So this was Ginny's room…
Fleur stood right in the center of it, glancing around at random. This was where she was meant to sleep tonight; one of the few places at the Burrow she usually avoided since she knew Ginny didn't want anyone in her space while she was away. She wouldn't have wanted anyone in her room either, especially at fifteen, so she tried to extend that same courtesy to others. Plus, it wasn't as if there was anything of interest there anyway.
But Ginny's room couldn't have been more different from Fleur's teenage bedroom if it tried. Fleur's old space had drawers of various make-up she was learning to use, hair products and potions that she'd collected on her vanity, various accessories—from hats to scarves to jewelry—all to accentuate her everyday outfits. She'd never needed many of those things, but like all of her friends, she'd been experimenting and trying to seem older and more mature; chasing womanhood faster than she probably should have been.
Ginny's room was far more sporty with Quidditch posters on the wall and broom maintenance equipment strewn about. There was so much random stuff—old books, toys, clothes, knick-knacks; some might call it clutter—all over the place. It was in desperate need of a good organizing and, given a couple of hours, Fleur could have made the whole place far more tidy. But that wasn't her choice to make. As much as she would like it to be…
Because a pair of dirty, old trainers would have never come near Fleur's wardrobe at fifteen. Hers had been filled with all of her well-pressed clothes and robes—all color coordinated—as well as neatly-lined rows of shoes. Her old toys and trinkets that she'd aged out of were gone the moment she had no use for them; not hoarded on shelves to collect dust. Her walls had been filled with framed photographs of her friends and family, or of art she liked; none of these posters Ginny had slapped onto her walls with a weak Sticking Charm.
Fleur observed one poster, noticing that its corners were peeling away from the wall in a way that made her eye twitch a bit. She so badly wanted to flatten them down and secure them properly.
There was, however, at least one redeeming quality about her room compared to the others in the house, and that was it thankfully didn't smell like sweat and boys. It actually had a rather pleasant floral scent.
And as Fleur glanced around, she discovered something else of interest as she stumbled upon a partially opened drawer at Ginny's desk. It was there she caught sight of some hidden hair items, some lovely perfume, and even a bit of makeup.
She hummed a bit, finding herself pleasantly surprised. It seemed Ginny wasn't all dirty trainers and broom polish after all.
"What are you doing?" came Ginny's voice as she walked into her room. Given her expression, she seemed to be panicking once she realized Fleur had got there first.
Fleur pointed to the drawer. "The perfume that you wear. It is nice. I was not aware you owned anything nice—"
Ginny suddenly walked over and shut the drawer with a purpose. She seemed irritated, though whether it had to do with the perceived snooping—though she wasn't snooping, she couldn't help that Ginny left her drawer open—or with her presence, Fleur didn't know. It was not a secret Ginny had not been excited at the pair needing to be roommates that evening. Fleur had overheard her multiple times today complaining to others about having to "deal with her… "
Not that Fleur didn't share the sentiment, but at least she'd only complained to Bill in private. Ginny could stand to learn some discretion.
"You sleep there," Ginny muttered, pointing to the very obvious cot that had been set up in the middle of the room.
"Oh, I sleep on the cot that has clearly been set up for a guest?" Fleur asked, her tone blunt and attitude not of the "fuck giving" variety. The several glasses of wine she'd had over the course of Christmas Eve had made her feel uninhibited, especially when it came to people who annoyed her. She was feeling buzzed and bold, just as she had most of the evening.
"I would have never guessed..." she added.
Ginny gave her a look that wasn't impressed, but she didn't care. The two had been bickering all day—or rather, for the last six months—after their disagreement over Christmas decorations that morning. Fleur had simply had a few very useful suggestions to the way Ginny had been doing things, but Ginny was, without question, her mother's daughter. It was the Weasley way or bust.
However unlike with Molly, where Fleur kept her snarkier comments to herself since she was Bill's mother and the matriarch of the house that Fleur currently lived in, she didn't need to hold back with Ginny. She'd never once been intimidated by a teenage girl and she wasn't about to start now.
Ginny had walked over to her own bed and yanked the blankets back. As she proceeded to climb inside, she sarcastically muttered, "Happy Christmas to all…"
"And to all a good night," Fleur finished for her, also sarcastic, but laced with faux cheerfulness. She smiled at Ginny.
"That's unlikely," Ginny said as she lied down. She suddenly took a pillow and put it directly over her face.
"Why are you doing that?" Fleur asked as she climbed into her own cot. "Do you snore terribly?"
