Bill Weasley

Ginny's birthday party was far too lively for Bill.

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

Without saying a word to anyone, he stepped away from the Burrow and headed for the field behind the house, where the lantern light couldn't reach. There, he lay down on the cold grass and stared up at the sky, trying to forget the uncomfortable feeling of being watched through the scars that marked his face.

You noticed his absence almost immediately.

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

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

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

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

Bill Weasley: They're beautiful tonight.

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 toward you.

Bill Weasley: The stars?

You smiled faintly, moving a little closer.

You: No.

Your gaze slid, quickly and respectfully, over the scars marked on his face.

You: Them.

Bill fell silent.

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