Tuesday, June 30, 1981

Harry couldn't believe it. The man had been about to adopt him. What had happened? Had he done something wrong? He would probably never know, as Mr. DuMorne had suddenly announced to the orphanage that he was going back to Europe for a job and couldn't take a child with him. But he'd told Harry last time he visited that it was definitely happening, that nothing could make him back out now (Harry had been suspicious). And now…

He was stuck here again. He glared at the drab gray walls from his bed. As orphanages went, this one wasn't bad, but…it was still an orphanage. The creaky bunk bed he stayed in was covered with faded blue sheets which had lost their softness a hundred washes ago. All the furniture had been carved in by successive generations of kids, everything from "Adam wuz here" to crude, insulting drawings of previous caretakers. He currently shared the room with no less than four other boys.

Needless to say, he hated it here. And now his chance at a real family was gone. Disappointment broke like waves over him. It was his own fault, though. He should know not to get his hopes up. But Mr. DuMorne had seemed so excited to adopt him…He shook off those thoughts and rolled over in the rough sheets, falling asleep in moments.

Wednesday, July 1, 1981

"DRESDEN!"

Harry and his roommates were startled awake by pounding on their door.

"Dresden! Wake up; there's someone here to see you!"

Hope sprang to life in Harry's gut. Had Mr. DuMorne returned? He couldn't think of anyone else who would ask for him personally, especially at—he checked his Mickey Mouse watch—seven AM. He leapt out of bed, throwing clothes on in record time, and dashed out to the "family" room—

But it wasn't Mr. DuMorne. Instead of his tall, elegant frame, a short, plump, redheaded woman sat on the couch with the orphanage director, an enormous purple purse next to her. Feeling kind of betrayed, Harry gave them both a skeptical look.

"Harry Dresden! Lovely to meet you, dear; I'm Molly Weasley!" The woman, who apparently was British, jumped up and enthusiastically introduced herself, taking his hand and pumping it.

Mr. Chamberlain, the director, gave him a glare which clearly said, "Behave or find yourself on cleaning duty!," so he offered his best smile to the lady and returned her greeting.

The director cleared his throat and declared,

"Harry, Mrs. Weasley is here to adopt you."

Shocked, he let loose a swear word, earning another death glare from Mr. Chamberlain, though Mrs. Weasley didn't seem too bothered, as she was still beaming at him.

"Sorry, Mr. Chamberlain. But—what do you mean she's here to adopt me?"

"What I said, Dresden. Normally these things take a while, but Mrs. Weasley has documents proving she's your mother's cousin, and all the required forms, signed and everything."

Harry was having trouble processing this.

"But…what about Mr. DuMorne?"

Here Mrs. Weasley chipped in,

"Actually, Har—do you mind if I call you Harry?"

He shook his head. This response seemed to make her even more cheerful.

"Alright, then. Harry, Mr. DuMorne's application was what tipped us off about you…You see, I haven't had contact with my American family in ages. I must confess I was relieved when he backed out! I know that must have been difficult for you, but I would so love to get acquainted with my—"

The end of her sentence was lost as Mr. Chamberlain hastily cut her off.

"Yes, yes; it is a miracle! Now, Dresden, go pack your things. Mrs. Weasley's plane is waiting."

"What..now? And plane to where? What…"

His own questions also fell victim to Mr. Chamberlain's haste to get rid of him (which Harry thought was unfair—he hadn't caused trouble in months), as the man hustled him into the hallway with his room.

In something of a daze, he packed his duffel bag (which didn't take long), and, as his roommates had all gone back to sleep, woke up Patrick, his best (okay, only) friend at St. Jude's Home, to tell him goodbye. Patrick was as bewildered as Harry, but it seemed nothing could be done about it.

Hoisting the bag over his narrow shoulder, he met Mr. Chamberlain and Mrs. Weasley in the main room. She smiled at him, more gently this time.

"Are you ready to go, hon?"

He nodded, not quite trusting his voice enough to respond.

