, you do your relationship however you want. As long as you're happy and she's happy, then good for you."

"We see each other every day," Ron muttered. "I didn't think I needed one."

"You two are apart for the holidays, so I assumed maybe you'd have one."

Ron was quiet for a long moment. He seemed lost in thought, though he did finally ask, "You would have asked for one, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would have," Bill said. "I tend to like looking at my girlfriend's photo if I can't see her. Hell, I have a couple of Fleur at work that I look at when I'm having a shit day, and that's when I know I'll see her soon enough."

"Yeah, but you two are engaged," Ron mumbled. "And you love her. It's different."

Bill had to stop himself from asking, "I take it you don't?" when it came to Ron and his girl, but he realized immediately it was actually a stupid sort of thing say. Everything about Ron's mannerisms and the way he spoke about this girl showed his feelings did not run particularly deep. And truthfully, why should they? He was sixteen. Not everything had to be deep at sixteen. Bill knew that all too well.

"I guess it is different," Bill said. "They all can't all be 'the one.' Sometimes they're just meant to be 'the one for now.'"

"Lavender's not the one," Ron said, his tone rather confident at that confession. "I mean, she's alright, but we mostly just snog and…." He trailed off, "Well, you know."

Bill nodded. "Snogging can be fun."

"It is," Ron said, cracking a small smile for a second before he let it slowly vanish. "Or, it was…It can be exhausting too." He tossed his apple core into the bin. "We don't talk or do much else." He paused. "I think she annoys Harry, so he's not very keen on her."

"If it's so exhausting then why are you sticking it out?"

"Because she lets me snog her," he said rather obviously.

Bill laughed. To be sixteen again. It was actually rather nice to see such dumb and simple logic applied by his teenage brother, if only because it meant that Ron still got to be a dumb and simple teenager sometimes. With everything else awful happening in the world, it was nice to see there were still silly growing pains to be had.

"What's Hermione think of all this?" Bill asked, watching Ron. He'd noticed he'd mentioned Harry, but he'd neglected to comment on his other best friend. And that in itself was odd, considering Ron didn't usually shy away from regularly peppering Hermione's name into conversation.

Ron took a deep breath but didn't let his gaze leave the random spot on the floor he was currently staring at. If it were somehow possible to visually depict the air getting sucked out of a room, Ron was now pulling that off.

"We don't talk about it."

"You don't talk about your girlfriend with her?" Bill asked, finding that especially curious.

Ron slowly shook his head, still never looking up. "We haven't been talking about much of anything lately."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we haven't been talking. At all."

Bill let his eyebrows jump up at that. "You and Hermione aren't talking at all? What…? How long has this been going on?"

Ron shrugged and finally looked up. "Couple of months. She's been weird and…" He looked away, shrugging again. "I don't know. She doesn't want to talk to me."

Couple of months…the same amount of time Ron also claimed that he'd been with his girlfriend. Right. This was now starting to make far more sense.

"She's been so strange that, one day," Ron began, his voice growing a touch louder, "she went mental on me and conjured all these birds to attack me because she's angry for some reason. They pecked at me!" He pulled down the collar of his pajama shirt and gestured to his neck. "I still have marks."

Bill grimaced. Well, that sounded…yikes. Remind him never to get on Hermione's bad side. Though given all the other clues he was picking up on, he sensed this was more a crime of passion directed specifically at Ron rather than her just being cruel for the sake of doing it. Because in all times he'd known Hermione, she'd seemed like a sensible and polite girl. He also knew Ron could be a prat and say some dumb stuff.

"Why'd she conjure birds to attack you?"

Ron's expression said he had no bloody clue, but Bill recognized that face immediately. He was playing dumb. He used to make the same face when he was smaller and he'd broken or lost something that had belonged to one of his brothers, only to then act as if he had no idea what had happened.

"So, you're telling me," Bill began, "that your best friend just woke up one day—coincidentally around the same time you and your girlfriend got together—and decided to not only stop talking to you, but also randomly attack you with conjured birds because…she felt like it?"

Ron shrugged. "I mean, I don't…" He stepped closer to Bill and again gestured to his neck. "The birds were scary. Some of these marks aren't likely to go away!"

"Yeah, that's fucked," Bill said, acknowledging that. "But unless you're about to tell me Hermione's secretly psychotic, I'm just wondering what else is going on here. What's the other side of this story? If I were to ask Harry or Ginny—"

"Don't ask them," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "They…" He sighed. "Look, I don't know. Hermione's been really angry with me, and I won't claim I haven't…" He faltered. "I've probably said some things too—"

There it was.

