To Harry's relief, no letter from the Ministry arrived over the next few days. Tom, though, looked at Harry very curiously indeed whenever he came into Harry's room, although he never outright came and said anything. He continued to ferry his delicious meals Harry's way to where Harry remained bunkered down in study.
Finally, Harry said something to break the awkwardness. "Tom? I don't suppose you know, uh, but I thought, maybe? The house-elf that was in here a while ago, he cast some magic on the room. How does that work with the Trace on me?"
Tom's curious look faded into a friendly chuckle. "A question like that betrays your upbringing, young Harry. You be careful who you ask things of, if you want to maintain your privacy. You know, bein' who you are, an' all."
He nodded at Harry significantly, and Harry nodded back, wide-eyed.
"For any Hogwarts student with a house-elf – or adult wizard, similar problems there, of course – in the household, the Ministry assumes that any magic picked up by the Trace is cast by them. Not the student, I mean," Tom clarified. "The other. It's a rare thing to see a house-elf do magic, o' course."
"Eh?"
"Well, obviously," Tom put the stack of Harry's plates down again, and settled back into a comfortable stance. "House-elves do the hard labour in a house: scrubbing, cleaning, polishing, cooking, you know the type."
Harry knew all too well what kind of heavy labour a household drudge might be called on to perform, but didn't want to side-track such a fascinating conversation.
"Gardening?"
Shifting his weight, Tom leaned against the wall and absently wiped his hands on his apron while he thought. "Well, I have heard o' a family or two who claimed it, now that you make me recall for it specifically. It's not common at all. Not at all. House elves are widely understood to be unable to leave the house, o' course." He gave Harry a significant look.
"Oh," Harry mumbled. "And they, ah, don't they have magic to do that?"
Tom tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure you know now that there's magic and then there's magic, y'know? Wizards have their scourgifies and cleaning spells and whatnot, but we tend to use applied potions to actually clean things."
Harry thought suddenly of the market for Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, and remembered you could buy polish and cleaning solutions too. If a spell could do it for free, then why…?
Tom continued. "Spells and all could do it for free, but they lack control, see? You might clean up your spilt soup, or you might accidentally remove the floor wax, or the Stop-Slips charm you put on your tiles. Scrubbing with a good linen cloth dunked in a bit o' potion is generally much safer all around. They're formulated specially."
"I guess…"
"You'd never use Mrs Skower's Magical Mess Remover for daily household cleaning, for example."
Harry, who had done just that, twitched. "You wouldn't?"
"Well, o' course not," Tom stopped leaning against the wall, and began gesturing with his hands. "It removes magical messes. In a magical house, it could cause the exact same kinds of complications that spellwork could. Want to clean out your kitchen sink? A bit o' scrubbing with that, and poof! Your enchanted plumbing stops working and you have a hole in the basin. Want to clean your robes? Pour a bit o' that on them, and the colour-fix charms dissolve. Not to mention the seams." Tom added darkly. "Nah," he continued, "you'd want Winky Crockett Elbow Grease, and an enchanted washboard for those, respectively."
Harry reached over to his small pile of unused parchment, and jotted the names of those products down quickly. Tom watched on in amusement as Harry then gnawed bit the tip of the quill a bit longer, before scrawling Tom's further advise down in full.
But Harry was still a bit confused. "I thought house-elves were specialised in that sort of thing though? Isn't that what their magic evolved for?"
"Evolved?" Tom pursed his lips and frowned. "Young Harry, you're a good kid, but I do think you need to be careful who you mention your strange muggle ideas to. I'm just an average wizard, nobody special, so I'm alright. In fact, I'm safer than most: I literally am the gatekeeper."
"Gatekeeper?"