She led him out the door and into a taxi, where he sat quietly, trying to figure out the events of the last five minutes. Five minutes? It had taken Mr. DuMorne months to get through the adoption process. There had been social workers, and child psychologists, and mountains of paperwork, and visit after visit to St. Jude's. This woman walked in alone and out with him in five minutes?

He was so busy mulling this over it took him a few minutes to realize they were leaving town. He shot a panicked look at Mrs. Weasley—what had he gotten himself into?—but she pulled a stick, of all things, out of her giant purple handbag, and that was the last thing he knew.

…

When Harry came to, he found himself sitting in a lush green garden. He could hear birds chirping, other animals rustling in bushes and trees, and what sounded like several kids playing. He was still drowsy, so he blinked slowly, trying to re-orient himself. His stomach felt uneasy, probably because he was so dizzy.

"Hello, Harry."

A voice he only took a moment to identify as Mrs. Weasley's greeted him. He leapt up—and promptly threw up onto a tangle of bright pink flowers, nearly toppling over in the process. Hands were quickly at his waist and underneath his arms, holding him up, making him panic even more fiercely though he was too woozy to fight them. Choking on bile, he tried to wriggle away from the hands, and was instead gently placed in the grass, the smell of his own vomit suddenly gone.

Putting a hand to his hand to stop the spinning, he cautiously opened his eyes again and looked around. Sure enough, there was Mrs. Weasley, and beside her was a man, tall, gangly, also with red hair. He was—and wasn't this just the weird icing on the weird cake?—wearing long, flowing bright blue robes. They both had sticks.

He was too shaky to try to stand again, but he carefully scooted away from the two lunatics. They smiled sadly at him and Mrs. Weasley even backed away a few steps before speaking to him again.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry, but there was really no time to ride an aero-pain."

This absurd apology did nothing to make Harry rethink his estimation of the two.

The man squatted down so he was at Harry's eye-level.

"It's alright, Harry, really. We're not going to hurt you—you have our word on that. And I swear,"

Here his blue eyes twinkled a bit and he winked at Harry.

"—we're not as crazy as you think right now."

This seemed extremely unlikely, so Harry shot him one of his best skeptical looks.

Oddly (but what about this wasn't odd?), the man just nodded.

"Well, that's fair. Harry…have you ever done anything strange, maybe when you were afraid or angry, or just really, really wanted something?"

Harry briefly flashed back to the long-jump competition in fifth grade, where he'd been disqualified for cheating. He really hadn't meant to go that far…he'd just really, really wanted to win something—

The man smiled at him.

"Well, Harry Dresden, I'm Arthur Weasley. You've already met my wife, Molly. And…er…what you did was magic."

Harry felt his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

Mrs. Weasley returned to their conversation with,

"Yes, I know it seems unbelievable, but…You're a wizard, Harry."

The boy in question, who one minute ago had been utterly certain he was not a wizard—not that the subject ever came up—found himself thinking over their words carefully. While he thought, he just stayed where he was, parked in the soft grass, one leg tucked awkwardly beneath him.

The Weasleys just waited.

After a moment of thought, Harry decided it was actually possible. His Dad had told him all sorts of stories about real magic before he died, and…some of them were seeming pretty plausible right now. And he had done something to make himself jump farther—he just didn't know what. That kind of thing had been happening more and more lately, too.

He rearranged himself more comfortably and asked the Weasleys,

"So, um…the things I do sometimes when I get mad or…other stuff, that's…magic?"

They nodded at him in unison, both beaming. He went on,

"So that thing you did to me with the stick was magic?"

"Wand, Harry. And yes. And sorry about that! I could tell you were about to panic and we—we just didn't have time."

Harry nodded, thinking that over, too.

"And, um…where am I?"

This time Mr. Weasley answered.

"Er—you're in Britain, Harry. Devon. Molly Portkeyed you—er, she transported you magically—here."

At Harry's look of disbelief, he added unnecessarily,

"To our house. Er, in our garden."

Harry really wanted to ask more questions, but Mrs. Weasley asked him one first, an important one.

"Harry, are you hungry?"