"No," came Ginny's voice, though it was muffled under the pillow.
"So why do you do that?"
"Because I want to."
Fleur stared at her, blinking a bit and really feeling the wine swirling around her head now. "You are very strange."
Ginny pulled the pillow off and glared at her. "You don't have to be here. There's a perfectly good sofa downstairs."
Fleur shook her head, her filter completely gone now. "We have very different definitions about what is 'perfectly good.'"
Ginny's glare turned into a full blown scowl. "Sorry things aren't up to your usual standards, princess." She gestured up to the ceiling. "Why don't I go and switch with Bill? I'll room with Fred and George. I feel like that will make everyone much happier—"
"Your mother would never allow you anywhere near that smell upstairs," Fleur said, completely unbothered by Ginny's overall demeanor. "You may think I am the princess, but she was very clear that her precious little girl should not have to suffer a potential whiff of that odor."
Ginny sat up in her bed; her scowl turned somehow ever more murderous. Fleur knew she'd hit a nerve. It was obvious to anyone paying attention that Ginny hated—absolutely hated—being thought of as the baby; of being not as capable as everyone else because she was the smallest and the youngest. She was the type that would have slept in Percy's room, stink and all, to prove a point.
"She was also very clear how you cannot sleep in Ron's room because Harry is in there," Fleur continued as she settled in on her cot, the wine suddenly having a rather sleepy effect on her. "Though, I do not think that has anything to do with your feelings for him. Simply that it is inappropriate."
"I do not…" Ginny stammered, though she stopped abruptly. Her scowl had turned into something more resembling frustration, even if she was simultaneously turning redder by the second. "I. HAVE. A. BOYFRIEND."
"That is nice," Fleur offered in a lazy way. "It is a shame he's not the one you want."
Ginny gaped. She looked at a loss for words, though whether that was due to annoyance or her realizing Fleur's words were true, Fleur couldn't tell.
Fleur threw her another cheerful smile before yawning and closing her eyes. "Good night."
Ginny said nothing in response. Fleur did hear a scoff and what sounded like Ginny slamming herself back down on her pillow. There were more quick noises after that—the sounds of Ginny aggressively fumbling with the lamp—and then the lights went out. Another scoff, then the sounds of Ginny turning rather roughly around in her blankets. It all settled after a moment.
Before the desire to sleep completely washed over Fleur, she oddly had the urge to suddenly add, "Though, if you ask me—"
"This is the part where you stop talking."
Fleur laughed a bit, actually finding that funny. "I was going to be nice…"
"This is the part where you stop talking."
"If you insist," she said, having genuinely wanted to be nice and tell her that she'd actually noticed a bit of a change in Harry since he'd been back at the Burrow. That'd he'd been watching Ginny more; his attention less polite and far more focused directly on her. She'd noticed once or twice that after he'd said something funny or wanted feedback, he looked at Ginny first—as if to gauge her reaction. Fleur had always felt that was always a huge tell that someone was more than keen.
His entire demeanor toward her had changed, and if Fleur didn't know any better, someone may have been coming around and deciding those feelings weren't so unrequited after all.
But if Ginny didn't want to hear it, that was fine. It wasn't as though she owed her any favors...
When Fleur had awoken the following morning, feeling a touch hungover and remembering it was Christmas, she'd found Ginny still fast asleep under her blanket with a small mound of presents at the foot of her bed. She looked down at her own bed, noticing a smaller pile, but that was because she'd received all of her family's presents the previous day—as was customary since they exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve. Anything left was likely from Bill, since she doubted anyone else around here bothered.
He had already explained to her how Christmas worked here at the Burrow. Instead of Christmas Eve gifts, they waited until Christmas day. Gifts and sweets, or presents from friends or out-of-town family, would appear at the foot of your bed and be there for you first thing in the morning. When Bill had been a child, they would gather later around the tree in the sitting room to exchange bigger or nicer gifts, though that had mostly shifted since they were all older now. He'd also mentioned something about how "bigger or nicer" gifts weren't particularly frequent anymore…
She reached down and set to opening her little haul. Bill had got her some little things, which was very sweet. They'd promised each other nothing extravagant because their money was to be saved so it could go toward their wedding and the purchase of their home, but he'd clearly taken the time to find her little things to make her feel special.
