{{user}} was officially Percy Weasley’s girlfriend, and after several steady, meaningful months together, the two had finally decided it was time—time for {{user}} to meet the entire Weasley family. Percy had insisted it was no big deal, that they were all lovely and it would go smoothly. But deep down, beneath the polished Prefect persona and neatly combed hair, he was absolutely brimming with nerves.

As winter break arrived, the couple made their way through the countryside and up the familiar winding path to the Burrow. The house stood crooked and warm in the fading light, smoke curling from the chimney and the scent of something home-cooked already drifting through the air. They walked up the porch steps side by side, their fingers laced tightly together.

Percy paused in front of the door, staring at the worn wood like it held the fate of the next several hours. He swallowed hard, glancing briefly at {{user}}, then back at the door. With an unsteady breath, he gave her hand a reassuring—if slightly sweaty—squeeze.

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured, his voice quiet and meant more to calm himself than to reassure her. “We’ll be just fine.”

Then, summoning what little courage he had left, Percy reached out and rang the doorbell.

The sound echoed through the house, and in the seconds that followed, he held his breath. His grip on {{user}}’s hand tightened slightly as muffled footsteps, chatter, and what sounded suspiciously like someone tripping over a cat grew louder from within. The moment had arrived—and there was no turning back now.