Tom oofed as he repositioned himself on the wall and looked at Harry sideways. "I run the gatehouse between our world and the muggles." He sighed. "Perhaps you're a bit young for politics. But you do need to know this: be careful what you say, young Harry. You would mortally offend some of the old families if you mentioned magic evolving-like." Tom gazed around Harry's room like there was someone hiding in the shadows, then whispered loudly, "These muggle fads, whatever natural philosophy is in ascendance at the moment, they aren't real popular around here."
Natural philosophy. Harry only kept his mouth shut until he could place the term, but Tom had mistaken his thoughtful nod as agreement and moved on.
Smiling, Tom straightened again and continued the conversation. "Now house-elves, of course, aren't well understood by most wizards anyway. But no witch or wizard would want anything just magicking their way around a household and causin' damage like that. House elves are just a might stronger than your average witch or wizard, and they enjoy the hard work. They're stronger than they look, the wee buggers."
Harry, having accidentally wrestled Dobby not so long ago, could only agree. He'd had to buy Bruise Balm to get rid of the tenderness in his jaw, and didn't that rather prove Tom's point?
"So Dobby's magic didn't get caught by the Ministry," Harry theorised, hoping his lack of the Trace wasn't obvious, "because I'm living in Diagon Alley at the moment?"
"Exactly. Although I'd like to know how and why and house-elf could visit you in the first place – don't tell me!" Tom interrupted Harry's barely formulated sentence. "I don't want to know any time soon. Some old, powerful family would be furious if they found out they had a rouge elf. I'm staying right out of it for the time being, and I recommend you do the same."
"Right," Harry nodded. "Of course. Thanks very much." He'd been given quite a lot to think about.
Tom collected the plates again, and left Harry to his musings.
After that, Harry kept himself busy studying his second-year books for the rest of the holidays, until the highlight of school break arrived. One Saturday morning, Harry found himself alighting from the Knight Bus with a gasp; he had been organized enough to plan an overnight ride, and foolish enough to actually climb on.
His stomach began settling down as he stumbled his way up the path towards their front door.
Little Ginny Weasley answered his knock with a squeal.
"Mum, Mum, Mum! Harry Potter's at the door!" Harry, having fondly fixed in his mind her no-nonsense practicality in Dumbledore's Army and beyond, was somewhat startled when the door was slammed in his face and her footsteps scampered away.
After a moment, distant voices reached him from inside the house.
Apparently, his future girlfriend had run straight to her mother, and was now unable to showcase their newest visitor.
"Well, why didn't you let him in, Ginny? Did you leave him in the hallway?" Mrs Weasley's scolding voice echoed from the direction of the kitchen.
"Muuuum," the child's voice whined. Then she paused. "Um...not exactly."
There was silence from inside the house as Harry imagined Ginny explaining the complex truth to her mother in whisper, before Molly Weasley's footsteps moved towards the front door in some haste.
She pulled the door back open sharply, a welcoming smile on her face.
"Harry! Good to see you – Ron's told me so much about you this year. Don't mind Ginny," she added with an exasperated smile. "She's just a little star-struck. She'll get over it. But come, come on inside, don't be shy!"
Harry waved away her concerns and followed her into the very familiar kitchen.
It was small and cramped, with the wooden dining table taking up most of the space in the room, heavily laden with breakfast. Stacks of toast and sausages and fried eggs piled high in front of Fred and George, who seemed to be half way through their meal.
Having just taken what looked like a rather large mouthful of food, Fred merely waved cheerfully in Harry's direction.
"Morning Harry!" grinned George from beside him. "Have a seat." He gestured at the table. The piles of food continued down the table. Tall, porcelain jugs that looked like they held juice balanced precariously between more piles of food. A big bowl of porridge took up the centre of the table, next to the milk and the brown sugar. A plate heaped with crispy bacon sat close by.
"Help yourself," Fred added, swallowing. "Whatever you want, I'm sure we've got it somewhere."
Harry was inclined to believe him, and found himself a chair in the corner and spooned himself some porridge. There were raisins in it.
Mrs Weasley leaned over to replenish the fried eggs, and Harry realised that Ginny had meanwhile mysteriously disappeared.