She opened the first package and found her favorite sweets from home, which meant he'd done his homework. That would have required some asking around of her family, on top of actually procuring them, so that made her smile. There were also some lotions she liked, some new books—also in French—and a new set of sheets, since she was always telling him he needed to upgrade from the ones he'd likely had since he was a child. The note he'd included said, " Since we're roommates now…"
She smiled. He was so cute.
Also in the pile was a "Scent Changing Candle," which had a note attached that wished her a "Happy Christmas" and was signed from "Molly and Arthur." Fleur was sure she'd seen this before in the twins' shop, which made her question how much effort had really gone into it, but truthfully she was surprised to have received anything at all. She supposed it was the thought that counts.
She'd set her things aside and quietly stood to leave the room, taking it upon herself to shower and get ready before the rest of the house was up. It was when she'd been on her way back from the bathroom after dressing and primping that she ran into Bill—still in his pajamas, though also wearing a brand new, handmade blue jumper with the letter 'B' on it.
She'd smiled brightly at him, but hadn't even got to greet him with a "Joyeux Noël!" before noticing that he was already curiously eyeing her very normal, very comfortable, very shop-purchased jumper. Unlike their usual interactions when he looked her up and down—those tended to have more love and lust in his eyes—this time he seemed confused.
"You're not wearing a Christmas jumper?"
Fleur looked down at her own, which was red and—she felt—very seasonally appropriate. It didn't have pictures or silly letters on it, but she felt it was very Christmas-y. "You do not like it for Christmas?"
"No, that's not what I meant," he said. "I was talking about the one my mum makes. The one we all get for Christmas." He suddenly pulled at the front of his own jumper. "I get they're not your usual thing, but she puts loads of time into these and it's tradition that we all wear them on Christmas day."
Given the way he was looking at her, she sensed she was actually being judged; as if she was trying to start something by being the lone dissenter of this jumper tradition.
She threw him a quick sort of look to silently tell him to relax. "I cannot wear something I did not receive."
His face had screwed up into confusion that quickly gave way to anger. "Wait. You didn't get one?"
It was apparently now his mother's turn to be judged.
She could see the color start to grow in his face, as if this moment—the one moment—may have been the one to push him over the edge when it came to his mother. If she stood silent and let this play out, there would be an argument; they would likely be moving out of the Burrow by this afternoon. And while that was enticing, it also wasn't how things needed to be done. She didn't want them storming out in a fit of anger, she wanted them making the choice as a couple and moving on on their own terms.
Plus, for once, this wasn't even entirely about his mother being passive aggressive.
Granted, it wasn't a hard leap to make that Molly would be ridiculous and petty and not make her one since they didn't get on. It wasn't even much of a stretch to think that she flat out refused, though she'd be clever about it. She could have claimed that she ran out of yarn and hadn't had time to get more. She would be "so sorry" that Fleur was the only one left out.
But for once, she and Molly had come to a bit of an understanding.
"What are these?" Fleur had asked weeks prior, having walked into the sitting room to find a small pile of jumpers and several different colored skeins of yarn strewn about. Molly had charmed two sets of knitting needles to work; they were currently knitting a pair of green and maroon colored jumpers in tandem. They were only about halfway done.
"Oh," Molly said, "I'm making Christmas presents for everyone." She held up a blue jumper with the letter "B" on it, showing it off. "I make one for everyone every year." She smiled. "I'm sure you've seen some of Bill's."
Fleur forced a bit of a smile. Yes, she had, though perhaps not with the confidence Molly assumed. Given the way she'd spoken, she seemed to be under the impression Bill wore these frequently, which… he lived here, so surely she knew he didn't? He did on occasion though, over his pajamas if he was cold. Molly had likely seen him a time or two wearing one around the Burrow.
"I've been making them for ages," Molly said rather proudly.
Fleur nodded, having heard that from Bill as well. Homemade clothes were not her thing at all, but she could appreciate Molly's dedication to her project every year. Molly may have been a thorn in her side the majority of the time, but she did certainly try.
"That one's Ron's," Molly continued, pointing to the maroon one. "And the other one is Harry's."
"You make one for Harry as well?"
Molly nodded, frowning just a bit. "Ever since his first year at school when I heard he and Ron had become friends. I wanted to be sure he got something for Christmas. I knew he was an orphan, and Ron had made it sound like his remaining family were awful to him, which is…" She trailed off, but shook her head. "I wanted him to feel included. And I still do."
She let a weak smile crack at her mouth and she seemed to be lost in thought about something. Truthfully, Fleur found her concern for Harry very sweet. The way she and Arthur would take him in for breaks and holidays; always making him feel welcomed. Her first memory of Molly was the same one she had of Bill—both of them turning up to the Tournament in that back room to act as Harry's support system.
