Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters…most belong to either J.K. Rowling or whoever owns Leonardo DiVinci's stuff. I wish I owned his stuff…imagine going into art school with that under my wing…anyway, enjoy! P.S. More to follow, Harry/Ginny to come soon!

The Mona Lisa stumbled back into her portrait. Grinning clumsily and removing a paper party hat, she sat down on her perch, peering down at the toothbrush-cleaned living room before her. She wasn't the real Mona Lisa, no, that was a dull, inanimate muggle painting in France. She was a copy of it made in the wizarding world; she actually was able to move around, from one of her portraits, in this little shack, to another, in an old cottage in the country, owned by a cheeky man named Dedalus Diggle.

Dedalus Diggle had many portraits in his home, most of them with several connections like Mona, and they were having a party tonight, much like the rest of the world surrounding them. After several years – about seventeen – the wizarding community finally had something to rejoice about. The dark Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated by a youth named Harry Potter during a battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry almost twenty-four hours ago.

Mona was now looking down at the kitchen where the boy's muggle relatives, the Dursleys, had taken refuge in a small, miserable old shack perched on a rock out to sea during the harsh wartimes. From what she had gathered they had stayed here briefly almost seven years previously, but she hadn't any idea in the slightest what would bring them here willingly. She had come to understand that his aunt and uncle thought very little of wizards, doubly so of their nephew. However, Mona might've grown a soft spot for their son, Damien, who was snoring on the moth-eaten sofa.

Or was it Derek? she thought, silently contemplating the name of the porky young man whom she'd had so many flirtatious conversations with when his parents weren't in earshot. Daniel…David…Duncan…Dudley! Yes, that's the one – Dudders, as his mum calls him. She smirked to herself, then suddenly remembered she was there to give the good news to these ignorant muggles.

"WAKE UP, DURSLEYS, I BEAR NEWS!" she declared shrilly.

Someone let out a roar of indignant annoyance in the single bedroom. The three pajama-clad Dursleys slumped out of their dreams and began to surround the bluntly satisfied portrait.
"What the Devil did you wake us for?" grumbled Mr. Vernon Dursley, going purple in his pudgy face as he scowled up at the woman. His wife, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, a bony, horse-faced woman, appeared to be chewing her tongue, while Dudley, a more muscular version of his father, looked as if he hadn't been sleeping at all, as he stared, brow furrowed in thought, up at Mona.

"For the exact reason I was hung here, to give news if I have it," she answered curtly, "And I do. Your nephew, Harry Potter, has defeated the Dark Lord. The war is over, and someone will over come morning to discuss procedure and how to restore you to your house in Little Whinging."

"Is that all?" he asked, a little too rudely considering they had not had news since the September previously, and it was currently June.

"Yes. Might I suggest you begin to pack a bit after you celebrate?" Vernon snorted and ambled back to the bedroom, his wife trotting behind him obediently in her carpet slippers.

"I'll just make myself a cup of tea," mumbled Dudley to his parents as they shut the door behind them. He busied himself with the ancient, rusty hotplate the wizards had left them courteously, filling the kettle with water from a nearby jug and setting it to boil. He leaned, with forced casualness, considering the painting still beaming down at him, against the rickety wooden table and looked up at the Mona Lisa.

"Mona? Can I ask you a question?" he asked cautiously.

"Anything, Dudley. Shoot."

"Well, do you think Harry will…I dunno…be able to consider me a friend when – if – he comes back?" Mona scowled at him questioningly. "I mean, I was really mean to him as a kid. I beat him up a lot. I tried to make up for it when he was over last summer, but he was always shut up in his room." He frowned at the floor pointedly.

"I really don't know, Dudley, with him being famous and all he'll probably already have plenty of friends," she said negatively, hiding a wicked smile as she peered down at him in the dark, but her expression changed when she saw the look on his face. "Dudley, listen. He probably lost a lot of friends in this war. I heard rumors that when he was fourteen, a boy was killed by the Dark Lord right in front him. They weren't good friends, but it changed him all the same, never talked of it…oh, who was the boy?" she thought aloud. "Cedric…Cedric Diggory!"

Dudley's ears perked up at the mention of his name. Harry had sleep-talked about Cedric all summer one year, and he'd teased the boy about it! Had he really been so cruel to him?

"And then his godfather, Sirius Black, was died in a big duel once, no one was ever quite sure if he was a maniac or not…" she continued, oblivious to Dudley's ever sinking expression. "Plus he was a big favorite of Dumbledore…well, you know who he was," she added grimly. "Anyway, you just need to reach out a helping hand when he calls for it. And if he doesn't, then so be it, you two can go one with your lives." Her attempts at raising his spirits were clearly futile.

At that, the kettle began to sing "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" and Dudley remembered with jolt he was making tea with a wizard's kettle. He poured it gingerly into a mug and heard the singer sigh with relief as a cloud of steam came billowing up over it in the gloom. He took a small sip and burnt his tongue, swallowing as the heat chaffed his taste buds. Mona, on the other hand, was examining her olive-colored fingers absently.

"Can I ask you another question, Mona?"

"Ask away," she replied, not taking her eyes off of her uneventful nails.

"Why do you smile?"

