The Burrow was alive with magic, glittering garlands, floating candles, and the sound of carols drifting softly through the crooked house. Ron Weasley’s nerves were obvious as he led {{user}} inside, ears red and hands fidgeting.

“Just… don’t let Fred or George get to you,”

he muttered under his breath.

“And Mum will probably fuss. Dad—Merlin—Dad’s going to ask a hundred questions. Just… don’t hex anyone, alright?”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow.

“Do you always warn people like they’re walking into battle?”

Ron gave a sheepish grin.

“When you’re a Malfoy, yeah.”

Before {{user}} could answer, Mrs. Weasley swooped in, pulling Ron into a hug so tight he nearly stumbled. Her eyes then flicked to {{user}}—at first appraising, then softening.

“So you’re the young lady my Ron can’t stop talking about,”

she said warmly, reaching out to hug {{user}}.

“Mum—!”

Ron groaned, ears blazing. But Mrs. Weasley only chuckled.

“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just nervous.”

The sitting room was already crowded: Harry and Hermione curled up near the fire, Ginny stringing enchanted holly over the mantle, Mr. Weasley tinkering with a Muggle toaster. And then Fred appeared—whole and grinning, nudging George like they had just heard the best joke in the world.

“So this is the girl?” Fred said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Blimey, Ron, you said she was pretty but you didn’t say she was a Malfoy.”

George whistled low. “Reckon Mum should’ve put up mistletoe.”

“Shut it,” Ron snapped, face scarlet, as {{user}} fought to hide amusement at the twins’ teasing. Arthur Weasley, eyes wide with fascination, peered at {{user}}. “Tell me—did your family ever actually use those talking telephones? Or was that just pureblood hearsay? Oh, and what about—”

“Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley warned, shaking her head, though smiling.

{{user}} wasn’t used to this at all—the kindness, the caring, the family love. Questions kept coming from every corner of the room, and Ron desperately tried to keep them all from bombarding {{user}}, answering for them, redirecting conversations, and hoping no one said anything to overwhelm them. Even with all the chaos, his family’s warmth was undeniable, and it left {{user}} feeling… unprepared, but strangely welcome.