Molly was many things, but there were some redeeming aspects to her personality.
"I'll be happy to have them all done," Molly said with a heavy sigh, examining the pile as she suddenly began to list off everyone's jumpers as she sorted them. "Bill, Charlie, Percy—"
Oh, even Percy still got one…
"Fred, George, Ginny, Arthur, myself." She gestured over to Ron and Harry's. "Then those two."
She suddenly stopped and turned to look at Fleur in a strange sort of way. Fleur had been seconds away from asking if everything was alright, but like a bolt of lightning striking, she quickly figured out what was about to transpire here. She wasn't entirely sure how to approach this.
"Would…you like one?" Molly asked.
No…She wouldn't. Despite the strange earnesty in Molly's tone—which was odd—Fleur knew it would be a waste of time on everyone's part. She would never wear it. Molly would see that she never wore it, and she would probably use that as yet another reason to dislike her. But at the same time, telling her she didn't want one of her jumpers wasn't going to do her any favors.
Plus, it wasn't as if Molly actually wanted to do it—she was simply willing now that she'd realized she'd left her out. If she'd wanted to do it, she would have done it already. There would have been no questions. She'd done one for Percy, and they didn't even speak. Clearly she had no issue just doing jumpers for the sake of doing jumpers.
"They just don't seem very much like your style," Molly said, looking suddenly self-conscious. "You tend to wear very nice clothes all of the time, so I didn't think…"
"I do," Fleur said, nodding and feeling as if both of them were now in this strange, awkward situation that they both would like to exit. "I already own many jumpers…"
"Yes, I've seen…They're very nice."
"So, while the offer is…kind."
"I completely understand," Molly said with a quick nod. "If you change your mind…"
Fleur nodded. She wouldn't, but it was better to leave things open-ended. In the end, both she and Molly got what they wanted, but it still didn't change that Fleur felt several different awkward emotions over the entire encounter. But she also didn't have to wear the jumper, so…
As she explained to Bill that morning, she hadn't wanted one and she and his mother spoke about it; there were no hard feelings. But that answer didn't seem to entirely satisfy him. He was very much, "She makes everyone a jumper, you should have still got one…" mindset, but Fleur waved all of that away. She didn't even want to talk about jumpers anymore. It was Christmas and this was one of her favorite days of the year. She refused to let anything damper her spirit.
Though, as it turned out, Bill really hadn't been wrong about everyone wearing their jumpers that day as tradition. Even Remus had a new and very similarly made jumper on once everyone gathered for Christmas Lunch. She really was the only one not wearing one.
Molly was walking around that morning in a gaudy looking blue hat, a gift from the twins, that she seemed rather proud of. She was showing it off to everyone who entered as she doted over lunch preparations, seemingly expecting everyone to show the same sort of enthusiasm she had for it. It being Christmas, Fleur kept her mouth shut on her true opinions, though Molly seemed to gauge rather quickly that she wasn't particularly wowed. Luckily for everyone, Bill had stepped in straight away and played his dutiful son role, telling her how lovely she looked and distracting her in the charming way he knew best.
It actually gave Fleur a bit of a pause. She wondered if he ever did that with her since it truly was that effortless for him.
Lunch was perfectly nice; Fleur didn't know if she was simply getting used to British food and Molly's cooking because she had little complaints. She would have prepared the turkey differently, but Molly's way was fine. She'd actually finished her plate and had even playfully tried to feed Bill some of the Brussels Sprouts—his "favorite" after all—off her plate, which he seemed to find funny.
Everyone around the table was chatting about what they'd received for Christmas and enjoying the general joyfulness of the day. It was a lovely mood and she couldn't help but smile. It wasn't her normal Christmas, and she missed her family terribly, but they would see each other soon enough. Knowing her mother, she would likely have a second Christmas dinner just because Fleur and Bill were visiting, so she had no issue simply enjoying the festivities here for what they were. After all, she got to be with Bill this year; him reaching under the table to frequently give her leg a rub and—she had to admit—looking very cute in that silly jumper. She was already wondering if it were possible to get some Christmas alone time at any point and make that jumper disappear.
Unfortunately, she didn't get to flush her fantasy out as vividly as she would have liked, because just as her thoughts started to get good, Molly's voice had suddenly cut through the peaceful mood with an urgency in her tone that grabbed the room.
