Marry me, would you?

A lonely figure walked up the hill to the crooked house, barely visible in the dark sky of a December morning in the UK. She walked up, counting her steps, hands stuck in her coat pockets. “-forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine. And fifty.” The crispy wind blew her air away, nearly toppling ehr small figure to the ground. In her pocket her hands writhed, her fingers contorting on themselves. She shouldn’t have come.
She took a small paper out of her pocket, reread the name of the address. The Burrow. Just like what was written on the small panel barely hanging on itself by the fence. She instinctively produced her wand and wordlessly repaired it.
The Burrow. Fifty steps exactly away for the start of the little path disillusioned from muggles.
Right, she shouldn’t have come. She didn’t even know what to say to those people. She didn’t know them at all.

“Hi, I’m Bilswith, I was given your address by Minister Shacklebolt.” She gave a tight smile to the mist in front of her.
This wasn’t going to work. She nearly turned her back to the wonky home and down the slope to disapparate back to her apartment. If that’s what it was.
No, she could do it. She would knock on the door, someone would open it and smile at her. ‘Hi, how can I help you?’ and to that Billie would answer ‘Hi, I’m Billie, the Minister gave me your address.’ Or they could react differently, and maybe say ‘Who are you?’ to which Billie could also answer ‘Hi, I’m Billie, the Minister gave me your address.’

What followed her ten minute pep-talk outside in the snow by the fence door was her lonely figure walking to the door and knowing on it before she could regret it. Silence followed her action. There was light inside, she could tell from the tiny two millimetre slither under the door (which she was sure was not helping the temperature inside the home). It was silent, for five and a half seconds, enough for her to believe that she was not welcome and that she should have come in the afternoon. But because it was the holidays, she wasn’t sure if she would walk in on the homeowners eating lunch, tea, or dinner, all three meals not usually eaten at their given time, or pushed for longer than necessary.
Billie didn’t like Winter meals with family members. She shouldn't have come at all, she really shouldn't. One more second, nothing, and she was ready to walk back down the small hill, the thirteen steps from the fence to the front door and the fifty steps down the slope to the street.
The door opened. And a tall woman, very tall and very blond. Her hair was so bright it looked like it shined in the darkness of the early morning. Whereas Billie’s light hair blended in with the snow too a dull white.

The two women looked at one another for a few seconds. One surprised on her way out, the other surprised that someone had even knocked on the door, normally people just entered the Burrow with cheers and joy. This person in front of Fleur looked anything but cheerful.
It took her a second to understand the position that the girl was in. At least, the person who was barely taller than a teenager, standing with a foot backwards, body half turned and eyes wide as if caught in the act of thieving. Once again Fleur had forgotten that when the door was closed no sound from inside could be heard outside, and that person hadn’t heard her call to wait.
Billie looked back down at the parchment in hand. It clearly stated that she was to go to the Burrow and meet the Weasleys. Something that shouldn't be hard to do since they were all ginger, yet this woman, the one who opened the door, tall and lithe and clearly supermodel, was anything but ginger. And she hadn’t said a word yet.
Her fingers trembled as she took her other hand out, folded the paper like she had forty-three times before, in half, quarters, eighths, sixteenth, thirty-twoth… Right, she was here for something.

“Uhm, hi.” She said, unsure about herself and looking back down at the parchment to make sure that she had everything alright. “I am looking for Mrs Molly Weasley.” Her plan was already out the way, she was improvising. Nothing prepared, just the paper in her hand and an objective. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her ribcage, she had not been prepared for that.
“She’z still asleep now, but depending on what you need hi might be able to ‘elp you.”
How could she help her? She didn’t know her, didn't know what she needed help with, and probably didn’t even know who she was looking for. And also might not know all the subtleties of the English language, she was definitely French, and the French wizards Billie had met were all but knowledgeable. “Well,” She stuttered her way around with words, unsure of how to put the problem down, and unsure of how the Weasley Matriarch might have been able to help her anyways. How would Molly Weasley be able to help her with a dead man she had no association with? “I have this problem with my Marriage partner because he is dead.”
Fleur stood in front of the girl for a few more seconds. Tall lean body holding onto the door and the frame, towering over the short girl huddled in a jacket waiting outside in the snowy shrubs. The woman was tall, pretty and intimidating. Had she been at school with her, Billie would have stirred clear off her path. Whether she was younger or not.
“Oh. Pleaz come in.” She finally managed to say, shuffling to the side to help the girl with her coat and moving her towards the living room. Billie froze in the doorway, not having seen herself take the three steps forwards, towards this woman and the warm yellow inside of the crooked house. This had not been in her plan, she wasn’t supposed to go inside, get invited, and wait for the woman she needed to talk with to wake up. She should have refused, said it out loud, and come back some other time. “This iz more complicated than it iz, right?” Billie could only gulp as she found herself in the warm and cosy living room of the Weasleys.

