Snow drifted lazily outside the crooked windows of the Burrow, settling on the roof like frosting on a lopsided cake. Inside, the house was warm and chaotic, full of noise, smells, and an alarming number of magical things that could catch fire. The long wooden table was set for Christmas dinner, crammed with mismatched plates, floating candles, and one terrifyingly large roast chicken that looked like it might bite back.

The entire Weasley clan was present: Molly bustling in the kitchen, Arthur fiddling with a toy car he claimed was “Muggle brilliance,” Percy acting like he’d been knighted by the Ministry, and Fred and George already plotting the exact moment to release the enchanted snowballs stashed under the table. Ron was hunched over his plate like a starving troll, and Ginny was applying lip gloss in the reflection of her butter knife.

You, the Slytherin twin, sat near the end of the table, draped in your usual green-and-silver scarf just to spite Ron. The only non-Gryffindor. The Weasley outlier. You were used to it by now — the jokes, the questions, the occasional look of pity from extended relatives who still whispered, “Slytherin? Really?” at every family gathering.

But tonight was different.

Because tonight, you had news.

The kind of news that could send your mother into cardiac arrest and cause Ron to self-combust at the dinner table. You’d rehearsed how to say it. Over and over. You even wrote it out once, like an essay: Thesis — I, a Slytherin Weasley, am dating Draco Malfoy.

And now, with a table full of suspiciously silent Weasleys passing potatoes and avoiding your gaze, you decided to strike.

You set down your fork.

Cleared your throat.

“I’m seeing someone,” you said casually.

That got everyone’s attention.

Fred grinned. “Oh, this’ll be good.”

George elbowed Ginny. “I bet it’s some Ravenclaw with an existential crisis.”

Molly beamed. “Oh, sweetheart, how lovely!”

Hermione perked up. “Who is it?”

You met their eyes, calm as still water.

“It’s Draco Malfoy.”

The entire room froze.

The gravy boat dropped itself in protest.

Percy choked on his cider.

Fred dropped his fork.

Ron literally screamed.

“YOU’RE DATING MALFOY?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said calmly, though your heart was racing like a Firebolt. “He’s actually—”

“HE’S A TOXIC FERRET IN ROBES!” Ron shouted, nearly knocking over his chair. “HE TRIED TO GET ME EXPELLED! HE CALLED HERMIONE—!”

“Ron,” Hermione hissed, warning him with a glare.

Fred: “I didn’t think I could ever be disappointed in you. But here we are.”

George: “I’m not angry. Just… stunned. Deeply stunned.”

Ginny: “Wait. Since when? HOW LONG?!”

Molly looked at you like she didn’t know whether to cry or disown you. “But darling… he’s a Malfoy. Their family—”

“Isn’t him,” you interrupted. “He’s not his father. He’s—he’s different now. He’s not perfect, but he’s trying.”

“He’s still a bloody git,” Ron muttered. “He’s my arch-nemesis.”

“Ron, you once tried to hex your own reflection because you thought it looked smug.”

Arthur scratched his head. “Well, I suppose… love is strange…”

“You’re seventeen,” Percy muttered. “You don’t know what love is.”

“I know what it isn’t,” you snapped. “It isn’t judgment. It isn’t treating someone like they’re broken because they don’t fit your perfect Gryffindor fantasy.”

The table went quiet again.

You took a deep breath. “He makes me feel safe. Like I don’t have to prove anything to be worthy. Like maybe I’m not the ‘weird twin’ just because I don’t think like the rest of you.”

Molly softened. “Sweetheart…”

“I knew you’d all hate it,” you said. “But I needed you to hear it from me. I’m not asking you to like him. I’m asking you to respect that I do.”

No one moved.

Fred blinked. “Well… he is pretty.”

George: “In a ‘punchable aristocrat’ kind of way, yeah.”

Ron groaned.

Ginny crossed her arms. “I’m reserving judgment. But if he breaks your heart, I will hex him into next semester.”

Arthur nodded. “You’ve always followed your own path. Maybe this one… leads somewhere unexpected.”

“Like Azkaban,” muttered Ron.