"Arthur!" she said, her gaze out the window and seemingly observing something. "Arthur—it's Percy!"
"What?"
Bill's head had shot toward the window. Everyone's had. From across the table, Bill heard George whisper to Fred, "What the…?" though the end of that sentence was unintelligible.
Sure enough, Percy was striding across the snowy garden toward the house, looking roughly the exact same as he had the last time Bill had seen him. Same neat hair and robes; same glasses; same purpose in his step, as if wherever he had to be, it was very important he get there or else the world would implode.
But he also wasn't alone. Following just a few steps behind him was the Minister of Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour. Which…what?
Why was the Minister of Magic here and not off celebrating Christmas in his own way? What the hell were they playing at? Because it seemed clear to him that Percy, for whatever the reason, was bringing the Minister of Magic to the Burrow for a purpose. Whatever that was, Bill immediately knew it had everything to do with Percy's sudden Christmas appearance.
This was not the Christmas miracle his mother's expression seemed to hope it was.
The door to the kitchen opened and in stepped Percy, his eyes sweeping the faces in the room absently, but only as if to gauge how many people he was up against. After a very loaded and silent pause, he managed to stiffly say, "Merry Christmas, Mother."
"Is this a joke?" George whispered under his breath.
"Jokes are funny," Fred whispered back.
"Oh, Percy!" their mother said, her tone downright weepy as she threw herself at him and hugged him for dear life. Percy actually did return the hug and, while stiff, it wasn't any less stiff than he'd ever hugged their mother in recent years. He'd never been an affectionate person; she really was the only one of them he'd ever been willing to hug post puberty.
No one else in the room said a word; the atmosphere almost felt as if a ghost had passed through. Their father's face was emotionless, but focused; Fred and George looked as if they were struggling to bite their tongues; Ginny looked as if she'd just got a whiff of the odor off the second floor; Ron and Harry seemed confused as to what all of this was.
Remus didn't seem particularly interested in Percy at all; his attention was solely on the Minister and was eyeing him in a rather distrustful manner as he entered the room. Even Fleur, who was the most removed from Percy and all of this, seemed to sense how utterly bizarre his visit was—with the Minister of Magic in tow, no less.
"You must forgive this intrusion," Scrimgeour began to apologize, claiming something about the pair being in the area and Percy not being able to resist popping in for a visit.
That seemed like bullshit, and given Fred, George, and his father's expressions, they all agreed. However, it was also evident his mother was choosing to believe this poor excuse for a visit because she immediately invited them to sit and join them for lunch.
The Minister very politely declined. "No, no, my dear Molly. I don't want to intrude. Wouldn't be here at all if Percy hadn't wanted to see you all so badly."
Right. Percy still hadn't even made eye-contact with anyone else in the room; he was standing there looking as awkward as Bill had ever seen him. It was clear that there was no one in the room who wanted to be here less than Percy. The fact that Scrimgeour thought they were dumb enough—simple enough—to believe the Minister of Magic made Christmas house calls with an underling like Percy for shits and giggles was insulting.
George mouthed, "Bollocks" to Fred, which their father also clearly saw but made no attempt to correct or silently scold him for.
"We've only looked in for five minutes," Scrimgeour added, his tone odd—as if he was trying to sound purposely casual and light, "so I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy."
Before their mother could claim how it was no trouble for him to stay, Scrimgeour—as if sensing what was coming—was already again reiterating how he didn't want to be in the way of this reunion. He quickly added, "Well, if anyone would care to show me around your charming garden..." His eyes immediately went to Harry. "Ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?"
Remus suddenly looked down toward their end of the table, his face silently asking who the hell Scrimgeour thought he was fooling? Everyone seemed to be gathering exactly what was going on now.
Scrimgeour wanted to get to Harry, and knowing he was here at the Burrow, he'd used Percy to get himself here. This man—a former world class Auror—really was banking this entire exchange on a shitty made-up story about Percy wanting to visit on Christmas, as if the rest of them really didn't see through everything. He truly must have assumed they were all simple country folk.
Bill glanced at his father, who was obviously thinking the same thing. All eyes had settled on Harry, who to his credit, shrugged rather casually and said, "Yeah, all right," as if he didn't care.
Fleur's hand found itself on Bill's leg, almost as if she was silently trying to signal she wasn't sure about this. Bill wasn't either, and it appeared neither was anyone else. Remus had made to stand, as if planning to follow; Bill's father apparently had some questions of his own before this occurred.