It was too late, she was in the den of wolves. As nice as they were, even at Hogwarts that house overwhelmed her very quickly.
In front of her sat three people (already too much), five if you counted the children (absolutely perfect). She recognised The Hermione Granger with a small blond child drinking from a bottle in her arms, but the dark haired woman and the blue haired kid were a mystery to her, the only man in the room could only be a Weasley with the tuft of ginger hair on his head.

“Make yourself at ‘ome. Tea, coffee, chocolate?”
A pause, surprised by the question. Was she really supposed to answer? Billie looked up at the blond woman, in the doorway to another room,most likely the kitchen, with an awaiting stare. She scared her. “A chocolate would be nice, thank you.” It was awkward, she wasn’t going to lie. She had always been a bit of an outcast during her time at Hogwarts, each meal purposefully draining, and winter there had been nothing but silent. Nobody ever stayed for the holidays, these people were a prime example of that. Only a few people already and she could tell that with the Matriarch still asleep, there were too many people in this house. Her family never compared to this one, with barely two parents present. Even on the most important day, her meal was on her own, and no present safe for the tin of biscuits from the house elves waiting at the bottom of her bed. A pile she realised was present in the corner of the room, hiding from sight the possible Christmas tree. If the number of present was any indication the the people in this house, Billie was already scared with what was going to drive her to the ground. The three women and two children and one man were already a lot, any more and it would be closer to a meeting than a chat-
“So, what’s your name?” She was asked by the older woman, neat hair in loose curls, old enough to be her mother but a youthful air to her as she let the two and a half year old boy walk around the room. Billie looked at her, stared at her aristocratic features that screamed ‘pure-blood’ and nearly black hair that made her belong to a house she was glad to have never come too close to. She was a Black, looking much nicer than Bellatrix, but the resemblance was striking. However the child, already with a different coloured mop of hair, was not her own child. His face held too much fat in the cheeks to be anything close to a pure-blood.

Right, she was asked her name. “Billie.” Something blocked her vision of the woman and child, Billie held herself from jumping away. She hadn’t heard the blond come back from the kitchen, the thing was a cup of hot chocolate for herself. Held in front of her. “Wright.” It was quiet, the people around her didn’t seem to mind her presence much. As if it was normal to have strangers in this common room. She didn’t particularly like this ease that surrounded her. “And you?” Billie asked nobody in particular.
“I ham Fleur.” The tall blond woman said, coming back again from the kitchen with biscuits, which she placed on a table Billie had missed in the middle of the room. There was so much going on in the house, texture over texture over furniture over trinkets. Now, with the white tablecloth and plate of biscuits, she could see the table. “Victoire iz my daughter.” She indicated towards the baby held by Hermione Granger, the only person Billie could place, only because she had helped finish the war and her face had been placated all over the newspaper. The baby she held looked everything like her mother, not too much fat in the cheeks even if she was young, and short locks of blond hair covering half her face, but her freckles were prominent. Was her father one of the gingers?
“I’m Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you.” She made to move to shake her hand, but stopped when she realised that she still held the baby girl Victoire.
Reading a book in the corner, in an armchair seemingly made for the burly man, the ginger didn’t as much as move to look at her. Billie might have understood if the room had been filled with more children and more noise, but they weren’t that many. She could hear him turning the pages, as well as the wind wafting under the door, and the tap that wasn’t properly closed in the bathroom upstairs. The loudest thing in this room currently was the crackling of the burning logs. How had he not heard? Was his book that interesting? Billie narrowed her eyes and tried to read the title from her seat on the other side of the living room. She couldn’t, but there was a dragon on its cover.

