Chapter Text

Part 1: A Promise Made 

Wednesday - July 1

A little after 8 o’clock in the morning, on July 1st of 1992, a young boy politely knocks on the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive. His journey to Little Whinging was, perhaps, a bit confusing for Ronald Weasley, but after a year of snobbish Slytherins, a nasty Potions Professor, a murderous troll, and a possessed turban-wearing Defense Professor, he figured he could handle it. Besides, he promised Harry he’d visit. 

A tall, frigid woman cracks the door open and peers dubiously down at him. Ron offers his most charming smile, dimples on full display. 

“Hello!” He chirps brightly, flashing a set of endearingly crooked pearly whites. “I’m here to see Harry. Is he free?” 

The woman, who must be Harry’s aunt, hardens even further at the mention of Ron’s best friend. Her lips pinch, her eyes narrow, and she slams the door in his face, not even bothering to answer his question. 

Ron blinks at the suddenly closed door, quite taken aback. Still, Mrs. Weasley did not raise a coward, so he shrugs to himself and knocks again. He keeps at it for several minutes until the woman, who has yet to introduce herself, yanks the door open. She scowls at him and demands he go away. 

“Oh, of course,” Ron assures her, big blue eyes shining. “Just after I talk to Harry.” 

The door is shut harshly once again, and this time, no amount of knocking gets it back open, regardless of volume. He’s starting to understand why Harry was so reluctant to give Ron his address and why he seemed so disbelieving when Ron talked about all the summer adventures they’d go on. 

Undeterred, Ron sits on the stoop, leaning back against the side of the house. His mum sent him off with a breakfast sandwich, the fare for the Knight Bus, and some pocket change for lunch. He retrieves his sketchbook and the sandwich from his school bag, content to doodle and snack until an opportunity to reach Harry presents itself.

His patience is rewarded about half an hour later. The outline of a roaring dragon is just taking shape in his sketchbook when a robust man bustles through the door. He lets out a high-pitched yelp as he narrowly avoids stepping on the preteen lounging on his front steps. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” He bellows, his face turning red. 

Ron carefully climbs to his feet, offering a sheepish, friendly grin. “Hello, sir. My name is Ron Weasley. I’m a friend of your nephew’s. Could you let him know I’m here?” 

The man visibly bristles, chest puffing out. He seizes Ron’s arm, tight enough to bruise, and physically hauls the boy off his property. He shoves Ron onto the street, who just barely keeps his balance. 

His eyes are cruel when he hisses, “Get out of here, you freak! We don’t want your kind around us, normal folk. I’ll call the police if you dare show your face again!” 

Ron isn’t stupid nor is he suicidal. He knows when to pick his battles and when he should retreat. Harry’s uncle is much bigger than him and his arm still throbs from its short stint under the man’s grip. Glaring up at the rude brute, Ron reluctantly shuffles away to call the Knight Bus. This isn’t a fight he can win, at least not as he is now, but if Harry’s family thinks this is over, they're deluding themselves. 

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Thursday - July 2 

Ron returns the next day with his older brother Charlie in tow. Charlie surrendered to Mrs. Weasley’s demands to visit over the summer break. He agreed to stay at the Burrow for ten days. He’s two days into his sentence now. He jumped eagerly at the first opportunity to escape their mother’s probing queries about when he’d bring a nice boy home, just as Ron knew he would. 

Charlie isn’t the tallest man, but his shoulders span mountains. His arms and legs resemble tree trunks and are littered with burn scars. He’s got his hair cropped short and he dresses in dragon-hide leathers. Even without magic, Charlie would be intimidating. Ron has a hunch that speaking with Harry’s relatives will go much smoother with Charlie at his side. 

This time it’s the oaf masquerading as a respectable business-whale who answers the door. He squints his beady eyes at them, upper lip curling in a sneer. Ron is noticeably less intimidated with his dragon-tamer big brother looming right behind him. 

“Good morning, sir,” Ron says politely, his smile relaxed and lovable. He learned that trick from Ginny. “We met yesterday. I was hoping Harry could spend the day at my house?”  

“No,” the man snaps curtly, moving to shut the door. Charlie’s palm flat on the wood halts that course of action. Ron sneaks a glance at his brother, whose teeth are bared in some semblance of a grin. The man squares his shoulders, attempting to overpower Charlie's hold. Charlie doesn’t budge an inch.

“The boy’s not in,” Harry’s uncle finally huffs, glaring hatefully at the second eldest Weasley boy. 

“That is interesting,” Charlie drawls, head tilted, “Then who is the black-haired, lightning-scared kid standing behind you?” 

Harry squeaks as all eyes suddenly turn to him. The man glowers at his nephew, his gaze promising retribution. Harry pales, golden skin turning ashen. Charlie tenses all over, head to toe, and muscles his way past Harry’s uncle. Ron scampers after him, racing to stand beside Harry. Mr. Dursley groans and Ron glances behind him to find the man’s wrist captured in Charlie’s unforgiving grip. 

“Do. Not. Touch. My brother,” Charlie bites out, voice hard as stone. An angry flush darkens the obese muggle’s face. He yanks his arm from Charlie’s hold and the dragon-tamer lets him go. Ron’s brother flashes a warm if strained smile the boys’ way, “Hiyya, Harry. I’m real pleased to meet you. Go grab your school books and broom and we’ll be on our way.” 

Harry's eyes dart to Ron. “Where are we going?”

“The Burrow,” Ron murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, “My house.” 

Harry’s whole face lights up with excitement. “Can Hedwig come? Please? She’s super well-behaved and she hasn’t gotten to fly for days.” 

“Hedwig’s your owl?” Charlie asks, the ice in his tone thawing slightly under Harry’s beseeching gaze. Harry nods. 

“Hedwig is the best,” Ron adds helpfully. 

Charlie smiles at them, “Of course she can come. The more the merrier.” 

Harry whoops and takes off for the stairs, dragging Ron behind him. Ron looks around curiously, noting the collage of pictures on the staircase wall. Harry isn’t in any of them.

They stop at the first door on the second floor. There’s a lock on the outside, clearly meant to keep someone in instead of out. Ron swallows at the sight of it. 

Harry’s room is sparse. A thin cot is crammed into one corner and a beaten-up desk and chest of drawers are pressed against the other walls. A single Grydindor banner is the only decoration. Hedwig’s cage is on the desk. She hoots softly at the boys, nipping playfully at Harry’s fingers when he picks up her cage. Ron moves to help him, but gets sidetracked by the window. 

“Are those bars?!” He exclaims, traveling closer to verify the scene with his disbelieving eyes. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Harry confirms distractedly, focused on balancing Hedwig’s enormous cage in his arms. He insisted on buying his owl only the very best. Ron hurries over to assist him. “They didn’t want me going back to Hogwarts next year.” 

He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s nothing less than what’s expected. Ron stares at the barred window, a burning heat crawling up his throat. The first stirrings of genuine anger ignite within him. Slam the door in his face: fine. Literally throw him to the streets: no problem. Make Ron’s best friend a prisoner in his own home: very much not okay.

Ron follows Harry back down the stairs in a daze, trying to come to grips with the wrath suddenly clamoring for attention in his heart. Charlie is standing right where they left him, arms crossed over his chest. He halts his glaring contest with Harry’s uncle and bends at the waist to introduce himself to Hedwig. 

“Hello, Miss Lady,” Charlie coos, petting her gently through the cage’s bars. Hedwig preens under his attention, feathers fluttering proudly. “Aren’t you just gorgeous, hmm?” 

“She was a gift,” Harry tells him, looking at Ron’s big brother with stars in his eyes. The way Ron puffs up is remarkably similar to the preening owl, not that he’ll ever admit that. He’s just excited to show off his family, is all. Especially his cool dragon-tamer brother. “Hagrid gave her to me for my eleventh birthday.” 