"I'm fine," Harry said, waving everyone off as he set to lead the Minister outside. He seemed perfectly capable of handling himself, and truthfully there was no reason he shouldn't have been able to. Still, everyone tentatively watched him go, the Minister trekking behind until they both disappeared from sight.
Remus dawdled for a moment, but did suddenly stand and tell everyone he was going to use the loo. Bill had a sneaking suspicion he was going to observe Harry and the Minister somehow—likely through a window—which was only confirmed when Remus didn't take the kitchen stairs up toward the toilet, but instead veered straight into the next room. He'd thrown Arthur and Bill both a knowing sort of look as he'd left; had Percy not been present, he'd likely have announced his intentions for all to hear.
At that, all eyes slowly fell back upon Percy.
"Oh no," George said to him, his tone already loaded. "What are you going to do now that you're stuck with only us?"
"No one to kiss up to here," Fred said, also facing Percy. "Must have cried tears of joy when you heard the Minister of Magic needed you to play his little errand boy."
Percy's entire demeanor immediately changed now that Scrimgeour was gone. While he was still awkward, he'd immediately stood up straighter and put on an aura of superiority; a smugness. Bill was well familiar with this—it was classic Percy. Ever since he was a child, he would default to this smarmy, "I have better thing to do than whatever this is" persona whenever he felt out of place. Quidditch in the garden? That was beneath him. Silly games in the kitchen? He had books to read that were more interesting. Rough-housing in the sitting room? Why would he waste his time with that? Standing here and visiting with his family that he hasn't seen in ages? Only because he was being forced to.
Percy had always been the odd man out in this family. Never as cool or charming as Bill had been, or as sporty and popular as Charlie, or as funny and attention-grabbing as the twins—he'd found his place in rules and righteousness; making sure he was the cleverest person in the room and that everyone knew it. He'd given up long ago attempting to fit into this Weasley puzzle.
And outside of their parents, they'd all let him. Charlie and Percy were oil and water and had never seen eye-to-eye. The twins and him were no better; actually, they were worse. Ron and Ginny had been too young for a proper relationship, so they'd just gone with the flow; Percy had let them. It wasn't as if he tried much to bond with his little siblings.
Bill had tried with him, though. He really had. He and Percy had their moments growing up; their shared interest in academics and being a good student. They could and did have conversations where Percy let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable sometimes. He'd asked Bill for advice plenty of times through the years, whether it was about school or life in general, and they'd had some lovely moments that Bill was sure Charlie or the twins would never say the same about.
Honestly, if they'd grown up in a world where Percy had come before Charlie, or if Charlie hadn't existed, Bill could have seen him and Percy possibly having been close; Percy could have even been an entirely different person had he had that sort of relationship in his life.
Then again, so could Bill…
As it were, Percy was exactly who he was. And that person was currently glaring at the twins as if nothing in his life had ever given him such an instant headache.
"You two stop it!" their mother had snapped at the twins, immediately turning back to Percy and smiling at him. "You know how they are. Believe me when I say we all are truly so happy you've come to visit, sweetheart."
If she was looking for support or validation to that statement, she was instead met with complete silence. Ginny actually made a point to purse her lips as if to force them to stay closed; Ron's expression had momentarily flinched into something expressing extreme doubt.
"Yes, well it seems some things never change," Percy muttered, looking only at his mother. "Some people refuse to grow up—"
"Piss off, Percy," George said without hesitation, earning him a laugh from Fred and Ginny.
Their mother wheeled around on George and looked as if she could kill him where he stood for mucking with this reunion. However, before she could go off again, their father immediately cut in with, "Why are you here Percy?"
"To visit with his family that he wanted to see soooo badly," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes.
"Feeling isn't mutual," George offered, earning him a look from Bill that told him to shut the fuck up. It wasn't that he felt Percy was owed any politeness, but it was obvious that all the sniping was upsetting their mother. She was visibly holding back tears at this point and terrified that Percy would leave; never to be seen or heard from again. The rest of them may have learned to live without Percy, but she hadn't. Percy's estrangement had caused her many sleepless nights and countless tears—Bill had seen them. As far as he was concerned, let her have her moment; it was just as easy to ignore Percy until he left.
"And you can't possibly think anyone believes you want to be here," Fred said to Percy. "Is there seriously no one at the Ministry clever enough to come up with a better cover story—?"
"What does Scrimgeour want with Harry?" their father cut in with.
"That's the Minister's business," Percy said, looking at his father and finally making eye contact with someone else in the room. "It doesn't concern you."