"How was your trip, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked kindly, as she poured Harry a drink from one of the tall jugs. "I thought I heard the Knight Bus stop?"
"Yeah," Harry admitted, nodding thankfully. "It was…a pretty short trip, I suppose. Nice and quick."
She smiled at him, her cheeks ruddy and pink. "That's a kind thing to say, dear. Maybe next time we can teach you how to use the Floo."
"That'd be great, thanks," Harry murmured with heartful gratefulness. Not that he didn't know how to use the Floo, but he was trying to keep his wider experiences of the world a secret. If the Weasleys thought they had taught him how to use the Floo network, next time he wouldn't need to suffer through the Knight Bus experience.
He continued on eating, swallowing another spoonful of porridge before reaching for the bacon.
From where he sat, Harry was amused to see the feminine ankles of Ginny Weasley pacing, barely in sight, on a landing up the stairs. Absently listening to the breakfast conversation while he chewed, Harry watched her wander back and forth and wondered if she would work up the courage to come back down the stairs and join him for breakfast.
He was distracted by a scraping sound from the kitchen fireplace, and looked back to see Mr Weasley step through the fireplace and peck his wife on the cheek.
"What a night, what a night," he sighed, wearily straightening his back. "Morning Molly. Another four raids last night, and I couldn't slip away. Hello Fred, hello George. Oh!" said Arthur, blinking in surprise. "Who are you then? You're not one of mine."
Harry was careful to swallow, then grinned. "Hello Mr Weasley. I'm Harry. It's nice to meet you."
"And you too," Arthur nodded back, then wearily sat himself down. "A spot of tea would be lovely, thanks dear."
"Did you find anything?" Fred asked eagerly.
"Just a few more shrinking door-keys and an exploding toast machine," Mr Weasley shook his head. "Somehow muggles use eckeltricity to make their toast, and someone's going around charming them to explode the toast in their faces. Not hugely harmful, but very petty muggle-baiting." He accepted the hot cup of tea from his wife, and paused to drink.
Harry watched interestedly as Fred and George pestered their father with questions, and Mrs Weasley continued to ferry food onto the table.
"Harry dear," she interrupted. "Have some sausages and egg. You're too thin, you need to eat more. Could you wake up your brother, boys?" She glanced over at the twins. "Ron will be excited to know that his guest is here."
Amused at the impending chaos, Harry watched on as Fred and George slipped from the room, and waited with great anticipation for the loud crashes and bangs he knew would soon follow their departure.
Sure enough, a rousing commotion suddenly erupted from overhead. Shrieking and whizzing and huge bangs rattled the household, and copious amounts of dust dropped from the kitchen ceiling as it shook. Mrs Weasley vanished the dust before it reached the breakfast table with what looked like a well-practiced air. Then the fireworks settled into a series of cheerful, crackling pops before fading out.
Then there was silence, broken only by Ron's creative cursing that drifted down to the listeners in the kitchen.
Mrs Weasley tutted. "Watch your mouth, young man," she called. "And what have I said about letting fireworks off inside? If I come up there and see any more fire damage we will be having words!"
The twins strutted back into the kitchen after a long moment.
"Uh...nope. No damage at all," one of them grinned. "Except for – "
" – ickle Ronnikins," the other continued. "And that barely counts since his head – "
" – is quite empty already. We might have to work on that sulphur smell though."
To Harry's surprise, the next person to come down the stairs was a slightly shell-shocked looking Neville.
"Morning Harry," he greeted him cheerfully. "How're your hols going? Morning Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley. Ron'll be down shortly."
The table descended into relative silence, as more of Mrs Weasley's food was consumed. Finally, heavy footsteps sounded down the stairs and a grumpy looking Ron slouched into the room.
As he pulled up a seat and helped himself to the food, Harry saw the burgeoning bruise develop on his temple that would explain his mood. But Ron's scowl lightened as he ate.