“Hagrid's a good bloke,” Charlie agrees, ruffling Harry’s unruly curls as he straightens. “Taught me most of what I know about magical creatures.” He releases Hedwig from her cage, who leaps up to nestle on Harry’s shoulder, and hefts the massive cage into his arms. He carries the burden with much less struggle than the two preteens managed. 

“Now, where are your school books and broom?” Charlie asks, pretending not to notice the enraged muggle man glowering at him and his wife’s cool stare from where the woman is hiding in the kitchen. “Did you need help carrying it all?” 

“Er,” Harry mutters, scuffing the tip of his tattered trainers on the aggressively polished hardwood floors. Ron remembers the distinct lack of any personal belongings in Harry’s room with a sense of dread. He’s starting to think Harry severally undersold the realities of his home life.

Charlie smiles encouragingly at Ron’s best friend. Harry wilts further and further under Charlie’s kind, friendly gaze until he finally concedes and points nervously at the bottom of the staircase. Ron hadn’t noticed the cupboard there until Harry pointed it out. Charlie’s brow furrows, but he dutifully sets Hedwig’s cage down and walks over to investigate. 

Harry’s uncle tries to stop him, but one cold look convinces him not to intervene. The door refuses to open when Charlie tries the handle. 

“Unlock it,” he orders, frosty enough that the muggle brute doesn’t try to argue with him. The cupboard hinges whine in protest as Charlie coaxes it open. He has to duck ridiculously low to reach inside and the sight would normally have been hilarious if Harry wasn’t staring determinedly at the floor, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

Ron knocks their shoulders together playfully, flashing a sunny smile at Harry’s questioning glance. After just a second in the cupboard, Charlie goes rigid, his hands clenching into fists. He steps away from the cupboard holding a piece of paper in his hand. Ron only manages to spot the messy scrawl of a child just learning to write before Charlie folds it up neatly and slides the paper into a pocket. 

“Ron, help me bring Harry’s things to his bedroom,” Charlie says, hauling Harry’s school trunk from the depths of the cupboard. Ron tries not to dwell on the implications of why Harry’s belongings were locked away under the stairs. 

“Now see here,” Mr. Dursley blunders, stalking forward. Charlie pivots sharply to face him and whatever expression is on his brother’s face, it’s enough to have the muggle stumbling back a step. 

“Harry,” Charlie calls softly, eyes still trained on the rapidly paling man. “Why don’t you and Hedwig go wait for us outside? We’ll only be a moment.” 

“O-okay,” Harry agrees timidly, practically sprinting out of the house. Ron stares after him. He has never heard his best friend, the bravest person Ron knows, sound like that before. Not even when they were chasing down a thief more than twice their age. 

“Come on, Ronnie,” Charlie urges gently, startling Ron from his concerned thoughts. Ron bounds over to Charlie, taking hold of one side of the trunk. They work together to tug it up the stairs. It would have been easier with Harry there to help them, but Ron understands completely why Charlie wanted him to wait outside. This house seems to dim the bright, burning core of his best friend. It’s unsettling to witness. 

Charlie pauses at the lock on Harry’s bedroom door and his jaw goes tight at the barred window. He gazes sadly around the blank, unpersonable room. Ron feels sad too, imagining the childhood Harry must have had that didn’t allow for keepsakes and souvenirs. 

They set the trunk at the end of the cot. Ron whispers the password to unlatch it and digs around for Harry’s summer homework and broom. It makes a lot more sense now why Harry wanted a locking trunk. He doesn’t have to wonder what the Durselys might have done if they had been able to get their hands on Harry’s things. 

Harry taught Ron the password during winter break since it was easier for them both to know it considering how often they had to race back to Gryffindor Tower because one or both of them forgot their school books.

Ron stuffs everything into the threadbare backpack on Harry’s desk chair and carefully double-checks that the trunk is secure. Charlie shoulders the broom. 

“I think it’s a good idea, Ronnie,” Charlie says quietly, as they travel down the stairs. “Harry coming to the Burrow, I mean. I’ll talk to Mum and Dad, and see about making it a daily occurrence.” 

“Really?” Ron asks, perking up. Charlie ruffles his hair fondly, agreeing. Ron grins, thrilled by the very idea.

Harry is waiting for them at the end of the driveway, Hedwig’s cage by his feet and the owl herself perched in his bird’s nest of curls. 

“Ready?” Charlie asks cheerfully, scooping up the birdcage.  

Harry nods, beaming. “Born ready.” 

Ron throws an arm over his shoulders, glad to see the spark in his friend coming back to life. 

“Best to hold on tight,” Charlie warns, winking at them. “Side-along apparition isn’t the most pleasant of travel methods.” 

The boys follow his instructions and with a pop, they’re gone.

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Harry’s first day at the Burrow passes in a flurry of introductions and activity. Mrs. Weasley greets him at the door with a painfully tender hug. Harry’s eyes actually water. 

He is ushered along to the table, handed a plate, and plunked into the sea of redheads tearing through a hearty breakfast. The smell rivals the heavenly aroma of Hogwarts feasts. Mrs. Weasley’s cheeks dimple just like her son’s when Harry informs her of this. 

He’s introduced to Mr. Weasley and Ron’s little sister, Ginny. The upcoming First Year goes scarlet when Harry attempts to start a conversation with her, but Ron’s amused glance reassures him it’s nothing to worry about. Breakfast with the Weasleys is a rambunctious affair. People speak over each other, pass dishes around like chasers with their quaffles, and everyone eats as much as they please. 

Mr. Wealsey asks him about the functionality of rubber ducks while George, Fred, and Charlie loudly debate the merits of two Quidditch teams, Ron and Ginny argue over whose turn it is to de-gnome the garden, whatever that means, and Percy and Mrs. Wealsey gossip over their copies of the Daily Prophet. Hedwig commandeers the top of a kitchen cabinet, and other than setting a water dish and some bacon near her, she’s left alone to do as she wants. 

It all has Harry breathless, overwhelmed, and smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. 

Mr. Weasley and Percy leave a couple of minutes after Harry arrives, to their job and internship at the Ministry, respectively. After breakfast, Mrs. Wealsey keeps the twins and Ginny back to help her with the cleanup and sends Harry and Ron off to put Harry’s things away. Hedwig’s cage and the bookbag go into Ron’s room. 

Harry likes Ron’s room as soon as he sees it. The walls are painted a blinding orange in honor of The Chudley Cannons, though the paint is mostly covered by Quidditch team posters, merrily waving pictures, and Gryffindor memorabilia. It’s not a large room, but it’s comfortable and warm. Ron’s presence is highlighted in the discarded clothes and the various art supplies scattered about. Harry feels safe within its walls. 

That done, they dash down the stairs and storm out into the garden to store Harry’s Nimbus with the other brooms in Mr. Weasley’s shed. Harry enjoys the visual of his broom nestled between the others. It makes him feel like he belongs. 

After they finish that task, they’re dispatched to go de-gnome the garden, as Ginny was right and it is Ron’s turn. Charlie joins them, helping to pull the stubborn gnomes from Mrs. Weasley’s flower beds so the boys can fling them out of the garden. Despite Ron’s grumbling, it’s fun working together and competing to see who can throw the gnomes the farthest. The one time Charlie tries he beats them by a landslide. He laughs at their astonished, pouting faces. (They don’t let him try again.) 

The brooms and a well-loved set of Quidditch balls are called into play after the garden is more or less gnome-less. Two hoops built just as precariously as the rest of the Burrow stand about 50 feet away from each other in the backyard. It’s not exactly a regulation Quidditch pitch, but it’ll do in a pinch. Especially for Harry, who thought he’d spend the entire summer locked in his room, flying a distant dream best forgotten. 

They play three-on-three games: one chaser, one keeper, and a beater, and switch up the teams every match. Ginny, Ron, and Harry make a surprisingly efficient trio. Ginny acts as the beater, Ron the keeper, and Harry the chaser. Ginny is just as vicious as her older twin brothers are when playing on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch and if they weren’t so busy dodging her hits and swallowing back curses, Harry reckons George and Fred would be bursting with pride. 