"Bet it doesn't concern you either," George said before he turned back to his father. "He has no idea. He's not important enough to get details."
"He's just being a good little stooge and getting Scrimgeour in the door," Fred said.
Percy rolled his eyes, crossing his arm over his chest and apparently not even going to dignify those two with a response. Bill glanced over and saw Fleur sitting absolutely silent watching all of this play out. She'd heard plenty of stories about Percy over the year and a half they'd been together, but it must have been a bit strange to put a face to a name in this oddly chaotic way.
"Oh, please stop it!" said their mother, still looking panicked that this precarious house of cards could collapse any moment. Even she seemed to realize that she was on borrowed time with Percy; that the moment the Minister reappeared and was ready to leave, he was gone and off again.
"Please can we get along? It's Christmas!" She turned back to Percy, smiling again though it had a desperate and sad quality about it. "You've missed so much! Your father's got a promotion at work, you know."
"Yes, I'm aware," Percy said in a bored way. "I do work at the Ministry."
"Do you?" Ron asked. "We had no idea…"
There was a chuckle around the table, though their mother again immediately began hushing and shushing everyone to keep the peace. "And…and…well, Bill's to be married!" She gestured to where he and Fleur were sitting. "Have you met Fleur? Their wedding is this summer."
Percy glanced over at Bill, the two making eye contact for the first time in…who knew? He couldn't even remember the last time they'd actually talked. There was a lot of strangeness in this look, as if Bill barely recognized the eyes he was looking into.
"Congratulations," Percy offered lamely.
"Thanks," Bill offered just as lamely, though Fleur's "Merci," was more friendly sounding.
"Just so you know," George said to Percy. "You're not invited."
"Yeah, we'd hate for you to think your invitation got lost in the post," Fred added. "Just to clear up any future confusion."
"That's not true!" said their mother, again rounding on Percy in an attempt to smooth things over. "Of course you're invited, sweetheart."
"Iz 'e?" asked Fleur, her tone genuinely curious. "We 'ad not discussed—"
"We haven't done the guest list yet," Bill cut in, looking from his mother to his brothers. "And if we haven't done it, that means no one's actually invited at the moment." He glanced back at Percy, but did nothing more than stare at him.
"I can't see a scenario in which I'd attend," Percy said, trying to sound disinterested, but Bill sensed that a part of him was trying to save face. Whether Percy wanted to believe it or not, parts of him were still the same old Percy who used to stomp up and down these stairs like the rest of them. It wasn't as if they hadn't spent years living in the cramped space together. He could still be read.
"You never know," Ginny quipped. "Perhaps the Minister will need more stooge work done that day."'
"Little does the Minster know that he's more welcomed around here than Percy is," George muttered.
"That is absolutely untrue!" their mother said, and if Bill was certain of anything, it was that Fred and George were going to get it later. All the goodwill they'd gathered after gifting her that new hat and the gold necklace for Christmas was wilting away by the second.
Fred stood and faced Percy directly. "Does this one at least get your name right, Weatherby?"
"ENOUGH!" said their mother, and that tone meant business. They'd pushed too far. Bill had tried to warn them; even their father was shaking his head as if he'd heard enough. The twins didn't seem to realize—or care—that their words weren't hurting Percy as much as they were hurting their mum. Just let her have her handful of minutes in bloody peace.
"I'll wait for the Minister outside," Percy said curtly, already turning toward the door.
"No, wait!" said their mother, panic in her tone. "Please don't go yet. Did you get your jumper this morning? The one I sent? I sent a few things…"
Percy sighed. "I did, but it's really not necessary that you keep sending me a jumper, Mother. I thought I made it clear last Christmas when I returned mine that I don't have any use for it anymore. I don't want it. I can purchase my own clothes." He looked away. "You don't need to waste your time. Or mine."
Bill's eyes narrowed on him. Their mother's face had broken at that; a couple of tears escaping and slowly making their way down her cheeks. She was nodding as if trying to keep a brave face—as if she understood—but everyone else in the room was now staring at Percy as if he'd just smacked her and they were ready to destroy him.
Their father had snapped, "Percy!" while Fred and George both spoke over each in a way that made it difficult to make out what they said—though it was clearly profanity laden. Ginny was muttering something angrily to herself as she dug her fork around in her lunch, while Ron just stared at Percy as if he was some strange foreign creature he'd never seen before and didn't know what to make of him.