"Harry, mate," he finally looked up, somewhat belatedly. "Good to see you. How's it going?"
It felt so familiar Harry could almost pretend he was home.
The day continued peacefully, with Harry volunteering himself to help Mrs Weasley de-gnome the garden for nostalgia's sake. And since she wouldn't accept his offer without her own sons getting some work done, soon all six boys were standing in her garden with their sleeves rolled up.
It inevitably into a competition to see who could toss the leathery creatures the furthest.
Sadly, despite his previous experience and recent good nutrition, Harry found himself lagging behind the others as they whirled and tossed the grumpy gnomes over the hedge. He and Percy apparently shared a similar lack of competitive drive, and watched with detached amusement as Ron, Fred and George battled for total dominance. Neville was the most surprising of the group, keeping up a steady stream of throws that consistently made over 30 feet.
Perhaps, Harry concluded with interest, it was his superior technique. He spent some time trying to furtively copy Neville's smooth movements, but found himself lacking the particular coordination that was apparently necessary.
They cooled off with a quick dip in the pond, which was pleasant for all of them for about five minutes, until Neville had an unfortunate encounter with a duck that they all promised never to mention again.
Fred and George promptly returned to their room. They were inspired, Harry suspected, to create some kind of prank item that would probably sell suspiciously well. Judging from Neville's lack of interest in the twins' sudden absence, Harry decided he probably hadn't quite worked Fred and George out for himself yet. Harry himself decided to leave Neville to enjoy his blissful naivety a while longer.
As for Harry, Ron and Neville, they went on to have a rather surprisingly quiet day. Lunch was another feast, but then they entertained themselves with Exploding Snap and Wizard's Chess, perched comfortably up in Ron's bedroom. Ron, having thrashed both of his friends in two consecutive, very quick chess games, at first sat and commented on their moves when they played each other. Then, having been scolded into silence when he criticised too harshly, he entertained himself by sorting through his collection of Chocolate Frog Cards. Harry was mildly interested to discover that sometime during the year, Ron had reduced his collection to 423 cards, by swapping his extras for Agrippa.
Everything was interrupted shortly before dinner when Hermione arrived with her parents, having somehow found the address on a muggle street map and driven all the way.
She scrambled out of the car, and was met at the door by a smiling Mrs Weasley. First Harry, then Neville and Ron joined them moments after.
Harry watched keenly as Hermione then introduced everyone to her parents. He knew her parents, obviously; he'd seen them before in the other timeline. But he was trying to be more thoughtful about these things, so he watched them climb out of the car carefully.
Mr Granger was a tall man, on the skinny side, with a long face and barely any hair. He seemed like a nice enough man, if rather perhaps quiet. He shook hands genially with Mrs Weasley and nodded to the boys politely, but didn't really say much himself. Harry couldn't see many similarities between him and his daughter at all. Mrs Granger, on the other hand, was clearly where Hermione inherited her hair from. She coped with it by forcing it back into a very tight bun, and only a few, desperate stands near her forehead managed to escape into a small halo of auburn frizz. She was a more social person than her husband, with lots of smiles and small talk as the adults moved into the house together. She stood very straight and moved her hands a lot when she spoke, and Harry thought he could see more of Hermione in her.
But, as the crowd moved from the entrance to the dining room, Harry began to grow more confused. Perhaps the magic was putting them off their usual game?
At first, Mrs Granger very confidently suggested that she help Mrs Weasley in the kitchen, and Mrs Weasley very mildly pointed out that Mrs Granger didn't know the right charms. Then she offered to set the table, and Mrs Weasley waved her off, "That's very kind of you, but we don't bother about doing these things manually Mrs Granger – "
"Please call me Emma."
" – Emma then. It'll just take a moment." She waved her wand, and Harry watched in confusion as Hermione's mother shrunk back against the wall and watched wide-eyed as the plates and cutlery sorted themselves out in a moment.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs Granger, looking rather pale. "It's just like that animated film, Hermione. How did that song go? Be our guest? Do you have singing candlesticks too?"
