3 August 2022
I.
20:47
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
The atmosphere was dimming, specks of starlight already flickering into existence. A light, summer breeze was whistling through the overgrown terrain, rustling blades of grass and rearranging leaves. Silvery moonlight glistened palely against the skyline, exuding just enough light to distinguish the large, lopsided house situated in the center of the orchard. Six or seven chimneys stood, barely balancing, on top of its red roof, and around the front porch lay an untidy heap of rubber boots and rusty cauldrons. A crowd of mud-splattered chickens was huddled by the garden shed, where a very uneven sign was wedged into the dirt: 'The Burrow,' it read.
Inside the Burrow, Molly Weasley hummed to herself as she readied steaming cups of tea for herself and her husband, who was snoozing contentedly in the sitting room with a newspaper strewn across his chest like a blanket. Carefully, Molly balanced the tea service on a tray and swished out of the kitchen, past the dining table, past the staircase, past rows upon rows of photographs, new and old…until she arrived at her snug, welcoming armchair by the fireplace.
Chuckling softly, Molly reached out and peeled the Evening Prophet away from Arthur's face, setting his teacup down on the coffee table in front of him. Then, Molly sank into her own armchair, stretching her legs and taking a small sip of her tea.
With a deep, calming breath, she let her fingertips smooth out the wrinkles on her fifty-year-old armrest, as the corners of her lips lifted in an easy smile.
This was home.
II.
21:12
The Scamanders' Villa
Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
Just over the hillside, a couple was lazing at the edge of a grassy meadow, which was completely uninhabited apart from a small cottage at the very far end. Resplendent yellow sunflower plants garnished the enormous field upon which the pair was settled, and the smattering of apple trees surrounding the cottage swayed gently in the breeze.
Rolf Scamander applied the final touches to his sketchbook, leaning back to survey his work. Frowning slightly, he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Then, with a satisfied nod, he closed the book and turned to look down at his fair-haired wife, who was leaning against his shoulder, twirling a yellow sunflower petal between her soft fingertips.
Grinning, Rolf bent and kissed the top of her head. Luna Lovegood's eyes brightened, and she reached out and took her husband's hand. His large, knotted fingers squeezed her thinner, wispier ones, and she smiled.
Suddenly, the door to their small, timber-paneled cottage flew open, and two identical eight-year-old boys scurried down the hill, shrieking with laughter and carrying between them a large pail of soapy water. Exchanging a smile, Rolf and Luna climbed to their feet.
Chattering excitedly, the two little boys hurried to join their parents in the middle of the turf. Smiling dreamily and putting an arm around each of her sons, Luna nodded to Rolf, who drew his wand and flicked it at the bucket of water. One by one, bubbles rose upward from the foamy pail and filled the sky, mingling with the gentle wind. Lorcan and Lysander cried out in delight, their little fingers stretching up towards the bubbles. Luna beamed at her husband, who winked back at her.
For a long while, the family of four stood together in the quiet evening air, laughing loudly and reaching for the endless parade of bubbles against the darkening sky.
This was home.
III.
21:56
Shell Cottage
Tinworth, Cornwall
As though held together by magic, the procession of bubbles floated serenely through the atmosphere over a hundred miles west of Devonshire to Tinworth, where they were swallowed up by the sea. The tide was high that night, lapping deliciously against the sides of rocky cliffside upon which Shell Cottage stood. The sky outside was nearing a rich shade of indigo, and the smells of salt and fresh air fused together to create a soft aura of tranquility. Seashells scattered the winding pathway up to the small, friendly-looking bungalow, where tiny flecks of fairy light adorned the trees and the gate in the front yard.
Nineteen-year-old Dominique Weasley rocked herself gently in the cottage's porch swing, listening to the sound of the waves surging and retreating, her jaw clenched tightly. The tips of her gingery-gold fringe fluttered in the breeze, but Dominique barely noticed. In her hands, she was clutching a ripped-up, crumpled envelope, which bore the black-and-white insignia of the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team.