Percy didn't react to any of it; his expression remained unmoved. How he could just stand there and crush their mother—make her cry—when he knew how important those stupid jumpers were to her? He knew they were the one thing she'd always been able to deliver on Christmas when they couldn't afford anything else; the one thing she could promise year after year without having to back out. They were more than just fucking jumpers…
But to just stand there staring at her—staring through her—while she attempted to hide her breakdown; to show such little remorse. What the hell was wrong with him? The one person he had on his side in this room was her, but it seemed he didn't even want that anymore.
"You can just say thank you," Bill suddenly said loudly over everyone else, standing from the table then. "It's not that difficult!"
"I should never come here," Percy said more to himself, his tone exasperated.
"There's the door!" Bill said.
He felt Fleur reach up and touch his hand, as if trying to calm him down—perhaps even brace herself to hold him back from pulling out his wand and cursing Percy himself.
But while he was angry, he wasn't that angry. He turned to silently let her know that he had this under control and not to worry. In the background, he could hear his mother begging Percy to stay; to not listen to any of them. He could hear Fred and George still trying to shout over each other.
And then a bizarre combination of a scoff and a yelp suddenly cut through the air. When Bill looked back, he saw that Percy had been hit in the face with a glob of mashed parsnips—much of it still hanging onto his glasses. There was more at his feet, having fallen off his face to the floor. He looked rather shocked.
"What is wrong with you!?" Percy snapped, pulling his glasses off to fling the parsnips to the floor before turning to storm from the house. The word "animals" was the only other thing Bill could make out among the shouts pouring from Percy's mouth.
"Percy!" their mother called, already sounding as if she were in tears as she followed after him. "Please! Wait!"
Around the table, there was a mixture of laughter and tentative looks being passed between everyone. Their father had stood to follow outside, though Remus had reappeared at the same moment to comment that Scrimgeour and Harry were wrapping up and heading back. Bill took it upon himself to say he'd handle the Minister, knowing his father should be out there playing middle man and comforting his mother.
When Scrimgeour did appear, he and Remus saw him off, leading him through the front door to avoid his mother crying through the kitchen. Percy had dashed off to join him the moment the Minister had shown his face, and the goodbyes were nothing if not icy. Percy actually refused to say anything, though Scrimgeour did offer a rather brusque, "Thank your parents for having me."
The Minister's tone was far less light and casual now. Whatever he had come for, it didn't look as if he'd got it.
They both attempted to Disapperate on the spot, though couldn't because of the charms protecting the house that kept people from sneaking up on the Burrow. They'd been in place for decades and certainly weren't anything Percy wasn't aware of.
"You have to leave the vicinity of the house," Bill said, staring directly at Percy as if he should know that.
"For obvious protection," Remus said. "Since there is a war going on." He paused and looked at Scrimgeour. "We are in agreement about that, aren't we? The Ministry's stance on things has been rather mixed at times, so I always feel as if I should ask when I have the opportunity."
Scrimgeour frowned. "Obviously." He looked at Percy. "It's time to leave."
"Yes, sir," Percy said, throwing Bill one last rather dismissive look.
"You can Apparate over there," Bill added without hesitation, pointing to where the charm's boundaries roughly ended. "Since you clearly need reminding, Perce."
"I know where it is," he said in a way that clearly did not appreciate Bill's tone. And why should he? Merlin forbid, he look stupid in front of the Minister of Magic.
Scrimgeour seemed annoyed. He turned to walk to where Bill had indicated and blew straight past Percy, who didn't hesitate to trek right after him. Seconds before they Apperated away, Remus cheekily called out, "Happy Christmas!"
"It was before they dropped in," Bill muttered as they vanished. He glancing over at Remus, who cracked a small smile as they exchanged tired looks.
Once they returned to the kitchen, Bill could see his parents still standing out in the garden—his father holding his mother as she cried into his chest. There was a wild sort of tension in the air, and Harry clearly seemed confused by what he'd walked back into. He could be heard asking Ron, "Do I want to know what happened?"
"Just Percy being Percy…" Ron muttered.
"What a fucking prat," Fred muttered, looking highly irritated. "Mum's going to be a wreck for days now. He had to show his stupid face…"
"I don't know," George said with a smirk. "His face wasn't so bad with parsnips all over it."
There was a chuckle and mild agreement around the table at that. It prompted Bill to ask, "And which one of you did that?"
To his surprise, Fred, George, and Ginny all raised their hands.
"All of you did it?"
"Whether I did it or not doesn't matter," Fred said. "I'm still taking credit for it."