“That’s Charlie,” The elegant woman, whom she had yet to learn the name of, said. “He is one of Molly’s children, also tends to just zone out in moments of quiet. Hard to come by those during this season at the Burrow.” The woman blindly took out the door knob the blue-haired child had been munching on as she faced Billie. “I am Andromeda, a family friend. And Teddy is my grandchild.”
Billie watched as the boy looked from his grandmother to her, then back and again, before standing up and toddling over to her. No. Not towards her. Billie’s eye widened as the child still continued towards her. He nearly spilled her cup of cocoa when he barrelled into her leg for a stop.
Being a witch for her entire life, having gone to Hogwarts for seven years, lived and worked in the magical world before the war started, she thought she would have seen it all. She hadn't. Because the boy, Teddy, just morphed his hair from the blue curls he had born to hair that eerily resembled her light grey bob. She watched transfixed for a few moments. She hadn't imagined earlier his hair changing colour. What had looked like a bout of accidental magic before now was clearly something else. Her hand slowly went out to touch the hair, just like hers. “They look identical.” She murmured, still shocked. What was it called? What was this ability called? It was rare, not dangerous, not hereditary. Morphing one’s body, morph- Metamorphmagus. “You did a great job.” Billie knew she was awkward with kids. She felt awkward. At least she had reacted to him instead of staring incredulous at him for minutes. Because the kid just smiled at her in glee, before scampering back over to his grandmother, looked for something in her dress pocket before finding his seat beside the flames of the chimney, occupying himself, hair still grey.
Magic still surprised her.

“What ability do you have that gives you your hair colour?” Billie turned to face Hermione Granger. Surely she didn't think that her hair was also magic?
“Ability?” What was she supposed to answer to that? “Griscelli Syndrome. An autoimmune muggle malady, it’s rare but doesn’t do anything but give me grey hair.” Was that what she was supposed to say? It wasn't cool by any means, especially after seeing the young metamorphmagus already using his powers so well. It was lame. She could say it. A muggle malady that gave grey hair.
Awkward silence. Hermione went back to caring for the baby she held, Andromeda sipped at her cup of tea, Fleur seemed to have disappeared, and Charlie had yet to look up from his book. The turning of pages the loudest thing in the room now that Andromeda had put a barrier between her grandchild and the fireplace. The ward had dulled the sound of the crackling. Billie sighed, she liked the sound of the crackling. It reminded her of the warmth of the kitchen’s at Hogwarts. Another turn of pages. Either he read really fast, in between the lines, or the chapter wasn’t that interesting.
Billie wished she had a book too, with which she could fiddle with. Because Granger had one in her second hand, and Andromeda's was just there on her armchair’s mismatched side table.

The French blond woman that could have been a Witch Weekly frontpage model, Fleur her name was, came back down the stairs followed by a burly woman with bright ginger hair. She must have been Molly Weasley. Her son Charlie was her spitting image. Billie didn’t know what to do. The cup was cold and empty in her hands, but it occupied her fingers while nobody talked.
It shouldn’t have surprised her that her social skills were off, because it was boxing day at eight, half past eight now her watch told her when she glanced at it, the clock in the corner couldn’t tell the time even if asked. Were these people way too nice and felt obligated to accept her in? Fleur could have told her to come back later, when it was okay to talk and the person she was to talk to was awake. She could have come back, it wouldn't have changed much. Instead of waiting in silence here in the cosy and overfilled home she would have been in her cold apartmen-
“Billie, I’ve been told.” Billie looked up to find the red-haired woman standing beside her seat. If it wasn’t for the warm smile on her tired face, she would have scared her to death. Billie wished she could forget how as a first year she had run away from her House Head because she had been afraid of the burly woman with tight grey curls on top of her head, standing tall as if ready to pull out a screeching mandrake from her back. Here, Molly Weasley had both hands on her hips, her body clad in a worn night shift with what could have been polka dots printed on the muggle fabric. Billie looked back up to find the woman still standing beside her, head cocked to the side. As if she was waiting for something. Billie didn’t know what.

“Do you want me to move? I didn’t know this was your place, excuse me.” She made a move to stand up, apologising profusely before she was pushed back down.
“I’ll have none of that in my house. No seat belongs to anyone, dear. I just wanted to make sure I got your name right from Fleur.”
“It’s Billie, yes.”
“Great. Now come over to the kitchen, you look too skinny for this cold winter. I’ll make some bangers and bacon. Some of the boys will come down once they smell the meat. ”
“I don’t eat anything for breakfast, but thank you.”
“What about a bacon roll? That seems simple enough.” Did the woman even listen? She was pulled from the armchair gently by the elder woman, the kitchen was even warmer than the living room, if that was possible. And Billie had just been hot enough not to feel overwhelmed yet, this kitchen was a bit too much. Heatwise, and with what was happening in it already. It wasn’t very calm. Pots and pans started levitating on their own as the woman waved her wand, a chair pulled itself out from below the kitchen table and Billie was shown there by Molly. “Great. Lovely to have someone else at the house. Kingsley did tell me that someone might come over, though I didn’t expect you to come today out of all days.” She had forgotten it was boxing day, having not looked at the dates in a calendar for months now. Opening her mouth to apologise knowing that this day was one usually spent between families and friends, Billie didn’t didn’t have time to. “You should have slept in, dear. Really, after all a Christmas dinner is long and heavy and has that need to be digested over a full night and plenty of rest.” Billie wasn’t going to tell this woman that she just had had two naans from down her street for dinner and there wasn’t much to digest.