Charlie and Harry go a few rounds just the two of them, competing to see who can catch the snitch first. Charlie is more technically skilled and his strategy more developed, but Harry is faster and crazy. As Ron says, Harry was born to fly and as Hermione often bemoans, he was also born without any self-preservation instincts. 

They are tied four to four when Harry manages to glide just beneath Charlie’s stomach and pluck the snitch from right under his nose. Ron tackles him in a hug when he lands and squeezes him tight, laughing gleefully. 

“Do you think he let me win?” Harry asks his friend, watching Charlie amusedly endure Fred and George’s cheerful ribbing. 

Ron follows his gaze, as happy as Harry’s ever seen him. He shakes his head, sweaty, fire-red hair bouncing. “No, Haz, I don’t think so. Us Weasleys don’t like to lose.” 

The matches resume and keep going until Mrs. Weasley calls them in for lunch. The second meal of the day is much quieter than the first, as all the kids are exhausted from hours spent playing under the sun. Mrs. Weasley clucks her tongue at them and orders them upstairs for a nap, Charlie included. 

Ron tugs Harry onto his bed with him, sleepily promising to get him his own pillow later. Both boys are out like a light long before Harry manages to thank him. 

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Harry wakes to the soft scratch of pen against parchment. Ron is sprawled on his side, sketching in his journal. He smiles when he notices Harry looking at him and closes the sketchbook. They both trudge down the stairs in search of an afternoon snack. 

Mrs. Weasley is one step ahead of them and has platters of fresh fruit waiting. Ginny’s inability to look at Harry without blushing rears its ugly head now that Quidditch is no longer a distraction, and the girl actually dives under the table to avoid Harry’s gaze. He shares an incredulous glance with Ron. 

They pull out their school books after the fruit’s quick demise. Mrs. Weasley deems it time for some quiet, introspective play (her words, not Harry’s), and they spend an hour or two toiling on their summer work. It’s not as terrible as Harry might have thought it would be. He’s never actually taken the time to read through his textbooks, other than what was required for assignments. Weirdly, they are almost interesting.

Quite against his expectations, minutes fly by unnoticed. He works on his Potions essay and gets started on the Charms assignment. They have to list three different applications for fifty spells from their new textbook. Normally they would have to wait until the Hogwarts letters arrive, but the only class whose textbook changes regularly is Defense and the Weasleys already have all the other books the boys will need for their second year. 

As the hours pass, Harry unwinds and relaxes. The quiet sounds of pages turning, tea cups clinking, and quills scratching envelop him in a pleasant cocoon. 

Eventually, he grows weary from schoolwork. He holds out for as long as he can, but his mind is starting to wander constantly. It takes him several long, uncomfortable minutes to gather the nerve to set aside his textbooks. He holds his breath, bracing for the imminent scolding, but no one yells at him for slacking off. Not even when it’s obvious he’s stopped working. 

He chances a quick glance at Mrs. Weasley. She smiles warmly at him when she notices. “Did you need something, dear?” 

Harry ducks his head, embarrassed. “No, I’m fine. It’s just-” 

“Yes?” 

Harry takes a deep breath, mustering his courage. “Is it alright if I stop for now?” 

“Oh! Of course, dear,” Mrs. Weasley assures him, a little bemusedly. “You don’t have to do your summer work now if you don’t want to, love. All I ask is that it’s completed by the start of the next term. Ronald got his paints out an hour ago and I don’t believe George ever bothered to open his textbooks.” 

Harry looks around, and sure enough, he is the only one who still has their schoolwork out. Fred is doing something vaguely suspicious with a deck of cards, George is fiddling with an old-school muggle radio, Ginny is weaving what looks like a bracelet with some thread, and a full moon is just emerging from Ron’s canvas. He’s set up next to the expansive window flooding light into the living room and has already gotten paint all over himself. Charlie never had schoolwork to begin with, but he too is sprawled out across the couch, his feet in Mrs. Weasley’s lap, a third of the way through a book. 

“Oh,” Harry exhales, all the tension in his frame fleeing in a single breath. He stretches and climbs to his feet to search for something else to do. He finds a stack of puzzles next to the fireplace. He pulls one out and carries it to the dining room table after requesting permission from Mrs. Weasley. There was always a puzzle set up in the Gryffindor common room and Harry gravitated to it a lot over the weekends. 

Magical puzzles are interesting, not that Harry’s ever put together a muggle one, but still. They usually have two or three scenes they can create. Harry decides on a colorful flower arrangement and settles in to solve it. Ron meanders over to help when he’s waiting for the paint layers to dry. 

Charlie finishes his book and gets drawn in by the puzzle as well. He turns on a Wireless and the gentle murmur of music fills the air. Puzzling is just enough of a challenge to keep Harry’s attention without draining his mental energy. Another hour passes like that, Charlie and Harry sitting elbow to elbow with Ron’s occasional input. 

Fred snatches the puzzle away before they can pick a new image and replaces it with a deck of Exploding Snap cards. The peaceful afternoon lull does not survive long after that. Chaos reigns; at one point Harry gets up in George’s face, trying to recapture the cards the older lion stole from his hand. Ginny and Charlie have to be physically held back from attacking each other. By the time Ron is declared the winner, Harry’s stomach hurts from laughter. 

Mrs. Weasley swoops in before a new round can start, and dillies out tasks for supper. Harry stands on a stool, chopping up vegetables, with the biggest smile on his face. He can’t remember a better day than this one. 

Mr. Weasley and Percy get home just in time to help set the table. Dinner is lively and boisterous. There are new stories to exchange, gossip to update, and memories to share. Harry is right in the middle of it all, feeling like he could reach up and touch the sky. 

Once the dishes are washed and put away, everyone troops out for an evening walk. There’s a dense, beautiful orchard in front of the Burrow. They tread between trees, snagging sweet apples for dessert. Ron, Harry, and Ginny dart ahead, instigating a thousand races. A game of tag breaks out when George slaps Charlie’s shoulder and bellows, “YOU’RE IT!”, at the top of his lungs before sprinting away. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stroll leisurely behind them, arm in arm, chuckling to themselves every time one of the children squawks in outrage at being tagged or zips by them cackling as they run away from whoever is it. Percy walks beside his parents, rolling his eyes at every loud squeal. 

Harry doesn’t come down from his high until he’s standing in front of Number Four, Privet Drive. Charlie squeezes his shoulder reassuringly and they walk to the front door side by side. Hedwig stayed behind at the Burrow. She’s spending the night on a makeshift perch in Ron’s room. Ron swore on his honor as a future Chudley Cannons player to take very good care of her. Harry was reassured by the most sacred of all of Ron’s vows. 

Charlie knocks and in the time it takes for someone to answer it, Harry has the desperate hope that his relatives might have moved since that morning. 

Of course, he’s not that lucky. Uncle Vernon looks dreadfully mad when he opens the door. Harry cowers from him without a thought. Charlie pulls Harry behind him and returns Vernon’s glare with an equally contemptuous grin. 

“Move,” is all that the dragon-tamer says, and miraculously, Uncle Vernon steps out of the way. Charlie walks Harry right to his bedroom door. He took a shower and brushed his teeth at the Burrow, so there’s no reason for him to leave his room until morning. Charlie pulls out the hand-knitted blanket Mrs.Weasley insisted Harry take with him and lays it on Harry’s cot. 

Harry sits and wraps the blanket around his shoulders, feeling terribly small. Charlie kneels in front of him 

“I’ll be here to pick you up at eight,” he says, loudly enough for Uncle Vernon to hear from where he’s listening in the hall. 

“Promise?” Harry whispers, just for the two of them. 

Charlie nods, pulling Harry in for a tight hug. “I promise.”

Charlie kisses the top of Harry’s head and shuts the door firmly behind him. Harry thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but with the smell of the Burrow tucked around him and the promise of Charlie’s swift return, his eyes slip closed with hardly a moment’s pause.   