"A fine idea!" Mr Weasley jumped in, looking terribly excited. "It's always possible. Let's see, do you just want sound? Or a whole simulation of some kind? It's been a while since I tried out that waltzing charm. I could always – "
"Not now, Arthur," Mrs Weasley warned from the kitchen. "Perhaps if there's time after dinner. Hermione dear, it's lovely to meet you. Are you well?"
"Yes thanks, Mrs Weasley," Hermione stopped her conversation with Neville and stepped forward politely. "Thank you for having me over."
"Perhaps Ginny or one of the boys could show you where to put your bags," Mrs Weasley suggested. "GINNY!" she bellowed suddenly. "Where is that girl? You'll be staying with my youngest, Hermione dear. She'll be joining you at Hogwarts this year."
"WHAT?" Ginny called back from upstairs, and there was a bit of a fuss as Ginny had to run downstairs, and into the kitchen, where she promptly met Harry's eyes and tripped over nothing. She had to sort herself out, and there were introductions all around, until suddenly they were over and Ginny could collect Hermione and her bags and take them all back up to her room.
Mr and Mrs Granger made polite, generic small talk the whole time. Harry wasn't quite sure what was so confusing about them, but they didn't seem to have Hermione's strong personality at all.
Finally dinner was ready, and Mrs Weasley called all her children to the dining room. Everyone shuffled around good-naturedly until there was room for them all at the table, and they could dig in.
The contrast between the Weasleys and the Dursleys could not be greater. Organised chaos swept through the room: rowdy jokes, piles of extravagant food and boisterous good cheer filled the crowded home to the brim. Mr and Mrs Granger seemed to relax: eating was a very muggle thing too, Harry realised, and the awkwardness of before seemed to disappear. The noise drifted up into the evening, and the occasional sudden vibration caused more small clumps of dust to drift down from the corners of the ceiling. Harry wondered if the family's ghoul was also joining in with the fuss.
Aunt Petunia's calorie-counting and sterile home-making skills paled in comparison, and he allowed himself to luxuriate in the raucous warmth. As he had told his aunt only twelve months ago, he hoped he could leave there forever before his fifteenth birthday. Or thereabouts, he admitted, circumstances permitting.
But he didn't want to think gloomy thoughts at the moment. The adults at one end of the table were finally relaxing and chatting easily. Fred and George, down the other end, were holding court. Harry almost snorted gravy out of his nose when he noticed the bug-eyed and intimidated look on Neville's face, as the pudgy boy grew more and more overwhelmed by the twin's discussion.
He had to pause a moment to recover his mouthful, and when he looked up, quiet little Ginny caught his eye. The instant that Harry realised that she had been staring at him, Ginny realised that she had been caught, and she promptly turned lobster red and knocked her plate off the table and onto her knees. Casserole splattered across the floor.
There was a moment's scramble to get everything sorted out so the meal could continue.
Then just when Harry was beginning to feel pleasantly full, Mrs Weasley jumped up and cleared the table, only to replace the food with an equally impressive array of desserts.
Even Hermione and Neville looked a little overwhelmed at this, let alone Hermione's parents, but the table settled down once more for some more delicious food, and the noise went on into the night.
Eventually dinner drew to a close. Ginny dashed off red-faced, Fred and George disappeared before they could be caught to help with the dishes, and Percy formally requested that he retire for the evening.
Harry and his three close friends – led by Harry, who felt most comfortable doing these things – removed themselves to the kitchen to wash and put away the dishes while the adults moved into the living room and chatted over tea.
Beneath the cheerful sounds of water splashing and plates clinking, the voices of the adults in the room next door floated very clearly into the kitchen.
"We've heard a lot about Hermione from Ron," Harry overheard Mrs Weasley tell her guests. "She must be a very bright girl. Did that make it easier when you got your Hogwarts visit?"