Suddenly, there was a muffled creak as the cottage's front door opened, and Dominique stiffened slightly as the tall, lanky, red-haired silhouette of her eighteen-year-old brother slipped out onto the veranda. Louis paused in the doorway for a moment, looking at her, but Dominique determinedly avoided his gaze. At last, very slowly, he crossed the threshold and settled down on the swing beside Dominique, staring at the letter in her hands.
For several moments, neither sibling moved.
Then, Louis cleared his throat, reaching out and elbowing Dominique in the ribs. Dominique startled, letting out a strangled noise of irritation and glaring at her brother—but Louis was undeterred. Smirking broadly, he elbowed her sharply again, and Dominique jumped to her feet, trying furiously to maintain her ferocious glare, but unfortunately, also starting to smile. Louis grinned, snatching the crumpled envelope out of his sister's hands and tossing it over his shoulder. Then, he tackled Dominique off of the porch and onto the grass. Dominique shrieked indignantly, wrenching herself out of his grip and sprinting down the garden path; Louis ran after her, arms outrstretched and snickering. Laughing and crying, Dominique leaped forward and seized her brother in a headlock, and began dragging him down the rocky cliffside, towards their favorite rock on the shore, where, together, they could watch the sea claim the sand.
Glancing down from her bedroom window a few minutes later, Fleur nudged Bill and pointed to the distant outline of their children on the shoreline. Dominique was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, shoulders shaking, and Louis had a protective arm around her. Bill looked at Fleur, smiling sadly, and then took Fleur's hand and kissed it.
This was home.
IV.
22:29
The Weasleys' Farmhouse
Falmouth, Cornwall
The rocky pathway down the coast continued from Tinworth down to the other end of Cornwall, where a charming, cream-colored farmhouse was located at the edge of a little thicket. The now-luminous moonlight reflected enticingly off of the whitish bricks, causing them to gleam and glitter against the darkness of the tall, shadowy trees that surrounded the building.
Inside, Audrey Weasley flicked a few loose curls of her auburn hair away from her face, drawing her wand and levitating a tub of newly washed and dried laundry into the sitting room, where the rest of her family was sprawled lazily out on the sofa. Percy looked up as his wife entered, and then, spotting the basket in Audrey's arms, let out a splutter of indignation. While Percy coaxed Audrey's attention away from the heaping pile of clothes, thirteen-year-old Molly and eleven-year-old Lucy leaped forward and deftly disentangled the basket from their mother's arms, pushing it to a far corner of the room.
Audrey giggled in spite of herself as Percy seized her hand and twirled her over to the sofa, where Molly and Lucy were sitting again, grinning at their parents.
And so, in the warmth of their modest abode, Audrey sat with her husband and daughters, and talked—simply talked—for hours, as the enchanting moonlight glistened through the bay windows and bathed the room in a magical, mesmerizing glow.
This was home.
V.
23:48
The Lupins' Flat
Swindon, Wiltshire
The luminosity of the moon dimmed slightly as a thin sliver of gray cloud slithered in front of it. But the Lupins' small, scruffy Wiltshire flat was so dark already that the absence of the moon was hardly missed by its two inhabitants.
The candle on the coffee table guttered in the breeze from the rattling sitting room window. Teddy Lupin sighed in exasperation and placed his palms carefully around the wavering flame, allowing it to gain momentum for the ninth time that night. Then, he turned back to the report he was writing for the Auror Office, scratching his nose tiredly with the back of his quill.
Gentle footsteps from behind him caused Teddy to jump and turn around in his armchair. Victoire had emerged from their bedroom, tying her pale blue dressing gown loosely around her waist. Leaning down to brush her lips to the top of Teddy's head, her eyes flicked from the half-completed report on the coffee table, to the sputtering candle, and then finally to Teddy's exhausted expression.
Releasing a slow, soft breath, Victoire gave him a faint smile. Then, to Teddy's utter amazement, she tossed her long, silvery blond hair over her shoulder and took a seat on the sofa opposite him, summoning her own quill and her songwriting notes from the kitchen counter. Teddy stared at her, slightly open-mouthed. And then, quite suddenly, his chest constricted with emotion, overwhelmed as he was by the amount of love and gratitude he had for her. Bounding down from his armchair, Teddy knelt down in front of Victoire, seizing her face with both of his hands and pressing his lips to hers. Victoire let out a muffled squeak of surprise, dropping her quill; then, a second later, she wrapped her arms around her husband, melting against him.