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Friday - July 3

Charlie keeps his promise. He arrives promptly at eight the next morning and carries Harry off with him back to the Burrow. Hedwig greets him happily at the door. She preens his curls with single-minded attention through the duration of breakfast. Harry and Ron pass the hours between the first and second meal of the day exploring the hills around the redhead’s home. They find sticks and fashion them into swords. They fight demons, tame dragons, and defeat monsters as Knights of the Round Table. They duel hundreds of dark wizards back to back. 

By lunch, they’ve saved the world no less than six times. 

Mrs. Weasley listens to their excited ramblings with all the markings of fascination, but Harry doesn’t miss the way her eyes dance with laughter. He bristles, protective instincts flaring for his friend, but her mirth seems good-natured and fond and it doesn’t make Harry feel stupid like it does when his relatives laugh at him, so he lets it slide. (He keeps a wary eye on Mrs. Weasley, nonetheless.)

Ginny and Luna, Ginny’s friend who lives nearby, insist on accompanying them after lunch is tidied up. Ron rolls his eyes and complains, but he concedes that the girls can join them. Harry smirks at his friend, knowing just how much Ron would let his little sister get away with. Ginny is the only Weasley sibling younger than Ron and as a result, he is massively protective of her. Ron shoves his shoulder, hissing at him to shut his face. Harry’s smirk just widens further. 

Luna is a strange creature. She speaks exclusively in riddles and talks of the future like she’s seen it in her dreams. Harry can tell that Ron doesn’t know what to make of her and so defaults to a friendly if distant persona. Harry still has vivid memories of his time in primary school. He remembers what it's like to be the weird, friendless freak and quietly resolves to watch over the eccentric girl when she and Ginny come to Hogwarts next term. (Like he wishes somebody did for him in Primary.) (Like he should have done for Hermione last year.)

Luna knows the orchard like the back of her hand and guides them through it with the grace of a sparrow returning to its nest. Ron and Ginny can also navigate the wilderness surrounding their home with a deft touch, as it's where they spent their childhoods running amok, but the way Luna interacts with nature is mesmerizing. 

Harry has never before seen wild animals act as they do around Luna that afternoon. They flock to her without fear, eager to receive affection and give it in return. Even Hedwig takes a liking to the peculiar girl- an unprecedented event. Hedwig loves Harry, unequivocally. She holds a certain fondness for Ron and Hermione and will tolerate Charlie’s attention as long as it’s properly worshipful, but that is the limit of the imperious owl’s goodwill. 

Harry and Ron spend several long minutes gawking as Hedwig flutters around Luna, the flowers woven into her hair sent tumbling to the ground under the playful beats of Hedwig’s wings. Ron is grouchy throughout dinner, muttering about traitorous snowy owls. 

Mr. Weasley and Ginny walk Luna home after supper. When they get back, Charlie suggests a round of British Bulldogs. Harry vaguely remembers the game from gym class and is supremely confused as to how a pureblood family could have heard of it. Apparently, a muggle-born friend of Bill’s, Ron’s eldest brother, taught all his dorm mates at Hogwarts. 

To play the game two people are selected to be Bulldogs. The bulldogs stand in the middle of the playing field and attempt to tag the other contestants. Those caught join their ranks and become bulldogs as well. The rest of the competitors have to try and slip past them without being forced to switch sides. The last player standing is declared the winner.  

Charlie convinces everyone to play, he even manages to guilt Percy into joining them. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley are the first pair of bulldogs. They target the twins early and once Fred and George have been converted, the rest are quick to follow. Ginny is the last player left unsoiled by the dogs and wins the first match. 

Percy and Ron are the bulldogs in the second round. Ron leaps at Harry in a running tackle three seconds after they are released to dart across the field. Harry whines loudly, but it's mostly for effect. They work startlingly well with Percy and it’s not long before the twins are the only ones left. They call back and forth to each other, improvising a dramatic dialog that has most of the bulldogs clutching their sides with laughter. Charlie stays focused though and Fred has to resort to martyrdom so George can safely reach the other side. 

His victorious crowing cuts off abruptly when he notices his twin’s sacrifice. George collapses to his knees, wailing about the loss of his ‘dear Gred.’ When Fred shouts comforting words from beneath Charlie’s bulk, George jerks to his feet to sprint away in terror, screaming about ghosts. 

In the next round, Ginny and Harry are the bulldogs. As is becoming typical, with a competition at stake, Ginny’s inability to fluently communicate with Harry vanishes. She’s all business, ordering Harry around as they conduct targeted attacks until Mrs. Weasley is staring down her children and husband, about to make the final trek across the playing field. Harry and Ginny exchange looks, ready to launch themselves at the Weasley matriarch. 

Mr. Weasley blows the whistle and Mrs. Weasley takes off, dashing straight at them faster than Harry honestly thought she could move. Just as Harry is preparing to lunge for her, Charlie’s strong arms wrap around him, keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground. The howls of outrage coming from Ginny’s direction tell him she’s in a similar boat. Percy blocks Fred and Ron, the traitor, tackles George out of the way so Mrs. Weasley can race past them. 

She reaches the other side of the field, breathless with laughter, and dips into a flourishing bow. Ginny screeches about betrayal and favoritism, struggling in Mr. Weasley’s hold, but after days around her, Harry knows it’s mostly in jest. (Just mostly, though, because as Ron said, Weasleys really, really don’t like to lose.) 

Mrs. Wesley accepts her congratulations with far more grace than any of the previous winners managed and declares there’s time for a final round before they must get ready for bed. Fred and George are the last bulldogs of the night. It’s a bloodbath and Harry isn’t sure how, but there must be cheating involved somehow. 

Charlie goes down first. The twins converge on him at the same time and no amount of dodging lets him escape them. Percy is the second victim and Ginny is captured half a minute after him. Mr. Weasley puts up a good fight, but Ginny and Charlie are a dangerous team and they get him just before he makes it to safety. 

It takes both Fred and Percy to corner Ron so George can tag him. Ron bellows for Harry to escape, to win in his honor. Harry can’t help a nervous swallow as he faces the line of bulldogs waiting to capture him. Even his Ron is staring at him with hungry eyes. 

The whistle blows and Harry takes off like a bludger set free. He lurches around Mr. Weasley, ducks beneath Percy’s arms, vaults over Ron as his friend dives at Harry’s legs, scrambles away from Fred’s grasping fingers, jumps to avoid Charlie and Ginny’s tripping feet, and barrels right past Mrs. Weasley. 

After that, it’s a straight shot to the finish line. Harry can feel his impending victory like fireworks in his chest. The sound of pounding feet just behind sends adrenaline crashing back into his system. He chances a look over his shoulder and lets out a startled yelp. George is a hair’s breadth away from him, one long arm extended towards Harry’s back. 

Harry pushes more energy into his sprint, pumping his arms and legs as fast as he can. He’s almost to the boundary line. He knows George knows this as well and George Weasley isn’t the kind of bloke to let sleeping dragons lie. He’ll do something outlandish to keep Harry from winning. 

But Harry isn’t worried. He’s crazy, after all. Crazy enough that Quidditch-obsessed Oliver Wood let him on his team as a first-year. He braces himself and leaps, skidding along the grass like a muggle baseball player sliding toward home. All his breath leaves him in a whoosh as George jumps after him in a last-ditch effort to stop him. 

They freeze, George halfway on top of him, waiting for someone with a bird’s eye view to call out if Harry made it or not. Mr. Weasley kneels beside them, judging the distance between Harry and one of the Quidditch hoops, the pre-determined boundary line. 

Harry waits with bated breath, his heart beating loudly in his ears. 