Entering the kitchen from behind her, Andromeda sent her a compassionate smile, seemingly knowing the Weasley matriarch and her tendency to talk a lot. Or force people to follow her. Or make food. Or insult someone's weight.
“Don’t worry, the first time she met me she told me I needed more meat on my skinny bones.” Hermione whispered as she took a seat beside her, in solidarity(? she suspected from what she was telling her). The woman was still having a monologue on her own, Andromeda having already gone back to the living room with another teapot. “But she means well. Molly cares with food. You will see when the boys come down for lunch.”
“Not breakfast?”
“No, lunch. She means it when she says that Christmas dinner needs to be digested. Her food is great, and her children spare none of it. They will probably be sleeping in until half twelve. But Bill might come down soon enough.”
“Who are the boys?” Billie was confused, how many children did this woman have? And how many people were in the house. Four people was a lot, if you added the significant others, then eight adults, maybe ten. Was there more? Billie might already need some time outside to breathe in a little better, the heat from the kitchen was starting to get to her already. More people and she would need to leave.
“Her sons and Harry, their significant others and Ginny. So that makes it Arthur, Bill, Ron, Percy and George. Angelina, Penelope, Harry and Ginny. About nine people.” This was going to be like her Hogwarts years, she suspected. With, was it seven?, men, an old man, two grandmothers, five women and two kids? This was much more than she had expected going into this.

Billie had no time to dwell on that fact before she was pulled into another conversation. A plate with three bacon rolls, a pot of ketchup beside that, was placed in front of her, and Molly took her seat in front of her. Hermione patted her back (it really felt like solidarity) and served herself much less from the other plates of food. When the woman had said bacon roll, she had expected just one. Billie closed her eyes, tried to forget the pots and pans working themselves around them, the two women talking in the other room, the fire crackling, the children babbling to themselves, and the pages of Charlie’s book being turned.
“So, why did Kingsley send you here?” Right, Minister for Magic called by his first name, she was just with a normal family of magical folks inviting her for breakfast because they must know something about her partner. Right. Because Minister Shacklebolt wouldn’t just send her to this family’s home without knowledge of what he was doing. They may know something, something that could help her. So Billie was going to suck up to herself a little bit, ignore the heat, eat a little of the bacon rolls, and talk. She hated talking. And she wasn’t hungry.

Billie finished her first bite of one of the bacon rolls she had been given. Very good and not very light on the stomach, how was she supposed to finish even the first one? She also understood why after a huge feast to celebrate Christmas no one had gotten up yet.
“It’s about my match.” She saw the woman sink deeper into her chair, she must have had many of those talks with the number of children she has. The ministry’s match for repopulation (and possible love, but have a child you don’t always have to love that person you fornicate with). Right, back on track. Billie ignored how the roll just sunk to the bottom of her stomach, how the heat was really making her dizzy. She had practised this part of her text much more than her introduction that hadn’t even gone right. “There is something wrong about it, and even after redoing everything four times over and another time looked at by Minister Shacklebolt himself. And the same name coming up each time.”
“You must be perfect for each other then, dear.” Molly told her, not realising that Billie hadn’t finished her explanation.
“But he’s dead.” Well that put a damper on the mood. But who was she supposed to explain that without making people not want to eat anymore? “And well, Minister Shacklebolt said you might be able to help me regarding that fact. Since you know how he died. I think that's what he said to me.”
“So he’s dead?”
“Everybody thinks so, even Minister Shacklebolt does.”

“Who is your partner then?” Molly asked. Hermione Granger also leaning in a bit to ask the same.
“Who is it that’s dead?”
“Sirius Black is my partner.”
“Well that's a good one if I say so.” Billie turned to face one tall lanky ginger guy leaning on the doorway, cup of coffee stirring itself as he scratched at where his ear should have been. A scar of the war, she supposed. Everyone suffered because of Voldemort. And now the ministry of magic was making her want to run around once more. She felt powerless in front of this situation.
“George!”
“What? It isn’t a joke?” He took his seat at the head of the table, leaning back on his chair, two legs off the ground. He put back the four feet to the ground when his mother glared at him, either indicating that it wasn’t a joke or that he needed to put the chair back straight. “You can’t be paired with Sirius Black. He’s dead.”
“I know that, thank you. I’ve told that to the ministry many times before.”
“Wait, you’re for real?”
He was greatly getting on her nerves. Now the heat, the heaviness of her stomach, and a prick. “Yes, I have here with me all of the official papers if you want.” Billie dug into her pockets to pull out a waddle of letters with the Ministry’s seal. “Four times I received the letter, each time being told that there was nothing wrong with the spells and that he was my soulmate. Another, signed by Minister Shacklebolt himself, that there must be a fluke somewhere as that this guy, which I don’t know anything about, isn’t actually dead. And the Minister’s last letter to me was your address, Ma’am.”
“Call me Molly.”
That wasn’t the question. “Sorry, Molly.” Billie was still a polite girl.