It was several, long moments before Teddy released her and pulled back, breathing heavily. The candle on the coffee table had gone out and was now steadily dripping wax onto Teddy's paperwork, but Teddy barely noticed—he had eyes only for Victoire, who was beaming at him, her cheeks faintly pink.
This was home.
VI.
00:13
Malfoy Manor
Salisbury, Wiltshire
A few miles down the way, a tall, thin, platinum-blond teenager was tossing and turning in bed. With a sudden groan of frustration, sixteen-year-old Scorpius flung his covers aside and leaped to his feet. Then, very carefully, he prized open the door to his bedroom and padded stealthily down the lantern-studded hallway.
Malfoy Manor's grand, gold-plated staircase glowed eerily in the fuzzy candlelight, and Scorpius took special care to step within the shadows as he tiptoed down the stairs, one by one. In the darkness, the manor's large drawing room looked even more daunting than it usually did. Everything, from the chiseled, oak furniture to the gruesome-looking silver artifacts on the mantel, seemed to loom over Scorpius, as though daring him to come closer. Swallowing heavily, Scorpius strode swiftly towards his favorite dark green settee in the corner of the room and curled himself into the cushions.
Without conscious thought, he reached into the pocket of his pajama bottoms and pulled out a rumpled photograph, turning it over in his palm. In the dimly flickering torchlight, Scorpius could just make out the blurred outlines of himself, Albus Potter, Malcolm Wood, and Rose Granger-Weasley, as they studied for their Transfiguration O.W.L. by the Black Lake. Albus and Malcolm were both roaring with laughter and pulling silly faces at Professor Longbottom's camera. But every few seconds, Rose and Scorpius would glance away uncomfortably and catch each other's eyes, their expressions betraying a shared secret.
Scorpius stared at the photograph, swallowing. Then, with a heavy sigh, he shoved it back into his pocket and stared up at the ceiling.
He and Albus Potter had struck up an unexpected friendship during their fifth year of Hogwarts; over the course of several months, and in spite of being a Ravenclaw, Scorpius had ingratiated himself as a welcome fourth member of Albus's Gryffindor group. Albus had even invited him to spend a few weeks at his house in Godric's Hollow during the summer, but Scorpius had declined—because he was fairly certain that he had ruined any chance of a lasting friendship with Albus when he had kissed his cousin on the eve of their Astronomy practical, though Albus didn't know it yet. Or did he? Perhaps Rose had told him. Perhaps they had laughed about it together on the train ride home. Scorpius's stomach squirmed.
Shifting into a more comfortable position, Scorpius glanced up at the manor's second floor landing. With a slight jolt, he noticed a thin strip of golden light shining from under his grandparents' bedroom door.
Scorpius raised his eyebrows in surprise, turning next towards another set of doors just off of the downstairs foyer. Through the stillness of the night, Scorpius could just make out the muffled sound of his mother's cough and the soft rustling of his father's newspaper.
Scorpius flopped backwards in his settee, blinking rapidly.
Somehow, it was comforting to know that he wasn't the only one still awake in Malfoy Manor.
This was home.
VII.
00:30
The Weasleys' Victorian
London
Rose took care not to make too much noise as she popped open a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in the kitchen and entered the parlor, where her parents and brother were all slumped across different parts of room. Ron and Hugo were snoring by the fireplace, a jumbled chessboard between them. Hermione, meanwhile, was fast asleep in her armchair, a television control hanging loosely from her hand. Very carefully, Rose disentangled the remote from her mother's fingers and pointed it at the family's positively ancient Muggle television set; it went off with a small pop.
Yawning, Rose sank down onto the sofa and kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. Pulling forward her half-completed Transfiguration essay, Rose dipped her quill into her inkpot and began filling in the rest of the paragraph. Then, she reached out and snatched up her Transfiguration spellbook, flipping it open to the bookmark.