“Harry wins!” Mr. Weasley announces, the smile evident in his tone. George groans, his head banging against Harry’s shoulder blades. Harry laughs, exhilaration making him giddy. All of a sudden he’s pulled out from under George. Charlie lifts him onto his shoulders, bouncing on the tips of his toes, strong fingers curled around Harry’s thighs. Ron grins up at him, blue eyes sparkling. 

Harry knows in his heart, curled up in his cot at the Dursleys later that night, that this is the happiest he’s ever been. The one thing that would make his life perfect is missing, but she’ll be there tomorrow. 

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Saturday - July 4

Hermione is already at the Burrow when Harry and Charlie arrive the next morning. Ron laughs at Harry’s pleading expression when she greets him with her signature bone-crushing hug. She sits between the boys during breakfast, chattering away about the first week of her summer break.

Hermione’s parents think it’s important for her to keep up with her muggle education. During the school year, she has workbooks for Maths, Science, and English. She sends a week’s worth of complete assignments home through Hedwig every weekend. Each Sunday, Hedwig returns with the graded assignments and instructions for what to do the next week, courtesy of Hermoine’s tutor. 

For the summer, the Grangers devised a new plan. Monday through Wednesday, Hermione will work one-on-one with her tutor. They’ll go over what she learned on her own at Hogwarts more in-depth and prepare for the next school year together. She also has to take a bunch of tests proving she’s ‘on track’ to the muggle government, as they think she’s being ‘homeschooled’.

 Ron doesn’t fully understand it, but it’s important to Hermione, so he tries his best to support her. 

Hogwarts term ended on a Tuesday this year, so the first week was a bit wonky, but Hermione says from now on she’ll be free to hang out Thursday through Sunday. Ron understands Harry’s relief at that news completely. As much fun as the boy-only time has been, they’re a trio first and foremost. Hermione’s absence was felt keenly these last two days. 

After breakfast, Mrs. Weasley packs them a little picnic, which Ron stores in Harry’s magically repaired backpack that Ron’s kind of taken for his own, and they manage to coax Hermione onto a broom. They fly lazily through the orchard, their pace slow and melodic to suit Hermione’s tastes. Her refusal to touch a broom after their flying lessons last year was hard to overcome, but between Harry and Ron, they got her into the air again. 

Now she almost enjoys it, so long as they don’t go too fast or take any sharp turns. 

Eventually, the orchard gives way to a natural forest. Ron takes the lead then, steering them towards a small lake Bill and Charlie found when they were learning to fly. They leave their things on the damp grass beside the lake and strip down their underwear. The water is cool and refreshing. They spend a good hour splashing around, making up games, and attempting to dunk each other. 

Ron unpacks his (Harry’s) backpack when their stomachs start to grumble. He retrieves the food his mum gave him and the soft blanket he brought that is large enough for all three of them to stretch out on. There is a sandwich for each of them, some fruit and cookies to share, and one big jug of lemonade they pass around. 

Ron also packed Hermione’s latest novel, one of his sketchbooks, some colored pencils,  a puzzle for Harry, and a board for him to solve it on. Lunch is conquered in a matter of minutes and both of his best friends tell Ron he’s lucky to have a mother who can cook like a world-class chef. Ron scoffs at them- as if he doesn’t already know that. 

A comfortable silence settles around them after the food is gone. Ron can hear birds chirping, frogs and fish swimming in the lake, and tree leaves rustling. He listens to Hermione’s familiar reading routine: lick her finger, turn the page, repeat, and Harry’s quiet humming as he fits puzzle pieces together. The sounds of Ron’s pencils brushing against his sketchbook join the pleasant symphony. 

Hermione sets her book down after a long while. Enough time has passed for Ron to finish drawing the landscape around them and move on to sketching the sparrow gazing down at them from branches high above. She stretches and gathers her springy locks into a loose bun on the top of her head. 

“Do you want to swim?” She asks him, already pulling her shirt off. 

“Yeah,” Ron answers, pushing languidly to his feet. He leans down to haul Harry up on his way over and they race each other to the water. 

The afternoon seems to speed by. They swim and read and draw and puzzle. They talk for hours, about the chaos of their first year, about books they’ve read and people they’ve seen. They talk about everything and absolutely nothing at all. Mrs. Weasley told them to head home when the sun starts to set, but until then, Ron basks in the glow of his favorite people. 

He watches Hermione’s mouth move as she lectures them about the plot of her novel. He watches Harry flit around, the restless boy unable to sit still. He watches them and thinks to himself that this might be how he wants to spend the rest of his life- lakeside with Harry Potter and Hermoine Granger. 

Or at least he does, until Harry splashes him in the face and really, he can’t let an injustice like that stand, now can he? 

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Sunday - July 5

Hermione’s parents drop her off on Sunday morning, as opposed to the nanny who came by yesterday. Mr. and Mrs. Granger make a stately couple. Mrs. Granger's dark chocolate skin is a perfect match to Hermione’s. It’s obvious Hermione gets her warm hazel eyes and rounded nose from Mr. Granger and her natural curls from her mother. Mrs. Granger is taller than her husband and dressed in traditional medical scrubs. Both of the Granger parents have smiles that are just as wide and unapologetic as their daughter’s. 

“I really can’t thank you enough for having Hermione over,” Mrs. Granger is saying, bright brown eyes sharp with an intelligence she passed on to her daughter. 

“Yes! We appreciate it so much,” Mr. Granger concours, his aura friendly and kind. “It is quite marvelous that our Hermoine made friends with boys as wonderful as yours.” 

Mrs. Weasley flushes charmingly, obviously pleased by the compliment. Harry places the memory of her easy acceptance of the ‘boys’ comment- as in plural, as in Harry is also one of Mrs. Weasley’s boys- in a safe place in his heart. 

“It is no trouble at all,” Mr. Weasley assures, arm and arm with his wife. He and Percy don’t have to go into the Ministry on weekends. “Hermione is a lovely girl. It’s a joy to have her over.” 

“Well, I must insist we return the favor,” Mrs. Granger declares, her confidence and poise reflected in the strong sense of self slowly emerging in her daughter. “Perhaps dinner at our home this Tuesday?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Wealsey beams, exchanging a glance with her husband.
“We’re looking forward to it,” Mr. Weasley agrees eagerly. The sparkle of excitement in his eyes would no doubt be concerning if Harry didn’t know it was inspired by the man’s passionate but harmless curiosity about muggle affairs. 

Good luck to the Grangers, though, Harry thinks amusedly. They best prepare for a barrage of questions whose topics range from light switches to modern science. 

“Fantastic!” Mr. Granger exclaims happily, clapping his hands. Ron and Harry look excitedly at each other- an evening with Hermione during her tutor days? Score! 

“Good,” Mrs. Granger nods, leaning down to make eye contact with her daughter. “Now, you be good, Hermione. Your father will be by to pick you up later.” 

“Yes, Mama,” Hermione agrees dutifully. 

“Have fun, darling,” Mr. Granger instructs, placing a fond kiss on the top of her head. 

“Bye, Papa!” 

They watch the Grangers walk back to their car. It’s a nice model, the sleek lines and flawless silver paint speaking to its quality. Not for the first time, Harry wonders just how wealthy Hermione’s family is. 

“My stars,” Mrs. Weasley sighs happily, patting Mr. Weasley’s shoulder as she turns to enter the  Burrow. “What lovely people! Hermoine, dear, it’s no wonder you have such refined manners with parents like that.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione grins, giving a cute little curtsy. Ron and Harry roll their eyes, used to Hermione’s near-pathological ability to charm any adult within a fifty-mile radius by now. The only person to escape her charisma was Snape and the greasy dungeon bat hardly counts, now does he?  

“You three go play,” Mrs. Weasley urges, shooing them away. “Breakfast will be ready in just a tick.” 

The day passes in hours that hardly linger long enough to make an impact. They eat breakfast, lose a few rounds of Exploding Snap to the twins (who are cheating, they must be!), hike into the forest with Ginny and Luna, and play an inventive game where Hermione and Harry are evil fairies and the others have to stop their wicked plans. The game ends when the evil fairies are finally defeated, mostly because of the hunger that suddenly strikes them all, and the kids return to the Burrow in search of lunch. 

