I don't claim any credit for these characters or any aspect of their wizarding world. They are the wonderful creations of the amazing J.K. Rowling!
Author's Note: This story takes place in May 2012, when Harry's children are approximately five (Lily), seven (Albus), and eight (James) years old. Enjoy!
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place that had been the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix was utterly unrecognizable. It rather seemed that the Burrow and a respectable London townhouse had magically collided; a cheery, elegant – rather unkempt – manse with a shiny black door and brass knocker met the eyes of any of the few visitors or passerby who could see past the home's Unplottable charms. The steps were crowded with Wellington boots in various sizes and degrees of muddiness and a potted, badly pruned, Flutterby bush that was attempting over time to block the front door.
With a faint pop!, Harry apparated onto the step, stumbled over a Wellington boot, and grabbed at the Flutterby bush to right himself. He allowed himself a few choice words muttered under his breath, before he opened the front door and trooped wearily inside. The front door had barely clicked shut before a joyful chorus of "Dad!" "Dad!" greeted him.
Harry's children dropped their toy broomsticks pell-mell and ran to him, all talking at once.
"Mummy made me eat porridge today" (accompanied by a sound like "euchhh") – "Lily dared me to eat a dreadigible plum, so I dared her to eat a bogie" – "five owls came today, three were for Mummy, and the others were for you" – "Albus got chased by a gnome today, and it was really funny" –
"Oh dear... dirigible plum... wow... no," said Harry at the appropriate intervals. He picked up Lily and attempted to smooth Albus's unruly hair as he began to walk down the foyer.
The entry was alight with wall sconces shining brightly on polished wood floors and a handsome banister leading to the upper floors. The dark, dreary wallpaper and moldy carpet were thoroughly gone, and the house-elf heads mounted on the wall had long since been taken down and respectfully buried. However, the landing was a bit narrower than the Order of the Phoenix days; a wall had been constructed over the portrait of Sirius Black's mother (though muffled shrieking was sometimes heard through it).
"You only rode your broomsticks in the hall, right?" Harry added sternly.
"Yes..." responded three not entirely innocent voices.
Harry sighed and raised an eyebrow at his eldest, James, who was not quick enough to affect a virtuous look.
Stepping carefully over the pile of toy broomsticks, Harry headed down the stairs to the basement kitchen. Once dim and smoky, the cavernous kitchen was now well-lit by a large iron light fixture that reflected brightly against the numerous hanging copper pots and pans. The stone walls had been whitewashed and imbued with an illuminating spell that caused the walls to appear splashed with sunlight. Harry set Lily down at the end of the long, wooden table that was littered with scribbled bits of paper, colorful crayon drawings, and a dog-eared elementary schoolbook or two. Ginny bustled around the stove and sink preparing dinner and glancing at her cookbook, Conjurer's Cuisine – Magic Meals in Minutes! A cheerful fire burned in the kitchen grate, wreathing the floating head of Molly Weasley.
"And don't forget, Ginny, that we expect to see all of you on Sunday," she was saying. "Charlie's visit is only a few days, and Percy has finally managed to work us into his schedule." She gave a sigh of exasperation. "It's not often that we're all together now."
"Yes, mum," Ginny said, giving Harry a roguish wink. She turned to the fireplace and crouched down. "We're looking forward to it," she said sincerely, smiling.
Mrs. Weasely smiled in return. "Good – hi Harry," she said, seeing Harry at the table. "How's the Ministry treating you?"
"Well enough," said Harry, also crouching down. "Been a little less busy lately, so that's nice."
"Well, that's good," sighed Mrs. Weasely. "Arthur has been terribly restless ever since he retired last year. All he does is tinker around in that woodshed behind the house. I'm too afraid to even find out what he is messing with, knowing his history."
Harry winced internally, thinking guiltily of a long-lost Ford Anglia.
"And how are you, grandchildren?" Mrs. Weasely magnanimously asked James, Albus, and Lily who were sitting at the kitchen table.
"Swell!" shouted James.
"Good," said Albus.
"How are you, Grandmama?" Lily asked – a little too sweetly.
Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.
"Just wonderful, my dears," said Mrs. Weasely beaming. "I will see all of you Sunday!" She blew them all kisses. "Goodbye! Goodbye!" With a small pop! she was gone.
"And just in time, too," said Ginny. "Dinner's ready. Come help mummy."
Within a minute or two, and with only a little griping and groaning, the end of the long table was set, and the Potter family was tucking in to supper.
Harry glanced around the table, having feelings of parental satisfaction as he watched his children serve themselves and mostly get along. He looked up from his children's faces, thinking of how Grimmauld Place had changed since the Order of the Phoenix days and catching sight of his own changed face in the mirror above the kitchen fireplace. Ginny had brought the mirror with her from the Burrow. It had a bad habit of insulting people viewing their reflections, such as "tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" but it was quiet this evening as Harry peered at himself. His face was still thin with his mother's green eyes and a shock of unruly black hair. There were flecks of grey in his hair now, and his face was somewhat more careworn. Above his glasses, his lightning-shaped scar remained as a reminder of more sad and dangerous times.
"So, work was good?" Ginny asked, her voice breaking into Harry's thoughts. "Any raids?"
"It was alright," answered Harry, his attention returning to the table. "James – stop making faces at Al. No, there weren't any raids, today, but there will be one tomorrow for sure. This is great, Ginny. "
"Thank you," she smiled. "I'm learning to be amazed at how Mum cooked and managed with seven kids. We only have three. Well , four – with Teddy." She added a spoonful of carrots to Lily's plate, ignoring Lily's disdainful expression.
"How's your article coming?" Harry asked Ginny. "The one with the Gwenog Jones interview from last week?"
"Great, except she's angry that she wasn't inducted into the Quidditch Hall of Fame sooner," Ginny smirked. "It's probably because she's rubbed so many people the wrong way. She has this signature Itchy-Woodlice Hex that I'd quite like to master myself – "
"We already all live in fear of your Bat-Bogey Hex, Ginny," said Harry smiling. "Do you really need to add this one to your repertoire as well?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Lily, eat your carrots – no, you don't have a choice."
"Daddy, I drew a picture of a dragon today," Lily said excitedly, perhaps hoping to distract from her mother's carrot demand. "And mummy magicked it to make it move. But I forgot to draw fire," she realized sadly.
"Dragons are better without fire," Harry reassured her. "Trust me."
"I'll show you," said Lily, rising from the table.
"After dinner," Harry corrected. "I'd love to see it. Eat those carrots."
She made a face, but stabbed a carrot with her fork and ate it.
"Good," said Harry. "And how was schoolwork today?"
Like most wizarding children, the Potter children were schooled at home. James and Albus looked up from their fierce footsy fight that had been occurring under the table. Lily covertly hid a carrot in her napkin.
"Fine," recited the children.
Harry glanced at Ginny.
"It was fine," she confirmed, smiling.
"Good," said Harry grinning. He helped himself to more mashed potatoes. It was fourteen years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and his scar had not bothered him since. All was well at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.