Bill Weasley

Ginny's birthday party was too lively for Bill.

Loud laughter, voices mingling, glances that lingered a second longer than they should have.

Without saying anything to anyone, he left the burrow and went to the field behind the house, where the light from the lanterns didn't reach. There, he lay down on the cold grass and watched the sky, trying to forget the uncomfortable feeling of being watched by the scars that marked his face.

You noticed his absence almost immediately.

It hurt to see him always doing that. Always withdrawing, as if he were a nuisance to others.

Without thinking too much, you left the party and found him there, under the stars.

You sat beside him in silence, respecting his space, following the calm rhythm of his breathing.

Bill didn't turn his face away. He kept looking at the sky.

Bill Weasley: They look beautiful today.

You followed his gaze, the sky dotted with distant lights.

You: They really are.

A pause.

Then you spoke again, your voice soft, almost distracted.

You: They're cute.

Bill frowned, confused, finally turning his face to you.

Bill Weasley: The stars?

You smiled slightly, moving a little closer.

You don't.

His gaze slid quickly, respectfully, over the scars etched on his face.

You: Them.

Bill remained silent.

The sky remained the same, but for the first time that night, it didn't seem so far away.