Billie didn’t excuse herself when she stood up, leaving the papers on the table, leaving two and one bit bacon rolls on her plate, and left through the front door. She didn't even bother to take her coat. It was too hot, too much, too loud. She ignored the heavy footsteps coming down the staircase, the body nearly colliding with hers on her way out, and mumbled “Sorry there. Mum, are there sausages left?” One person too much already. Two people too much, and just way too many.
Billie kneeled beside the patch of kale, looking at the green leaves covered in a thin layer of snow. Her hand went to pull one of the strands out, seeing it needed to be picked, knowing that any longer and it would either wilt or taste bitter. Billie stopped herself, this wasn't her greenhouse, this wasn’t Hogwarts. She was with strangers. Overwhelmed by their home, bodies, heat, and scents.

While she was out, the papers were passed around in the kitchen over the food. Her half eaten bacon laid forgotten on the plate.
When Billie did come back in, the two boys she had passed were not in the kitchen anymore, but their voices were loud in the living room. One was George, the other she was never told, though a loud shriek told her his name was Ronald. Another person sat down beside her, one ginger she hadn’t seen before, yet still attracted to food just as much as the other two. She looked up to see another ginger man by her side, looking over her shoulder at the letters, one of the rolls in his mouth. “Whaza?” He muttered. He was too close to her, but thanks to her opening the door, the kitchen felt cooler than before. Though that did nothing to make her feel any better to this man (seemingly older than his brothers) invading her personal space. Billie scooted over a little on the bench, more space for him to look over the letter, turn it over, check the seal, it was authentic. He finished his bite and looked down at the girl he had never seen before. “Hi there. Got a problem with a dead soulmate?”
“William!” So this was another one of her sons. One or two was enough in the kitchen, but Molly took more space than Billie liked in the too small kitchen, and this child of hers, William, was not a small person either. He was tall, muscular, and had hair that made him feel ten times more invasive. Looking up towards the womb, Billie's eyes caught the sight of the leaner ginger man against the door once more. “You stay because you might be able to help. But George, out!” The woman wasn’t to be trifled with. “Fleur, can you get Ginny and Harry up, they might be able to help, thank you.” Turning back to Billie, and the person next to her. Whom Billie did not realise had come back as well. “Hermione, I know you were out during that moment and you don’t know what happened. But I know you are an intelligent girl.” Hermione flushed at the praise from the older woman. “Though can you help Fleur with Angelina, she’s hard to wake up.”
This woman reminded her of certain pureblooded pricks she had met during the war, it wasn’t a good comparison. It was a very weird Slytherin way to talk praise before assigning a task clearly below those skills.

Billie sat silently in the middle of this onslaught of people and conversation crossing over. It wasn’t long before two sleepy heads turned up to the kitchen in their pyjamas and one person that had clearly already passed by the kitchen before. She got waves instead of verbal ‘good morning’s, breakfast was taken into plates and eaten. Less and less mannerly as she went down the line in front of her. The Harry Potter ate calmly in front of her, next was the girl, Ginny she suspected, eating with more manners, but also simply more than her, Hermione, or Harry. And then was Ron, golden trio with Harry and Hermione, eating like a pig. Plate stacked with so many things it lost its separation, and manners with no delicacy.
“So, who’re you?” Ron asked between mouthfuls, she saw Hermione lean away from him from the corner of her eyes. “A friend of mum’s?” Mistakes of her grey hair for old age was something she had gotten used to since Hogwarts, but as close as he was, she expected the boy to look at her face and realise that she was someone over thirty years of age. Billie sighed. She suspected that the precious discussion was going to be pushed off a little longer, for them to wake up and clean up too.
“I’m Billie Wright. I’m here because my ministry partner is Sirius Black.”
Harry Potter choked on his tea, the ginger girl stared at her wide eyed, and Ronald Wealsey stared open mouthed. Yes, he hadn’t finished his food. He could learn a lesson from his brothers and sister in terms of mannerism.
“Godric, that's a good one. And then your kid will be Greyson, right?”

Billie didn’t find it funny.