Just a humorous little ficlet. Very little plot, just giggles. This is set during the Christmas that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went to Romania to visit Charlie.

---

The Weasleys entered the Dragon Reserve with an eye trained on the skies, lest a free-range dragon swoop down and decide to have them for a snack. Charlie had drawn them a rough map of the place, with instructions on how to get to the employees’ quarters.

Mr. Weasley had been on a muggle college campus before, and was surprised at how much the employees’ quarters looked like student housing. The one-floor building was a maze of smaller units, each divided into quarters for four. For every four people, there was one kitchen, one sitting room, and two bathrooms.

“Which did he say was his?” Mrs. Weasley asked her husband. Mr. Weasley consulted the direction sheet their son had sent. They were extremely specific: Go left. That was all.

They found his unit at the end of the long hall. Each door had small plastic signs bearing the names and nationalities of the residents.

Benedetta Bundy – Canada (E/F)
Charles Weasley – England (E)
Mitchell Meyers-Lewis – Ireland (E/G)
Dorota Krystjndottir – Iceland (E/D)

“They room co-ed?” Mrs. Weasley whispered, scandalized.
“They’re adults, darling.”

Charlie was assaulted with kisses and hugs upon opening the door. Mrs. Weasley did her motherly ‘I missed you!’ ritual, and Charlie accepted it, knowing it was unavoidable.

“Something to drink?” he offered. They walked down the narrow hall towards the sitting room, just as one of his roommates emerged from the farthest bedroom.

“Fuck me, it’s early…”

“Bun, my parents are here,” Charlie snapped. She looked marginally more awake. She stopped rubbing her eye and looked at the Weasleys wearily.

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

“Bun!”

“What?”

“Watch your language, my mother’s here.”

“Fuck, sorry Charlie.”

“You’re still doing it!”

“Dammit, right, I’ll stop.”

“Just go,” he pointed to the kitchen, and Bun stalked off tiredly. She stubbed her toe on the doorframe, and another volley of expletives issued loudly from the kitchen, echoing off the tiles. Mr. Weasley looked like he was trying not to smile. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, had an expression of firm disapproval fixed on her face.

“She’s not one of your roommates, is she?”

“Hers is the room down the hall,” Charlie pointed, and ushered his parents into the sitting room. He tried to kick the empty beer cans under the sofa before his mother could see. He could tell she was positively itching to perform some cleaning spells on the place.

“So, how’s work?” Mr. Weasley asked politely. Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a loud crash from the kitchen as a dish shattered.

“Fuck!

“Jesus, Bun!”

“Shit, sorry!”

“Just stop talking!” Mr. Weasley hid a smile behind a cough.

“How can a sweet little thing like her have a mouth like that?” Mrs. Weasley commented quietly. Charlie thought some explanation of Bun was in order.

“She’s insane,” he replied evenly. Mrs. Weasley nodded as if to say that was obvious. “Studies the water dragons,” he added. The smoke detector went off overhead, and the pungent scent of burnt toast assaulted their nostrils.

“Son of a goat-swiving -!”

“Bun!” She silenced the smoke alarm.

“Fuck, that was the last of the bread!”

“Take mine if you’ll stop cursing!” Charlie snapped. Mr. Weasley, who had given up hiding his amusement, stood up and entered the kitchen. Bun was fighting with the toaster, trying to remove the stuck bread.

“Arthur Weasley,” he held out his hand. Bun shook it, looking frazzled.

“Detta Bundy.”

“You have a very interesting vocabulary,” he said pleasantly, as though he were complimenting her appearance.

"If you say so." The fork Bun was using to try and pry the toast free was moving dangerously close to the filaments. Arthur put his experience with broken appliances to use and fixed the jam with a flick of his wand.

"Thanks."

"What accent is that?" he asked politely. Bun took a large bite of burnt toast and answered him around the charred mouthful.

"Newfie."

"Pardon?"

“I’m from Bay de Verde.”

“Ah, and where might that be?” Bun swallowed the chunk of burnt bread.

“Little coastal town in Newfoundland; middle of bloody nowhere.” Charlie opened his mouth to tell her off again. "Fuck, did I do it again?" Charlie put his head in his hands, taking fistfuls of hair, and groaned loudly in frustration.

“I take it you have some experience with sailing, then?” Mr. Weasley continued politely. She nodded.

“Fishing, four summers in a row.” Mr. Weasley smiled warmly.

“That explains it.”