The wooden floorboards creaked softly under their weight as Harry followed Percy out of the room, the twins trailing behind with identical looks of exaggerated boredom plastered on their faces.
Fred gave an exaggerated sigh, muttering just loud enough for Harry to hear, "Brace yourself, Potter. You're about to receive the Percy Weasley Guided Historical Tour™."
George nodded solemnly, whispering, "Patented and guaranteed to induce sleep in under three minutes."
Percy, naturally, ignored them both. Straightening his already perfectly straight posture, he puffed out his chest and announced, "Come along, Harry. Mother asked me personally this morning to assist you. Father and she are busy, you see."
Harry blinked, trying to hide his amusement at the way Percy managed to make fetching tea sound like a mission of national importance. "Busy doing what?" he asked curiously.
"They're outside," Percy replied, lowering his voice in a way that suggested this was Very Serious Business™. "Taking care of some… things. Hagrid is still out cold from last night, but I believe Mum plans to see to him shortly."
Hagrid's still unconscious? Harry frowned faintly but didn't ask further.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the kitchen opened up before him, and Harry stopped dead for a moment, taking it all in.
It wasn't like the Dursleys' kitchen at all. Where Aunt Petunia's spotless countertops and perfectly matching appliances had always felt sterile, lifeless, and faintly hostile, the Weasleys' kitchen felt… warm. Cozy.
The table was a sturdy old thing, mismatched chairs crammed around it. The curtains were faded, patched in places, but cheerful nonetheless. A teapot whistled softly on its own, and an odd clock on the wall had no numbers at all, just hands that seemed to point toward things like home, mortal peril, and dentist. It was chaos in furniture form, and somehow, Harry thought, he preferred it this way.
"This," Percy declared importantly, "is the heart of the Burrow."
Fred leaned toward Harry and whispered, "Translation: the place where Mum shouts the loudest."
George nodded, equally solemn. "And where we eat. A lot."
They all took their seats at the kitchen table while Percy busied himself at the counter. Harry watched curiously as Percy tapped the kettle with a single finger, muttered something under his breath, and sat down as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
A moment later, the kettle floated gracefully off the stove and began pouring steaming tea into a row of mismatched cups, each one sliding into place neatly in front of them.
Harry's jaw dropped slightly. He'd read about magic in Mrs. Figg's borrowed books, of course, but seeing it happen right in front of him was something else entirely.
"Was that a spell?" Harry blurted out, leaning forward eagerly. "How did you cast it without a wand?"
The effect was immediate.
Every Weasley at the table turned to stare at him, eyebrows climbing so high they practically disappeared into their hairlines.
Percy, naturally, cleared his throat in the pompous way Harry was already coming to expect. "Yes, as a matter of—"
"Hang on," Fred interrupted. "You know about spellcasting?"
"Weren't you living with Muggles?" George added at the exact same time.
Percy shot them a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Do you mind? Harry asked me a question."
The twins did not, in fact, mind.
Percy sighed, turning back to Harry with the air of a man forced to work among amateurs. "No, that wasn't a spell I cast. It's a household enchantment. Mother set it up years ago. It triggers automatically when you touch the kettle, no wand required."
"And," he added pointedly, giving the twins a long, meaningful look, "underage magic is strictly prohibited by the Ministry. They monitor it, you know."
"There's even a whole office dedicated to catching anyone who does it," Ron piped up, a little too enthusiastically for Harry's liking.
Harry nodded slowly, tucking the information away. "Right. Thanks."
Fred leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "So you do know about spellcasting, then?"
George joined him, matching his expression perfectly. "And you know the word 'Muggle.' That's not exactly common knowledge where you come from, is it?"
Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure how much to say. Would they recognize the titles of Mrs. Figg's books? Would mentioning her get her into trouble somehow?
"I, uh… read about it," he admitted finally. "In some books. There was..." He rattled of few names of the books he'd read recently, "...I think?"
Silence.
Four redheads stared at him.
Ginny looked dazed, her eyes wide and fixed on him like he'd just grown an extra head. Ron's jaw had gone slack. Percy was blinking rapidly, clearly recalculating whatever opinion he'd formed about Harry up until now. And the twins—
"What?!" George yelped.