Then Charlie suggests a round of Quidditch, which Luna and Hermione politely opt out of. Ignoring the rambunctious pack of flying hooligans (Hermione’s words, not Harry’s) soaring above them, Hermione and Luna sunbathe with their respective reading materials. Like Ron, Hermione hasn’t quite figured out how to handle Luna, but she doesn’t mind the other girl's presence by her side. 

Eventually, Hermione notices that Luna is reading upside down, which sparks a conversation about the Quibbler, which starts a rousing debate about magical creatures, which Percy has the misfortune of unknowingly walking into, intent as he is to enjoy the sun as well. 

The three-way discussion, mostly Hermoine and Percy sniping at each other while Luna occasionally offers seemingly random observations, grows loud enough to attract the Quidditch players’ attention. Charlie flies down to investigate and is drawn in as an expert witness due to his experience as a dragon tamer.  

This continues until George dumps a bucket of water on their heads- after Fred has ushered Luna into safety, of course. The petite blond pouts at that, insisting she wouldn’t have minded the unexpected shower. 

“It looks quite refreshing,” she remarks, eyeing Hermione’s sopping wet form. Harry and Ron are bent over their knees, clutching at each other, laughing uproariously. Hazel eyes narrow dangerously and the boys have just enough time to wonder at the sudden unease prevailing over them before Hermione charges forward with a battle cry. 

The point is, when Mrs. Weasley checks on them about an hour later, she finds each of her children -excluding the eldest, who is on a different continent otherwise she is quite confident he would have been right in the middle of the chaos- muddy, drenched, bruised, and merry. 

She huffs, unbearably fond of them all, and orders everyone into a shower. Mr. Weasley gets a good laugh as he watches the line of meek, filthy children scurry past him to the stairs. Percy’s hair looks brown with the amount of mud caked into it and half of Fred’s face is covered by some unidentifiable goopy substance. The kids’ clothes are grass-stained and torn. All the makings of a fun afternoon, if you ask him. 

They are confined to the house after that. Mrs. Weasely advised (read: ordered) that they play quietly indoors for a while. Inevitably, with Hermione there, the future second-years pull out their summer assignments. Somehow Ron’s chessboard appears over their textbooks an hour or two later. They pass the time until dinner challenging each other to matches. After an embarrassing, depressing amount of soul-crushing losses, Harry refuses to play unless he gets to team up with someone else against Ron. 

The redhead is just too good at chess.  

Mr. Granger arrives to pick up Hermione just as they are sitting down for dinner. He agrees to stay after admitting that Mrs. Granger will be on call at the hospital most of the night anyway. Mrs. Granger is a trauma surgeon. Of course, Mr. Granger, Hermione, and Harry have to spend half an hour summarizing the muggle medical system, but the Wealseys are suitably impressed after they get the gist of it. 

Mr. Granger is a dentist. Having two doctors for parents is a bit absurd, really, but Harry supposes Hermione’s smarts had to come from somewhere. 

Charlie takes Harry back to the Dursleys after the Grangers go home. The raven-haired boy is so tired from the hours spent roughhousing in the Burrow’s backyard that he falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches his pillow.

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Monday - July 6

Monday is spent mostly waiting for Tuesday to come around. It speeds by in one quick burst. Charlie picks him up at eight, they have Breakfast, say goodbye to Mr. Weasley and Percy as they floo to the Ministry, and wait for Mrs. Weasley to divvy up the chores. Harry is secretly pleased to be included on the chore chart. His complaints are mostly for show and to support Ron. 

They spend the entirety of the morning and most of the afternoon after their chores are completed in the air. Quidditch matches, broom races, and drill practice galore. Fred, George, and Harry were given training regimens by Oliver before the Express left the station. They were instructed to follow them to the letter under pain of death. 

Before Ron showed up at his door two days in a row and refused to leave until the Durselys were forced to concede to his demands, Harry was positive the summer would end in his grisly demise. Even if his relatives let him out to fly, which is laughable, there’s no safe place to do so in muggle Surrey. Oliver would have taken one look at his undernourished, newly thin frame in September and murdered him in cold blood. 

But the Burrow is magic personified, like Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, and the Weasleys’ equally as magical neighbors won’t bat an eye if they see a little bespectacled boy soaring through the clouds. Harry can sleep soundly with the knowledge that he will survive reuniting with his crazy Quidditch captain in the fall. 

Harry and Ron stay out long past when the others drift off to occupy themselves elsewhere. Ron has aspirations to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team. In its current state, there are no open spots, especially not in the Keeper position, Ron’s best form, but Harry’s betting they can convince Oliver to take on the redhead as a reserve. Some of the other Houses have entire reserve teams and Ron is certainly talented enough to warrant the extra effort. 

So the boys take turns drilling each other. Ron throws tennis balls, (which Harry may or may not have stolen from the discarded toy pile in Dudley’s second bedroom), that Harry dives, swoops, and arcs to catch before they hit the ground. They release the snitch over and over again, timing Harry to see how fast he can capture the elusive golden ball. 

The Wealsey’s quidditch set has stood the test of time, so the snitch can’t reach regulation speeds, but it’s still swift and agile enough to challenge the raven-haired boy. 

When it’s Ron’s turn, Harry rockets towards him, spinning and fainting, the quaffle tucked close to his chest. Ron stops Harry’s shots from entering the hop seven times out of ten and he gets better with every hour spent under the summer sun. They only have the single hop- vastly different from the triple hops of official Quidditch posts, but it’s all about honing instincts at this point anyway and all practice is good practice. 

They stay on top of their brooms until Mrs. Weasley calls them down for dinner. Both boys are exhausted, muscles aching and tired, hair windswept and matted, but they are hours closer to Tuesday than when they started and with the pleasant burn of good exercise to show for it. 

They are lazy after dinner, sprawled on Ron’s bed, buried under his blankets. They listen to the Wireless , humming along to songs they recognize. Ron draws idly in his sketchbook while Harry pokes at the puzzle he’s half-heartedly attempting to solve. Hedwig is nested between Harry’s shoulder blades, happily preening his hair.

Charlie practically has to carry Harry back to the Dursleys. 

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Tuesday - July 7

Mrs. Weasley has her hands full on Tuesday morning. Ron and Harry can think of nothing except the looming visit to Hermione’s home. They are excited to see her room, excited to meet her cats, excited to see the place where their friend grew up, excited to see her again- they’re excited. Mrs. Wealsey grows tired of them bouncing around underfoot and orders them out to the garden, their mission weed and gnome extraction. 

Charlie takes pity on them after lunch and arranges an expedition into the forest. He gathers the kids, passes out brooms, makes a pit stop at the Lovegoods to collect Luna under Ginny’s instruction, and they are off. Charlie got his Mastery in the Care of Magical Creatures, but he’s just as knowledgeable about muggle animals. 

They glide through the trees at a gentle pace, Charlie teaching them how to spot and follow animal tracks. They manage to find a fox den, a herd of deer grazing in a pretty meadow, and all kinds of birds in the three hours Charlie shepherds the kids about. The second eldest Weasley boy doesn’t have Luna’s mystical, intuitive connection to nature, but the way he interacts with animals and navigates the forest is its own kind of magic. 

Mrs. Weasley directs them to their schoolwork when they return and the boys spend the next hour plowing through their Transfiguration textbook. Then it's time to get ready for the trip to the Grangers’ and the nervous excitement rackets back up to unmanageable levels. After ten minutes, Mrs. Weasley gives up on them and sends them off to walk Luna home with Ginny.

By the time they troop back to the Burrow, Mr. Weasley and Percy have finished at the Ministry and Mrs. Weasley is ready to go. Everyone piles into a beat-up Ford Anglia that Mr. Weasley wheels out of his shed. The backseat is magically expanded to fit everyone, the soft leather cushions are worn and comfortable, and the exterior’s cobalt blue paint is chipped. Like most of the Weasleys’ belongings, the warmth and love of its owners wafts from the car.