Quite unexpectedly, a photograph fell out from between the wrinkled pages. Frowning slightly, Rose picked it up, holding it up to the light.
Rose, Scorpius, Malcolm, and Albus were sitting together under their favorite beech tree by the Black Lake, studying for their Transfiguration O.W.L. Rose had to repress a snort as she watched herself look away from Neville's camera and nervously meet Scorpius's gaze.
With a disparaging sigh and a little shake of her head, Rose tucked the photograph back into her spellbook, turning the page. But then, she paused, biting her lip.
Exhaling impatiently, Rose pulled forward a new sroll of parchment, dipped her quill into her inkpot, and scribbled out:
Dear Scorpius,
Suddenly, Ron let out a loud grunt, rolling over and mashing his face into the carpet; a black bishop fell out of his hair. Hugo's eyebrows furrowed slightly, and Hermione garbled out a feeble admonition, reaching up and wagging her finger threateningly in her sleep. Rose had to stifle a giggle behind her hand.
We should talk.
This was home.
VIII.
01:15
The Leaky Cauldron
London
In another part of London, the wireless radio in the corner of an empty pub was faintly stuttering out an old Celestina Warbeck ballad, and fourteen-year-old Alice Longbottom began to regret arguing with her parents that she was grown-up enough for the closing shift, as group of four scruffy, rowdy-looking wizards ambled in through front door, grinning toothily.
Biting her lip, Alice tucked her wet rag into the pocket of her apron and watched warily from the bar as the four men plunked themselves down at a table in a dark corner of the room, calling for glasses of Firewhisky. Ignoring the ringing in her ears, Alice nodded once and ducked down to fetch a bottle. Then, balancing the bottle on a metal tray, along with four scotch glasses, Alice swished towards the table. But before she could set the tray down, the largest and ugliest of the four men reached out and seized her wrist, his eyes flashing greedily.
Panic rose up in Alice's throat like bile. The bottle and glasses fell to the floor with an earsplitting clatter, and the man's grip on her wrist tightened, a glint of anger crossing his expression. But before Alice could so much as reach for her wand, there was a loud bang, and a blinding blaze of red light, and suddenly, she was thrown backwards, her scream dying in her throat.
Neville had flown into the room, his wand held aloft and his face contorted with rage. The man who had seized her wrist was sprawled out on the floor, stirring feebly, and his comrades were nowhere in sight. And then, in an instant, Alice's mother and little sister were at her side, and Alice let her hot, ashamed tears spill over as Ellie pulled her into a tight hug, as Hannah smoothed back her hair, murmuring reassuringly.
This was home.
IX.
01:48
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
London
Down the street, the Weasleys' characteristically loud, flashy, carnivalesque joke shop looked strangely subdued in the nighttime. Its ordinarily colorful windows were boarded up, and its dazzling signs and displays were quiet and dark. It hardly resembled the swarming amusement park that it was during the day.
Meanwhile, in the warm, cozy sitting room of the flat above the store, a family of four sat among a hodgepodge of cardboard boxes, small bits of parchment, and unwrapped parcels. Four illuminated wand-tips and a flickering oil lamp bathed the expanse in enough light to distinguish the faces of the two adults and their teenage children. All were busy unpacking and organizing the latest supply order George had just received from India.
All of a sudden, Tilly—the family's old tawny owl—flew into the room with a whoosh and deposited a small package into an unsuspecting Freddie Weasley's lap. Gingerly, Freddie picked up the unmarked package, eyebrows knitting in suspicion. Frowning, he glanced at his father, who shrugged and gestured for him to open it.
Fourteen-year-old Roxanne watched with bated breath as her eighteen-year-old brother fumbled with the wrappings of the tiny parcel. Finally, with a resounding streak, Freddie tore it open. For a moment, he simply stared down at it. Then, at last, his eyes widened in comprehension. From between the folds, he extracted a tiny magenta nametag.