"They're first-year books!" Fred blurted, just as loudly.
Harry glanced between them, baffled. "…Okay?"
Percy pinched the bridge of his nose like he was developing a headache. "Hogwarts, Harry," he said patiently. "You… do know about Hogwarts?"
"It's a school," Harry said quickly. "For wizards and witches, right? I've barely read the summary about it in the history book."
Relief washed over Percy's face like a tide. "Precisely."
And then, predictably, Percy launched into what could only be described as a lecture disguised as a monologue. He talked about Hogwarts' founding, its four houses, its hallowed halls and ancient traditions, and something about academic excellence that made Harry's attention drift alarmingly fast.
He caught snippets here and there: "founded over a thousand years ago," "prestigious," "curriculum," and "exams," which immediately made his stomach sink.
Exams. Of course there were exams.
By the time Percy wrapped up, Harry was vaguely questioning all of his life choices.
"So," Ron asked after a moment, "where'd you get those books, anyway?"
Harry froze.
Mrs. Figg. Right.
She wasn't a witch. Hagrid had said she was a Squib — someone born into a magical family but without magic of their own. But if she wasn't supposed to have those books… would talking about her get her into trouble?
Ron, sensing his hesitation, quickly said, "It's alright, Harry. You're a wizard. No one's going to get mad at you for reading them."
Harry exhaled, relieved. "Mrs. Figg gave them to me. Well, sort of. She had them lying around, and I borrowed them."
At that, the Weasleys exchanged thoughtful looks.
"Squib, then," Fred muttered knowingly.
George nodded. "Makes sense."
Percy, ever the informative one, launched into an explanation about Squibs, their place in wizarding society, and a brief — very brief — history lesson that Harry was only half-listening to. Still, the idea of Mrs. Figg being connected to all of this made something click into place.
He felt… oddly grateful to her. And, just a little, sad.
When he met her next time, he thought, he'd make sure not to let it show.
-+--+-
The air in the Burrow was warm with the smells of breakfast and something faintly floral drifting in through the open windows. The gentle hum of clinking cutlery and sizzling pans still lingered as Harry sat at the kitchen table, trying — and mostly failing — to wrap his head around everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. It felt like someone had stuffed a lifetime into a single night and then casually dropped him into the chaos of a wizarding household without a proper warning.
When Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned from outside, it was as though the atmosphere shifted ever so slightly. The twins went still, Ginny stopped pretending not to stare at him, and Ron, who had been enthusiastically describing the backyard gnome situation a moment ago, suddenly clammed up.
Arthur Weasley smiled warmly, though there was a glint of concern behind his eyes. "How are you, Harry? I hope you slept well last night." He gestured to the woman beside him, who had the unmistakable aura of someone who had wrangled six children and survived to tell the tale. "I'm Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife, Molly."
Harry sat up a little straighter. "Thanks for having me here, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh no, it's no trouble, dear," Molly said briskly, already bustling about the kitchen like she had an invisible list she was determined to complete. "You've had tea, I hope? You must be starving after what you went through. I'll have breakfast in no time."
Breakfast, as it turned out, was already halfway done by the time she finished the sentence. Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was because she was an efficient woman or because half the work was being done by magic. Judging by the enchanted kettle and the plates that occasionally drifted across the room, it was probably the latter.
Once the introductions were over, Molly herded the Weasley children with the precision of a general commanding a small but chaotic army. "Upstairs, the lot of you. Get ready for the day."
Ron hung back long enough to nudge Harry's shoulder and whisper, "C'mon, I'll show you the house while Mum's distracted."
Harry followed, unable to hide his curiosity.
The Burrow was nothing like Privet Drive. It was… alive. Narrow staircases twisted at odd angles, paintings of witches and wizards muttered to each other as they passed, and something in the walls occasionally made a noise suspiciously like a growl. Everywhere he looked, there were little details that made the house feel like it had grown organically rather than been built. He half-expected the furniture to lean down and introduce itself.
Ron, oblivious to Harry's wide-eyed wonder, provided a running commentary about the various rooms, the ghoul in the attic ("He's harmless, mostly"), and the kitchen clock that didn't tell time but instead announced things like "Mortal Peril" and "Doing Chores."
