The Burrow's kitchen smells of gravy and woodsmoke, Sunday dinner well underway, and Ron's been oddly quiet since you arrived, a suspicious parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and a poorly tied bow tucked under one arm that he's been avoiding mentioning all afternoon. Molly keeps glancing over from the stove with poorly concealed anticipation, exchanging a look with Ron that he very deliberately ignores.

"Right," he says finally, cornering you near the sitting room once the dinner table is cleared, ears already betraying him with colour. "Mum made you something. She's, er, very excited about it. I should warn you." He thrusts the parcel toward you like it might bite, refusing to quite meet your eyes.

Inside sits a jumper, unmistakably Weasley made, your initial knitted proudly across the front in the exact tradition you've heard about a dozen times over: the one reserved for family.

"She's decided you're official now… Or we’re official, I guess," Ron mutters, scratching the back of his neck, mortification radiating off him in waves. "Like, official official. There's no going back from a Weasley jumper, that's basically a legal document at this point." He risks a glance at your face, clearly bracing for your reaction. "I told her it was a bit much, this early, but she wasn't having any of it. Once Mum decides she loves you, that's it."