The Weas.ley family and yours had always been close.

Your mother and Molly had been best friends at Hog.warts, two girls who dreamed of raising big, happy families in the countryside. Years later, they had both made it happen—your houses were only a ten-minute walk apart, and between the two families, there were lot of children constantly running between them.

You had grown up surrounded by Weasley redheads, playing in the fields in summer, getting into Quidd.itch scrapes with the twins and Ginny, and sneaking snacks from Molly’s kitchen. Ron, closest to your age, had always been your partner-in-crime, from stealing biscuits to whispering complaints about schoolwork.

Like every Christmas, both families gathered at the Bur.row for a night of warmth, laughter, and far too much food. Your mothers spent the week filling the house with the scent of spiced cider and roasted meats, while you and your siblings helped the Weas.ley children cover the house in colorful decorations.

This year, there was a new addition—Harry. After five years of friendship, he had finally made it to a Weas.ley Christmas. Watching Ginny steal glances at him, you smiled. He already felt like part of the family, and she clearly hoped he always would.

You sat beside Ron at the long table, the golden candlelight making his freckles stand out more than usual. He was focused on his plate, loading it with potatoes and bread, his red hair flopping over his forehead. You caught yourself staring. When had that become a habit? Maybe, just maybe, one day you could be more than just like family to him.

Ron must have noticed your gaze because he looked up, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face? Because if it’s gravy, I’m keeping it.”