Then Ron laughed beside him. "Charlie used to give me lessons, you see," he explained to Neville. "So I'm aiming to get on the team once Wood retires."
Harry shushed his friends a little to listen in on the other room. What was the process for normal muggleborn students? He'd never really thought about it.
Mrs Granger replied with a smile in her voice, "We are very proud of her, she works very hard at her school work, but…it was still a shock," she continued, "hearing all about it. I don't think anything could have mitigated that for us."
Mr Weasley agreed. "Muggles don't have anything like magic, I suppose."
"Utterly out of our area of expertise," Mrs Granger agreed. "We did not know what to think."
"Dentists tend to be very logical people, you see," Mr Granger murmured with a chuckle. Harry strained to hear.
"Of course!" Then he flinched from Ron's strident voice, right in his ear. "I fly with Fred and George too! I might not be Harry, but I'm much more experienced than most, I would think."
Hermione scoffed, while Neville murmured something soothing quietly.
"Guys," Harry hissed. "Settle down."
"So, you had no idea?" In the next room, Mr Weasley's voice sounded like he was conducting a long-awaited interview, eagerly enquiring. "You never suspected your daughter was magical until you were contacted?"
"Well…" said Mrs Granger, "Hermione has always been an unusual kind of girl. She stood out so much from her peers already that a little accident here or there was never really obvious."
Then: "I'm quite sure we barely saw you practice last year," Hermione spoke firmly, startling a glance out of both Harry and Neville.
"Well, I'm good enough not to lose control of my broom," Ron retorted. Neville flinched and Harry scowled, stopping his scrubbing to listen better to the adults in the room next door.
"Mmmm." It sounded like Mr Granger was nodding. "Such an outstanding girl, we tend to let her do her own thing."
"Hermione has always self-directed her own learning," Mrs Granger rushed to add. "Reading ahead, studying up on strange things. She practically taught herself algebra, you know. Her teachers were terribly impressed. Goodness knows it's not from either of us."
"I was under the impression that dentists were very highly qualified?" Mrs Weasley sounded puzzled.
"Well, in comparison to some, I suppose," Mrs Granger's voice dismissed. "But Hermione tends to work significantly above her year level. Dan and I were always good students, but nothing so outstanding."
Mr and Mrs Weasley made polite noises. Harry could just make their voices out, over the rising crescendo of Hermione and Ron standing next to him.
"Well, congratulations on being a more experienced flier than a girl who discovered levitating brooms just twelve months ago!"
"You could have done something though, couldn't you!" Ron snapped back. "But you hid in your library like the swot that you are. Were you scared?"
Neville fluttered his hands uselessly. "Guys. Guys? Uh…Ron? Hermione?"
Harry put down the wash rag in his hands to snap, "Guys, I'm trying to listen!"
There was a pause in the squabble.
"So how did Hermione take the news about Hogwarts then?" Mrs Weasley's voice asked comfortably.
Mrs Granger's voice seemed confused. "Honestly? She seemed to jump on board and embrace the concept of…paranormality…relatively rapidly. I suppose she had more data than we did. Once that Professor McMonagal person took her to your shopping district and Hermione saw the bookshop, she was sold. Dan and I are still catching up ourselves." She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione had picked up again, hissing at each other quietly but with increasing tension.
Her husband picked up the conversation. "We're still not quite sure what it's all about, to be honest. But Hermione seems to have everything sorted. She read all her textbooks, and asked all the questions. We learned to stop holding her back years ago. If this Hogwarts stuff makes Hermione happy, we trust her to know what she's doing."
Mrs Granger agreed. "That Professor McMonagall seemed like a reliable, professional sort. And Hermione tells us that your Headmaster person is some kind of internationally renowned expert. So it all seems like she's in safe hands."
"Hermione's got it all sorted." Mr Granger repeated quietly, and there was a little moment of silence.
