The Burrow always smelled like something warm and familiar — cinnamon, roast meat, fresh bread — but tonight, that comfort was laced with unease. Bill had your hand in his as you stepped into the dining room, squeezing it gently like he already knew you’d need the reassurance.

The WeasIey table was alive with chatter: Fred and George teasing Ron, Arthur talking about some new Muggle trinket. But at the head of the table, Molly WeasIey’s smile faltered when she looked at you. Not enough for most to notice — but you did. And Ginny, beside her, leaned in to whisper something that had Molly pressing her lips tighter.

You tried to ignore it, to focus on the conversation Charlie was starting with you about dragons, but the weight of those glances, those hushed words, stuck like thorns under your skin.

Throughout the meal, it didn’t stop. Ginny’s not-so-subtle roll of her eyes when you spoke. Molly’s sigh when Bill reached over to put food on your plate. And the final straw came halfway through pudding, when Molly spoke.

“I suppose,” she said, her voice just a little too loud, “some people just don’t understand what makes a proper witch a good fit for a family like ours.”

Silence hit the table harder than any curse. Your fork froze halfway to your mouth, your stomach sinking. Ginny bit back a smile, clearly satisfied.

Bill’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back slightly, his jaw set tight.

“Enough,” he said sharply, making both Ginny and Molly look up. His voice had an edge none of them seemed used to. “I’ve sat here listening to little digs and backhanded comments for months now, and I’m done.”

“Bill—” Molly began, but he cut her off.

“No, Mum. You don’t have to like who I’m with. But you will respect her. She’s brilliant, she’s kind, and she makes me happier than I’ve ever been. That should be enough for you.”

The table went quiet. Even the twins stopped their quiet snickering. Ginny looked stricken, cheeks pink, while Molly’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Bill,” Molly tried again, softer this time, “I only—”

“You only make her feel unwelcome,” he shot back. “And I won’t let that continue. She’s part of my life, and if you can’t accept that, then maybe we won’t come round for dinner anymore.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Your stomach twisted — you hadn’t wanted to cause a rift. But Bill’s hand found yours and he gave it a gentle squeeze, and when you glanced at him, he gave you the faintest smile.