In any case, it's much better than the street of identical houses whose driveways host identical cars at Privet Drive. It will be too soon if Harry never has to see a Vauxhall Vectra again.  

As relaxing and welcoming as the mode of transportation is, the actual ride is nothing short of terrifying. The car is covered in fairly strong notice-me-not and muggle-repelling charms, so the first half of the trip isn’t too bad. Mr. Weasley directs the car into a vertical lift and they spend a pleasant hour sailing alongside birds and ducking behind clouds to avoid the notice of muggle airplanes. 

Once they get closer to the city, however, Mr. Weasley has to join muggle traffic and it becomes abruptly, horrifyingly clear that the wizard knows nothing of road and traffic law. Harry grips Ron’s arm tight enough to bruise and sits as still as possible with his jaw clenched against the screams and curses that want to escape. None of the Weasleys appear concerned and Ron keeps shooting him confused looks, though he never attempts to remove his arm from the no-doubt painful hold. 

Harry calms down considerably once Mr. Weasley veers off the motorway and enters an upscale muggle neighborhood. Harry releases Ron, drying sweaty palms on the shorts Harry’s borrowing from the redhead’s closet. Most of the clothes Harry wears these days are actually Ron’s.

“That was terrifying,” Harry whispers to his friend, ignoring Fred’s amused glance.

Ron just shrugs. “It’s better than the Knight Bus .” 

Harry vows then and there to never step foot on the Knight Bus , whatever it might be. 

Both boys are thoroughly distracted after that, as the houses around them grow larger and more spread apart. As they travel further, the landscaping becomes rapidly more intricate and voluptuous. Eventually, tall hedges and stone walls replace the endless, perfectly maintained grass lawns at the edge of the road. 

Mr. Weasley turns down a winding driveway, following the instructions Mr. Granger gave them. Beautiful oak trees arch over the private road, offering shade from the hot summer sun. After about five minutes the trees taper off, revealing a stunning three-story cottage. Harry only uses the term cottage because of its style, not because of its size.

The roofs are pointed and tall, their heights different but complementing each other. There are circular windows, bay windows, and windows that stretch far and wide with billowing, white curtains. There is brick detailing, wood paneling, and a huge wrap-around porch. There are columns and flower boxes and plants everywhere . 

The land surrounding the cottage-mansion seems to sprawl for miles. Harry can spot a barn, horses and cows milling about in sweeping pastures, and the odd bunch of trees scattered here and there, like small forests ripe for exploration.  

Harry and the Weasleys exit their car in a daze, gawking at the breathtaking property.

“Sweet Morgana,” Harry hears Mrs. Weasley murmur, as they stand there staring, all nine of them undoubtedly intimidated. 

But then the towering, elegantly carved front door is thrown open, and Hermione comes tumbling out and the spell is broken. She’s wearing flip-flops, checkerboard shorts over a one-piece bathing suit, and bright pink sunglasses. There’s a smear of sunblock on her nose, yet to be properly rubbed in, and her bathing suit is decorated with flamingos the same color as her sunglasses. 

“Harry! Ron!” She yells, sprinting towards them, blindingly happy. The boys need no further invitation; they meet her in the middle of her impeccably maintained driveway, embracing her with an impact that knocks the air out of all three of them.  

“Come on,” she urges, grabbing each of their wrists and tugging them towards the house. They leave the others in the dust, the rest of the world frankly forgotten in the face of Hermione’s joy and enthusiasm. 

“You’re the first friends I’ve ever invited to visit,” she tells them excitedly, dragging them through the door. She’s eager to show them every corner and inch of her home. She leads the way, talking a mile a minute. She points out all the parts she helped design and her favorite reading nooks. 

“My uncle is an architect. He drew up the plans for this place,” she says, perhaps a bit smugly. It’s the same kind of pride Ron shows when he tells stories about his dragon-tamer and curse-breaker brothers. Harry pushes aside the jealousy that threatens to choke him. He’s grateful his best friends have this, even if he wishes dearly that he had a family of his own to be proud of. 

The tour ends with a grand finale: Hermione’s room. It is much larger than Ron’s room at the Burrow, to say nothing of Dudely’s second bedroom at Number Four. She has a big canopy bed. Three rugs are layered on the hardwood floor. A couch and two armchairs are situated in the middle of the room, a coffee table set between them. On the wall behind the bed, a whimsical mural depicts an otherworldly forest. There are fairies, unicorns, and the silhouette of a dragon flying in front of the moon. 

Other than the mural wall, a large bay window, and a built-in desk, the walls are covered entirely by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It would take ages to count all the books stored in them; though, knowing Hermione, Harry is sure there is a very clever, very competent shelving system in place that makes locating a desired book relatively simple. 

“No books on the ceiling, Mione,” Ron sighs, shaking his head, his smile impish. “I’m disappointed.” 

Harry looks up as Ron dodges the throw pillow Hermione hurls at him. There is another mural on the ceiling, this time its subject is a night sky bursting with bright, luminous stars. It’s just as masterfully detailed as the forest mural. Harry even recognizes several constellations from Astronomy class. 

There are two other doors in Hermoine’s room, presumably leading to a bathroom and closet. The whole space is sensible and studious. It’s interesting to look at with no shortage of books. It mirrors Hermione’s grown-up, mature personality and reflects her sense of mystery and curiosity for the world. 

Harry is just as charmed with it as he was by Ron’s room.  

Mrs. Granger finds them jammed into the cushioned alcove under Hermione’s bay window, playing with Aristotle, the most friendly of the Grangers’ three cats. 

“Come along, then,” Mrs. Granger beckons, smiling at them. “The burgers are almost ready.” 

Dinner is served on the terrace in the cottage-mansion’s backyard. There are burgers grilled personally by Mr. Granger, two bowls of crisps, a giant fruit salad large enough for there to be leftovers, a cooler full of pop and fruit punch, and a platter of cookies for dessert, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. (She insisted on bringing something.) 

The whole evening is a laid-back affair- shirts optional. Full of classic summer finger food and friendly conversation. Privately, Harry admires the social tact and kindness Hermione’s parents have shown by purposely arranging a dinner that wouldn’t make their guests feel awkward. The Weasleys are comfortable in their skin, but a multimillion-dollar house would be enough to overwhelm anyone.

A big portion of the Granger’s backyard is commandeered by a humongous swimming pool. That’s where Charlie and the kids migrate after the burgers are demolished. Bobbing in the water are pool floats in the most random of shapes -pizza, fruit slices, and popsicles- that they use to play a game Hermione calls ‘Sharks in the Water.’ 

They pile onto the floats, clinging for dear life, while the ‘sharks’ try to force them into the water. Many techniques are utilized to achieve this goal, from capsizing floats to yanking ankles to cannon-balling directly next to someone in the hopes that the resulting wave will topple them off their flotation devices. Anyone who falls into the water becomes a ‘shark’ as well.

It’s very similar to British Bulldogs. This thought also occurs to George, who suggests they play a few rounds in the pool. It is a great success! However, the parents encourage them to choose a different activity when Ginny nearly breaks Charlie's nose in a desperate bid to escape him. They agree, mostly because they have no other choice, and Hermione retrieves a volleyball. A net is set up in the shallow end and the Weasleys are introduced to the wondrous world of muggle sports. 

This spirals into a game of football, which Charlie and the twins are familiar with from their Hogwarts friends and Ron knows of because of Dean Football-is-Life Thomas. After they’ve thoroughly exhausted themselves chasing after a ball, Hermione shows them a badminton net, which manages to draw Percy’s attention away from the adults. From the snippets of conversation Harry overheard, it sounds like they are discussing the differences and similarities between the muggle and magical societies. 