"What?" She looked up, clearly confused by such a straightforward question.

"Well, I've been reading this art book, Dedalus gave to me, said it was the only 'muggle' book he had. And it says your original painting, by Da Vinci, a lot of people wonder why you smile in it." He reached over the table and picked up a thick book from a small stack.

"That's a stupid question, why shouldn't I smile? Leo just painted me this way, that's all," she answered dismissively.

"Well, some people seem to think it's because you're pregnant. They say it's the clothing you're wearing."

"WHAT?" she shrieked indignantly. "Am I really that fat?" At this, she stood up and marched angrily out of her portrait, leaving nothing but a dramatically colored landscape of a background, of which Dudley gaped at for several minutes before retreating to his couch to read more about the woman who had just rejected his relatively benign statement.

There was an excited knock at the door at 9:30 the following morning, and Aunt Petunia received it with her lips pursed sourly. Dedalus Diggle bowed deeply as if trying to smell the traces of pungent seaweed that had accumulated on the doorstep by previous guests at the shack. He was not alone. As he stepped uninvited inside, he was followed by the last person the Dursleys had expected – Harry himself. He gave a shifty nod of the head to his former guardians, and glanced over a Dudley with a dash of a contemplative smile, considering their last encounter was awkwardly cordial.

"Thank you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus. He never seemed capable of addressing them outside of their relations to Harry, something that always stressed the arteries in Uncle Vernon's temple. "Please, do sit, we've some very important things to discuss!" The Dursleys sank most uncomfortably into the kitchen chairs. Dedalus followed them, Harry, on the other hand, leaned casually against the counter, as there were only four places. He was so tired, but it was a tired he'd never felt before. Though mingled with grief and physical exhaustion, of which in the past he'd been forced to cope with for the majority of his time, it was usually stressed by either pressure of the more recently completed tasks before him, or merely for the fact that Lord Voldemort shared his soul parasitically. But now things were different. He was identifying his emotions – and controlling them – for the first time, and it felt wonderful, even when they weren't positive.

"Now," said Dedalus bracingly as the Dursleys peered weakly at him, having not said anything yet, "we have devised where to keep you while we have your Little Whinging home under examination. It is currently not considered safe, as we understand it was searched thoroughly by Death Eaters while you were away, and they could have left booby traps, charms, and such for you to find should you ever come back, so that they could find you and try to get to Harry. However, we have not been able to keep you here. There may still be dark wizards afoot, and the enchantments on this house have been broken, given that my colleague, Hestia Jones, was lost in the Battle at Hogwarts two nights ago." His voice cracked a little and looked down at the table. "The secret of the Fidelius charm surrounding this house died with her, and for some reason, we've not been able to set it up again, so you people are now vulnerable." He regained certainty in his voice at this. "But do not worry, Harry here has been kind enough to take you in at his current place of residence!" Harry smiled meekly at Dedalus's proud and affectionate tone, though his grin could've easily been mistaken for a grimace.

"His house?" grunted Uncle Vernon, speaking for the first time. "You said you had a house!" he demanded of his nephew.

"Er – erm, that is also under inspection, I'm afraid," piped up Dedalus uneasily. "No, you'll be off to the Burrow, home of the Weasleys, whom I daresay you've encountered before." He clapped his hands together bracingly as he stood up from his chair and looked expectantly around the room. "Now, what to use…what to use…" he mumbled.

"Now wait one bloody moment, here! We never agreed we'd be taken in by some crackpot old Weasler family!" shouted Uncle Vernon, pushing himself laboriously up from the table while his wife recoiled to his arm. "We'll not be going!"

"Uncle Vernon," said Harry, making his family jump, "I dunno if this is going to help, but I've spoken with the Weasleys on the matter, I've told them all about you, and their not the least bit more excited about it than you are."

"That's the spirit!" squeaked Dedalus jovially. "Aha, this'll do just fine," he picked up the singing kettle, emptied it excitedly out of the open window and whipped out a stubby wand. "Portus!" he wheezed tapping the kettle with his wand.

He looked up and beamed at the revolted Dursleys eagerly.

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot accompany you, that's why Harry's here!" he handed the kettle to Harry, who gestured forcefully for the Dursleys to follow him outside onto the wet, sunny rock. They ambled uncertainly after him, Dudley leading the way hopefully.

"Could you put a finger on this kettle?" Harry asked them politely, holding it up innocently so that it shone in the morning sunlight.

"Why?" demanded Uncle Vernon.

"Because if you do, it will take you the Burrow in exactly ten seconds." Dudley placed a pudgy finger on the nozzle without hesitation, his parents were much more reluctant but followed their son sourly.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter's relatives!" they heard behind them. At that, Harry felt a sudden jerk behind his navel as his feet left the ground. There was an enormous roar of surprise and rage nearby him as he stumbled back to earth.

"WHAT THE RUDDY HELL WAS THAT?" he heard Uncle Vernon bellow.

When they were all safely, and angrily on their feet, Harry lead them up to the Burrow, paying no regard to Uncle Vernon's livid shouts. There, lined up at the front of the house, ten fuming faces stood staring very sharply at the Dursleys.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, meet my family," mumbled Harry loudly, gesturing around at the very awkward scene.