Harry liked it at the Weasley house. It was no secret. He liked waking up on the floor next to Ron's bed much more than he did waking up in that cramped little room at his Aunt's. He liked hearing the ghoul in the attic start up with its customary racket, much more than he liked hearing Dudley bang down the stairs to the kitchen every day. And he liked the people in the Weasley house, much MUCH more than he liked the Dursleys. And they liked him.
Well...for the most part. Today was no exception. Harry opened his eyes to a very fuzzy world and sat up in his sleeping sack. He blinked a bit and reached for glasses; an action more of habit than insecurity. He bumped Hedwig's soft head and she hooted sleepily at him from her perch. He rubbed the downy spot between her eyes for a moment and then let her sleep again.
The clock read 10:30, and Harry felt a bit astonished that he would have slept so late. He peered over the top of Ron's bed but saw only a twisted lump of empty covers and some stray pajama bottoms. He felt a small thrill that Ron would have changed in front of him while he slept and suppressed it quickly. "Ron?" he tried. Nothing.
He rose and yawned, fumbling with his shirt buttons and finally pulling it over his head.
The next moment he nearly jumped out of his skin as a loud banging noise assaulted him from behind. He yelped and landed ungracefully on the floor, arms tangled in his sleeves and glasses askew. Then he spotted a twin at the smallish window facing the Weasley's front yard, floating in front of it on his broomstick and laughing at him. Harry tried to scowl but it was SO HARD when the twins were smiling at you. He just flushed and removed his pajama bottoms in the relative safety of behind the closet door. George- or was it Fred? booed and zoomed away to continue whatever mischief he'd been in.
Dressed in raggedy muggle khakis and a T-shirt that had seen better days, he left the warm comfort of Ron's bedroom and poked his head into the nearest open door, Percy's. Percy was bent over his fanatically neat desk, scratching furiously at a piece of blotted parchment. Harry tiptoed to him and sneaked a look over his shoulder.
'Miss your face' it said. And 'Stuck with nosy trolls for the summer.'
He stuck his inky head right next to Percy's ear and sniffed.
"Is that for Penelope, then? Or Bill?"
Percy must have jumped a mile. Harry fell back laughing, watching as Percy's pointy face flushed red as his hair and brandished the quill like a wand. Then he really did have to fall back, stumbling and snorting with giggles as Percy located his real wand and held it aloft.
Something rattled Percy's door as Harry slammed it shut behind him, wiping tears out of his eyes. Oh...he'd forgotten to ask if Percy knew where Ron was. Oh, well. No point in venturing back in now, was there?
Harry meandered down the stairs, following the sound of Pig's frantic hooting and the general rustling and clanging that accompanied everything in the Weasley household.
In the dining room, Charlie's flaming head was bent over a standard brown mail parcel freshly delivered. He was beaming and sifting through a number of documents rather quickly.
"Charlie?" Harry asked. Charlie dropped the papers and turned to Harry, his smile less enthusiastic and more friendly.
"Hey, Harry. Come over here and look at this. You remember Hagrid's dragon? Nerman? Normer?" Harry walked over and sat gingerly in the chair Charlie had pulled out for him. "Norbert."
"Norbert! Yes, sorry. Norbert. Here, these are some recent shots of him my old Hogwarts friend sent me while I was home. Great, isn't he?"
He set one large hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed it absently while he ruffled the pictures some more. Harry found himself more than a little distracted by what Charlie was doing with his hands, but he told himself it was the lack of physical touching in his childhood that made it feel so strange. He forced himself to focus on the pictures and watch as a monstrous, colorful dragon chased half a dozen handlers out of the frame. "Is that little Norbert?!" he gasped, reaching for the next picture. Charlie chuckled above his head.
"Yeah. Got big, didn't he? That's why it Hagrid couldn't keep the poor fellow. Can you just imagine him hiding that on Hogwarts grounds?" Harry winced and shifted a bit under Charlie's hand. "No. If I think about it, he'd probably have let him loose in the Forbidden Forest." They looked at each other. And both began to laugh.
After Charlie promised to tuck one in Ron's room for Harry to send to Hagrid and denied any and all knowledge of the whereabouts of his little brother, Harry left the dining room, still smiling.
The kitchen was its customary bright self with pots washing themselves in the sink, delicious treats baking in the oven, and one pudgy redheaded woman in the corner examining a cookbook.
"Mrs. Weasley? Have you seen R- hthumf!"