Harry heard parts of Percy’s description of the British Ministry of Magic. If Harry understood correctly, it sounded like he was providing a general overview of its numerous departments and responsibilities. For at least thirty minutes, every time Harry tuned back in, Percy was talking about the Law Offices. That’s where the third eldest Weasley boy wants to work after his internship with the Minister’s Office ends in a couple of months. 

Harry remembers Ron telling him about his older brother’s aspirations of becoming a lawyer and eventually the Minister of Magic one day. Truthfully, both boys can’t think of anyone better suited for the job except, perhaps, their Hermione. 

Now that the parents have moved on from government talk and are discussing what trade looks like in their respective worlds, it appears Percy will finally allow himself to act like the seventeen-year-old he actually is. He joins the badminton matches to a round of cheerful welcomes that soon turn to grumbling complaints- Percy is strangely good at badminton. (He later admits his long-time girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, taught him how to play when they started dating.) 

When the sun sets, the pool lights turn on, bathing the water in a multi-colored, iridescent glow. The marvel of waterproof, LED lighting. Mr. Weasley is utterly delighted. Everyone gets in the pool for one last swim before Harry and the Weasleys bundle into their Ford Anglia and fly back to the Burrow. 

“Amazing,” Mr. Weasley gushes when they are somewhere between London and Devon, soaring over a wheat field. “Imagine, music in the walls. Just amazing, those muggles.” 

Harry smiles to himself, tucked in the middle of a Charlie-Ron sandwich, wrapped up in a warm towel. Mr. Weasely was very impressed with the Grangers’ surround-sound speaker system. 

)*^*(*^*)*^*(

Friday - July 10

The ice is firmly broken between the Grangers and the Weasleys after the pool-side soirée. Hermione and her parents are invited to Charlie’s going away party three days later. Harry is sad to see the dragon-tamer go. He’s great fun to play with, especially on brooms, and he was a big part of why Harry has had an amazing, Dusrley-free summer so far, but the older lion has a whole life to get back to in Romania. 

(Not to mention a cute Hungarian-Horntail Specialist with a distracting fashion sense that Charlie quietly admitted to Percy he’s working up the nerve to ask on a date. Ron and Harry were in the midst of a grand escape from a raging pirate -played by Ginny- and overheard from their place hidden under the couch.) 

Mrs. Weasley pulled out all the stops for Charlie’s last night at the Burrow. The dinner table was enlarged and placed in the center of the garden. Floating lanterns drifted aimlessly above the dinner guests, casting a golden light over the night’s proceedings. There were three cakes and enough food to satisfy an army. 

Several of Charlie’s friends from Hogwarts made an appearance. Harry was surprised by the wide range of houses represented in Charlie’s friend group. Lions are still the majority, but the second eldest Weasley boy also greeted an eagle, three badgers, and two snakes warmly.  

Professor McGonagall’s arrival induced a ricochet of panicked Gryffindors, even Percy, officially a Hogwarts graduate, went pale at the sight of their greatly feared and respected Head of House. The Transfiguration professor was out of her usual teaching robes, clad instead in a flowing, linen robe designed for the summer. Even her patented bun was absent, replaced by expertly woven braids at the base of her neck. 

She spent most of the night speaking with the Granger parents, discussing the Hogwarts curriculum and the secondary education opportunities in the magical world after one passes their N.E.W.T.S. She and Mrs. Weasley talked for ages as well, catching each other up on their respective family drama.

(For some reason, encountering a Professor outside of Hogwarts was beyond strange. Harry half-thought Professor McGonagall lived in the castle and hibernated in her office between terms.)

The party is over now, though; the guests seen off, the food eaten, and the kitchen put back to rights. Charlie and Harry are making their last trip to the Durselys- Percy is picking him up tomorrow. A familiar kind of tension is tight in his chest and Harry is trying his best not to cry as Charlie secures his blankets around his shoulders for the last time. 

(The amount of hand-knitted quilts Harry owns has grown steadily since his first day at the Burrow. He’s up to four now.) (His cot is much more comfortable these days.)  

“Why the tears, Little Raven?” Charlie coos, gaze warm and fond. The nickname refers to Harry’s wild, black curls; a unique color in the sea of Weasley redheads. 

Harry sniffles, rubbing his eyes. “‘Dunno.” 

Charlie hums, carding gentle fingers through Harry’s stubborn mane. “I’ll miss you too.” 

Harry's wide, emerald orbs blink up at him. “Yeah?” 

Charlie nods. “So much. I can only be soothed by regular letters from my favorite raven. You know Hedwig will enjoy the challenge.” 

Harry smiles at that. Mrs. Weasley cautioned against the strain frequent trips to Romania might have on the snowy owl and Hedwig has yet to forgive her. Every time the Weasley matriarch enters the same room as the imperious owl, Hedwig makes a point to turn her back on the woman, hooting disdainfully. 

“Yeah, she will,” Harry says, and then pauses, hesitating over his next words. Charlie rubs his back encouragingly. He inhales shaky breath, mustering that famous Gryffindor bravery, “You’ll write back?” 

Charlie’s next smile is a little sad, (a little mad), but mostly it’s fond. It soothes Harry like one of Mr. Weasley’s compliments or Mrs. Weasley’s hugs. “I will respond to every letter from you, Harry Potter, because you are worth all that effort and so much more.” 

Harry accepts that as best he can, pleased beyond words at the sentiment even if he doesn’t quite believe it. 

“And Percy will be right on time tomorrow, you know how he is about schedules.” 

Harry giggles because he does know, but then his face falls, forest eyes watering again. 

“Tell me, Little Raven,” Charlie urges gently, his strong, calloused fingers cupping Harry’s face, “Tell me so I can fix it.” 

“Percy isn’t as big as you,” Harry finally whispers after minutes of soft encouragement. 

Understanding dawns visibly in Charlie’s expression.

 “No, I suppose he’s not,” Charlie concedes, that familiar sadness creeping into his tone- bittersweet and angry. (Not at Harry though, never at Harry. Charlie swore it.) 

“Can I tell you a secret about my baby brother, Harry?” Charlie asks, leaning in real close.

Harry nods. 

“Can I trust you?” 

Harry nods again, trying to project confidence.

“Percy was meant to be a Slytherin,” Charlie confesses, quiet like a mouse. There is no judgment in his voice or eyes. “He argued himself successfully into Gryffindor because he didn’t want to leave the twins alone when they would inevitably become lions four years later, but our Pez, Little Raven, is still a cunning snake at his core.” 

“He’s just as cutthroat and loyal and bloodthirsty as any official Slytherin, and what’s more Harry, he likes you. You are our little brother, just as Ron is. When he picks you up tomorrow, right as the clock strikes eight, he’ll smile a smile that shows all his teeth and bully his way past whoever answers the door.” 

“You’re right that he’s not as big as me,” Charlie admits, tracing idle patterns on the blanket over Harry’s chest. “But he is far more nasty than any of us simple lions could ever be. So don’t you worry about that, Little Raven. Percy will take care of it all, okay?” 

Harry thinks about it- about the sixth-year Slytherins who spent months in detention with Filch because Percy caught them planning a violent retribution against one of the twins’ harmless hair color-changing pranks and the long evenings Percy spent teaching Harry how to use a quill during his first month at Hogwarts and the patient, thorough (kind) way he checks over Ron’s essays before he lets him turns them in- and nods.

“Okay.” 

“Good,” Charlie smiles, rising from his kneeling position beside Harry’s cot. He sits in the little space left next to Harry’s thighs. “You feel better?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’ll remember to write?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good boy,” Charlie praises, bending down to kiss Harry’s forehead. Harry shoots up to steal one last hug before the dragon-tamer leaves. Charlie returns the embrace with equal ferocity. He smooths Harry’s bangs back as he stands. 

“Sweet dreams, Little Raven,” he calls softly, turning off the light and closing Harry’s bedroom door. 

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep that night, but when he finally manages it, Harry dreams of dragon wings and long flights amongst the stars.