FRED WEASLEY
Assistant Manager, Hogsmeade Branch
Freddie looked up at his father, who was grinning broadly. With a strangled cry of exhilaration, Freddie flew forward and tackled his father into a tight embrace. Roxanne and Angelina exchanged a smile as George patted his son's head, closing his eyes. Even Tilly twittered happily from Angelina's shoulder, nipping her ear affectionately before soaring out of the room.
This was home.
X.
02:11
Chez Potter
Godric's Hollow, Somerset
Several miles away, Harry Potter rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stumbled down his cottage's winding staircase and into the kitchen, tying the waistband of his dressing gown into a sloppy knot. Muttering irately under his breath, Harry stalked forward and wrenched open the kitchen window, allowing the haughty-looking eagle owl—which had been tapping loudly and diligently on the glass for twenty minutes—to fly inside.
Dazedly, Harry untied the envelope from the owl's ankle and set a glass of water down on the counter for the bird to drink. Then, grimacing, he turned the letter over, squinting slightly in an attempt to discern the neat print on the front.
To: Mr. James Sirius Potter
Harry frowned briefly up at the blurred outline of James's bedroom door on the second floor landing, ajar as always.
From: Philbert Deverill, Manager of Puddlemere United
Harry's bright green eyes went very wide. Without tearing his gaze away from the letter in his hand, he quickly ushered the owl out through the window, latched it, and hurried back up the spiral staircase to James's bedroom. Standing outside, he fingered the bronze doorknob hesitantly, unsure of how to appropriately deliver to his eighteen-year-old son what would become, in the morning, the fate of his future.
Finally, with a small sigh, Harry pushed open the door and slipped inside.
James lay spread-eagle on his bed, his untidy black hair spread out across his pillow and his mouth hanging wide open. With a spectacularly heavy grunt, he rolled over onto his stomach and kicked his blanket to the floor. Harry almost laughed, reminded, as he often was, of Ron.
Very quietly, he stepped forward and placed the unopened envelope on his son's nightstand. Then, he reached down and picked up the forgotten blanket, strewing it across James's body.
Harry left the bedroom with a small smile at his lips and proceeded to mechanically trace his way down the second floor corridor, so familiar was it to him. He paused for a moment outside Albus's bedroom door, peering inside and ensuring the visible rise-and-fall of the sheets that encompassed the sixteen-year-old, before turning and continuing down the hallway.
Lily's bedroom door was firmly shut as always, and Harry had learned to 'KNOCK, OR BE BAT-BOGEY HEXED,' as the handmade sign on the door so blatantly demanded. Harry reached up and traced the glittery, neon pink lettering, hearing his fourteen-year-old daughter's indignant voice in his head as he did so. He grinned.
Ginny was awake when Harry finally crawled into bed beside her. She touched his arm, eyebrows raised in a silent question. But Harry simply shook his head and Ginny nodded understandingly, leaning over and kissing his cheek.
There was really no way to put into words the way he felt about Godric's Hollow, or Chez Potter, or the people who lived there with him. Harry closed his eyes, squeezing Ginny's shoulder as she curled easily into his side.
This was home.
Author's Note:
*SIGH* I love these families so very much. This is a gift for Morning Lilies, one of the most supportive reader-reviewer-friends in the history of my writing. She's extremely talented and a magnificent storyteller, and you all should check out her stories if you haven't already. ML, I hope you enjoyed this!
A few random facts about the story: 1) Dominique doesn't make the Magpies, but it's all right because she is recruited to the Holyhead Harpies instead. 2) James *does* join Puddlemere United. 3) Even though Neville allowed his fourteen-year-old daughter to close the pub, he had charms in place to notify him in case someone came in. Heh. I imagine Neville to be the type of person to allow his children to live and learn...but NOBODY gets away with messing with his family! Neville's a bad-ass. 4) Harry and Ginny's cottage in Godric's Hollow was originally called 'Chez Poirier,' after a French Wizarding architect named Franc Poirier, who came to Godric's Hollow in 1923 and built it. Ron lovingly rechristened the house 'Chez Potter' after Harry and Ginny bought it.
...All of the above is evidence of my weirdly extensive Harry Potter head canon XD
Ari