"But it's not as if she and I haven't always been like this." He lowered his voice. "It's just got out of control for some reason lately…"

For some reason. Bill had a fairly good idea what that reason was—anyone paying attention likely did. A part of him felt he should leave it to Ron to figure it out like they all had to, but a bigger part of him felt like Ron just needed to hear it. If no one else was going to say it…

"Ron, you and Hermione clearly have feelings for each other."

Ron's eyes jumped open as if he was immediately ready to go on the defensive, but Bill held up his hand to silence him.

"And this all seems like textbook jealousy," he added. "She stops talking to you when you get with your girl, probably because she's upset. Whatever caused the birds—while I'm not excusing it because that was extreme—I'm guessing you did something to hurt her feelings—"

"I didn't!"

"Fine, you didn't—or you just aren't aware. Point is, she's upset with you for something. And while I could be way off base and maybe it has nothing to do with how she feels, the timing of it all is suspect."

"How do you figure—?"

"You're sitting here telling me all you do with your girl is snog, and if it's anything like my time at school, you're probably all over the common room and in the corridors doing it in full view of everyone." He threw him an obvious look. "You really can't figure out why Hermione may be upset with you?"

Ron was quiet for a long moment, his eyes back down on the ground. He finally shook his head. "It's not what you think. Hermione doesn't feel the same way about me."

Bill let that hang in the air for a moment, watching as his little brother squirmed awkwardly where he stood. Well, there it was. He'd just admitted it out loud. And the funny thing was, he didn't even seem to realize he'd done it.

"The 'same' way, huh?" Bill asked.

Ron looked up. "What?"

"You said 'the same way.' I assume that means you feel a certain way about her and you think she doesn't feel the same."

"Because she doesn't."

"What makes you think that?" he asked. "Because given what I've seen—"

Ron shook his head and moved away from the counter. "She just doesn't. I know she doesn't. She fancies these other blokes. She asked one to this stupid Slug Club party just last week." He rolled his eyes. "And he's a right prat. Absolute tosser."

Bill shrugged. "She probably needed a date and had to ask someone."

"Didn't have to be him," Ron muttered, his body language completely tightening up.

Bill could practically smell the jealousy wafting off his brother at the mere thought of this guy. It was almost as blatant as the odor coming from Percy's room. This all went so very deep between the two of them. Ron didn't even see it.

"She originally wanted to ask me," Ron suddenly added, his voice faraway. "Back when we were still talking. She mentioned it."

"Did you say you'd go?"

"I don't remember what I said."

Bill nodded. "But you have a girlfriend now anyway, so not as if it matters."

Ron looked at him, apparently curious what that had to do with anything.

"Because you can't ask someone out to a party," Bill said slowly, almost lecturing him, "if they're already with someone else. That's common sense."

"Right. Yeah, I know," Ron muttered, edging more toward the stairs with another few steps. "I get that, but it's more that she didn't have to pick that guy to ask to go with her. You really don't understand how much of a wanker he is."

"But you don't really get a say in who she spends her time with," said Bill, feeling rather blunt at this point. "And she gets no say in who you do either."

"No shit," Ron said, sounding annoyed. "I know that, Bill."

Did he….?

"Alright," Bill said, looking away. He couldn't help but grin just a touch, even though he knew he shouldn't have. It just all seemed so silly to him—all this school-aged drama. Ron really didn't understand how one day he'd look back and wonder why he'd been like this—so guarded and defensive—but that was the beauty of hindsight. As of now, this was likely something Ron didn't find silly at all. He probably obsessed over it since things always seemed so much worse and impossible to deal with as a teenager. Who was Bill to tell him that he was being ridiculous?

"I'm going back to bed," Ron muttered.

Bill nodded, watching as Ron fully turned toward the stairs. He didn't want to leave things weird, so he quickly added, "Hey Ron. Piece of advice. Cut the shit and just tell her how you feel."

He may as well have told Ron to grow wings and fly to the moon given the look on his face at that suggestion. "It's easy for you to say that because you're you. It's easy for you."

"And you're you," Bill said. "Which is someone Hermione's very fond of—I've seen it with my own eyes. I mean, mate, she's your best friend."

"She doesn't feel the same way."

"But what if she does?"

Ron didn't say anything in response to that; he just forced a pinched sort of smile before disappearing up the stairs.

Bill sighed and shook his head as Ron's footsteps carried up the stairs. Oh, to be sixteen again…Actually, scratch that. If he were honest, he was very happy those days were long behind him.

A/N: Funny story, the first half of this chapter's plot was built around me attempting to solve a very random book error I came across in HBP. I wrote about it some in my profile under the Author's Note section if you're interested.

I also have a chapter today and one for tomorrow to post. More Christmas at the Burrow and a visit from someone we've yet to see. :)