Next to Harry, "Well, I'm not the one casually insulting his friends!" Hermione snapped.
Ron growled back. "What, can't take the heat, Hermione? You're such a girl!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Congratulations Ron. You've completely forgotten about how Neville might feel while you get all self-righteous telling me I'm a failure for not liking brooms. Well done, you're a magnificent friend."
"Don't turn what I say into things I don't mean – "
"But I'm not the one saying 'Only a real wizard' – "
"I obviously didn't mean Nev– "
"You literally said – !"
"Will you STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY– "
"Enough." Harry stepped between them, his right hand – still covered in soapsuds – drawing his wand with deceptive speed. His friends gaped at him in surprise and made no noise, staring at his furious scowl, and the wand that was suddenly very present, in some kind of awed respect.
He spoke sharp and clipped. "Absolutely no more." He stared the squabbling pair down. "Ron, Hermione's just arrived and her muggle parents are in the room next door. She didn't have your upbringing and she didn't need to. Do you want her parents to think you hate muggleborns – or muggles? Hermione, you know what Ron's like. He takes Quidditch seriously and he doesn't always watch what he says. Do you have to jump on him all the time?"
His two friends protested. "But Harry – "
"But Harry nothing," he insisted. "This argument is ridiculous. You could upset both of your parents, you've already upset Neville, and you've stopped me from listening to some very interesting information. You are above this," he declared.
Harry turned back to scrubbing a dinner plate, and tried to pick up where the other conversation had got to. Ron and Hermione subsided in sullen embarrassment where they stood, leaving Neville to collect the newly damp plates and dry them with a tea towel. Harry barely noticed Neville's flustered, awkward movements – the plate slipped from Neville's fingers, Harry's Seeker hands absently grabbed it before the plate hit the floor – while he listened out for Hermione's parents' voices. Had they got to the part where they explained the muggleborn initiation to the magic world yet?
Wherever the conversation in the next room was going, it had clearly got there, because Mr Weasley's voice had changed, sounding chipper and interested as he spoke in delight.
"But you're Muggles!" He exclaimed, obviously. "Please tell me all about your postal system. How do you get it to work without the owls?"
And after a moments surprise, the Grangers rejoined the conversation and the mood in the other room picked up. Hermione returned to drying the dishes with Neville, using angry little jerks to do so, and Ron continued to return things to their cupboards.
Harry and his friends wrapped up the dishes – the mood still stiff – and went out to join the conversation themselves, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. The conversation opened up to include them, and slowly drew Hermione and Ron out of their moods, to Harry and Neville's relief.
The tone of the evening picked up a little with Mr Weasley's stories, and by the time the Grangers made noises about leaving, Hermione looked comfortable enough to smile genuinely at their goodbyes.
They stood outside the front door of the burrow, waving as the Grangers stepped away from the door. Mr Weasley, slightly over-excited by the muggle presence and his after-tea tipple, was tipsily shooting small charms into the air as they all saw the Grangers senior back to their car.
Mrs Weasley waved the car off with a smile, then rounded on the children. "Well, you've had a big meal, and done a wonderful job on the dishes – thank you very much, all of you. But it's much later than we planned, and so it's off to bed you trot. Harry dear, where would you like to sleep?"
Hermione disappeared up the stairs to Ginny's bedroom, and Neville and Ron could be heard thundering up a few more flights of stairs until they reached Ron's room just under the attic.
Harry's friendship with Ron and Neville warred for a moment with his common sense: he'd seen the size of Ron's room.
"Would Percy mind me?" He finally asked.
Minutes later, Harry slunk quietly into the older boy's room, where he surprised Percy at his desk, and they set up his cot in a corner.
After a few stilted comments about regular sleeping hours and assurances that he was "no real inconvenience, you have been a good influence on Ron, after all," soon Harry was tucked up in bed, the dim light at Percy's desk not keeping him awake at all.