By the time they returned to the kitchen, the table was laden with breakfast. Eggs, toast, sausages, something that looked suspiciously like mushrooms but glistened unnaturally, and a pitcher of orange juice sat in the middle.
Harry tucked in without hesitation. It was the best breakfast he'd ever had — warm, filling, and not a single cold slice of toast in sight. He was halfway through his second glass of orange juice when Fred leaned over and muttered, "Careful there, mate, leave some for the rest of us."
"Yeah," George added, smirking. "Mum'll start charging you rent if you keep eating like that."
Harry rolled his eyes but grinned. "I'll write you an IOU."
"Make sure it's signed," Fred said solemnly. "And sealed with blood."
They both snickered while Percy shot them a long-suffering look that suggested he'd been enduring this sort of thing for years.
Once breakfast was winding down and everyone began drifting away from the table, Ron stood and beckoned Harry. "C'mon, you've got to see our backyard."
Harry got to his feet, but before he could follow Ron, Arthur stopped him with a quiet, "Harry, a word, if you don't mind."
It was subtle, but the change in the room's energy was immediate. The twins froze mid-step, Ginny hesitated in the doorway, and Ron glanced between his parents and Harry with clear reluctance. Molly didn't even look up from clearing plates as she said firmly, "He'll be there in a bit. Now go on."
"But we'll just be here, Mum," George protested.
"You won't even notice us," Fred added.
"Oh, I'll notice you," Molly said sweetly. "And if you've already finished your summer assignments, by all means, loiter to your heart's content."
Both twins wilted instantly. "Right, backyard it is," George muttered, and they shuffled out with Ron and Ginny in tow.
When the door closed behind them, Arthur sat back down, suddenly looking every bit the serious parent rather than the genial wizard Harry had met minutes ago. Molly joined him, folding her hands on the table.
"Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked cautiously, not sure whether he was in trouble or about to be given life-altering news.
Arthur smiled faintly, though there was a weight to his gaze. "Harry, we know what happened last night. We're glad you were brave enough to face it, but I want you to know you're safe now. What happened won't happen again."
Harry nodded, though the reassurance only did so much to quiet the jumble of images from the night before — flashes of movement, distant screams, and Hagrid's massive silhouette.
Arthur leaned forward. "I know you must be confused about everything, and there's a great deal I'd like to explain, but there's someone who'll do it better than I ever could." He smiled wryly, shaking his head. "Frankly, he probably knows more about all of this than anyone."
"Thank you," Harry said quietly, his throat a little dry. After a pause, he added, "It was… crazy, last night. But I'm glad I made it through. Hagrid —" He hesitated. "Is he okay? Did he… go back to Hogwarts?"
Molly huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "No, dear. He's still sleeping. Last I checked, he was snoring loud enough to rattle the windows — and smothering half a dozen gnomes under him besides."
"Gnomes?" Harry repeated blankly, picturing the decorative lawn ornaments from Privet Drive.
Arthur chuckled, rising to his feet. "Ah, you'll have to ask the twins to show you later. Best introduction to wizarding pests there is."
Molly stood too, sighing as though she'd already resigned herself to chasing the twins about their undone homework again. With a flick of her wand, the plates, cutlery, and glasses drifted lazily through the air and settled neatly into the sink.
Harry watched, fascinated, as the dishes began washing themselves. His fingers itched to reach out and poke something just to see if it would react.
"Mrs. Weasley," he blurted before he could stop himself. "Who… who's coming later?"
Arthur blinked. Molly sighed, shaking her head with a faint, indulgent smile. "Arthur forgot to mention, didn't he?"
Harry nodded hesitantly.
"Albus Dumbledore, your future headmaster, will be arriving later today," she said simply.
Harry stared. For a moment, his mind went blank, as though someone had turned the volume down on every thought he had. Then, as if on cue, all the unasked questions roared back at once, crowding his brain and tangling up his breath.
Dumbledore.
He was going to meet Albus Dumbledore. (His mind went back to the Notable Examples section of a dueling book he'd read...Oh Merlin.)
And somehow, Harry had the distinct, sinking feeling that whatever came next was going to be anything but simple.