A large knitted oven mitt had zoomed up to him the moment he'd walked in and tickled him under the chin like a baby. Harry dropped his head and snorted with laughter and the mitt took advantage of his opened mouth to stuff a fresh-from-the-oven tasty something or other into it. The mitt ruffled his hair innocently and zipped back to mixing a batch of rolls for dinner. "Morning Harry. Have I- no, haven't seen Ron all morning. Sorry, love." And with that, she bustled out of the kitchen to attend to an errant whiskbroom. Harry dutifully finished chewing and snagged another bun from under the mitt- which attempted to smack his hand- and waved an admonishing finger at him- and wandered out the back door.
The sounds of wood cracking and hyped-up yells drew him around to the front of the house, where he spied two flame-colored twins zipping around the yard after a pair of furious bludgers. He watched them for a bit, grinning at the pell mell havoc they wreaked as they crashed into trees and each other and each other's clubs. Mrs. Weasley would raise hell with Fred- Geo- FRED, later, for giving his brother a bloody nose. Or maybe it WAS George. A bludger momentarily spun out of control and bolted for the ground. The unbloodied twin had to practically freefall to catch it and ended up about half a yard from Harry's position, grinning madly at him and tightening his grip on the wildly struggling bludger.
"Hiya, Harry." he said.
His brother belted the free bludger straight into a tree and landed while it flitted about in a dizzy motion.
"Hi, Harry." he said.
"Wipe your face off, George, before people start t'think you're bad at this sport." Fred said. George waved his club at him and searched his pockets for a rag; failing that, he tried to search Fred's. Fred swiped at him with his club and George let him alone. Harry shrugged at him. Finally George dropped his club and stripped his shirt off, wiped his nose and his face and left in the ground in a frayed heap. His torso was hard from years of Quidditch and gleamed with sweat. Harry could see his ribcage expand and contract with each breath he took. He looked away.
Fred flew away from Harry and shouldered George aside lightly to bat away a newly tree-freed bludger.
"George, if you take your clothes off, mate, people will be able to tell us apart." George looked incensed at Fred's logic as he picked his club up again. "Then take yours off." Fred handed him his bludger club and Harry felt a little worried. "Right! And then Harry can take his shirt off and we can all play together." George avoided Fred's shirt and it caught Harry full in the face.
"Wot? Harry's not a twin."
A light, midair wrestling match ensued for the affront of having shirts thrown.
"Harry can take his off just for fun."
Fred's shirt smelled good. Harry decided it was time to leave.
"Have you seen Ron?" he asked them as he backed away. They both shook their heads and resumed searching for the bludger that appeared to have disappeared and could be up to no good.
Ron wasn't in the bedroom. He wasn't in the kitchen. He wasn't in the yard. Where was Ron?
Harry escaped back inside and narrowly missed having one very frantic Pig stuffed up his nose. He caught the little devil between thumb and forefinger and gave it a little pet as he went to look at the Weasley Status Clock. He liked Pig. Pig had come from Sirius. Pig was good people. The clock's Ron hand, recently defaced with a magic...real magic marker, flicked to a new spot on the clock, one that hadn't been there before. It read 'Garage'. Did the Weasleys have a garage...?
Harry tromped around outside a bit, taking pains to avoid the yard of Weasley Nakedness where he could hear the twins' yip and cry as they resumed their games. On his third lap of the house's exterior, he found the garage. It was smallish and cluttered, nothing like the Dursely's spotless garage. In it, the flying car (seated next to an anxious Mr. Weasley) rumbled softly, revving from time to time like an anxious child getting a shot.
From beneath the car, a pair of long, lanky legs extended, covered in grease-spotted loose shorts with wrenches in the pockets.
"Ron?" Harry asked.
Ron rolled out from under the car. He was wearing all muggle clothes today; rather dirty, tattered ones. He grinned up at Harry. He had a smudge of oil on his nose.
"Hey, Harry. The car got a flat, so I thought I'd come out and help dad fix it." Harry nodded hello to an anxious Mr. Weasley and sat cross-legged next to Ron.
"Ron, the wheels aren't under the car, mate."
Ron grinned and tried to wipe the oil off his face, which just resulted in more oil on his face. Harry grabbed a nearby rag and performed the service for him.
"I know. But things under the car are just really...interesting. Want to see?"
Harry shook his head, smiling. He'd done loads of auto work for the Dursleys and knew quite a bit about cars. He also knew that the tire remained unchanged.
"You sound like your dad. Want me to help you, then?"
Harry changed the wheel, the oil, his shirt, and added windshield wiper fluid. The car spouted fluid like an emerging whale, honking happily at them.
Harry and Ron left Mr. Weasley tinkering around with the bent antenna, fascinated by the changing radio stations. They were both filthy and grinning.
"I was looking for you." Harry told him.
"And did you find me?"
"Have I?"
Well...for the most part. Today was no exception. Harry opened his eyes to a very fuzzy world and sat up in his sleeping sack. He blinked a bit and reached for glasses; an action more of habit than insecurity. He bumped Hedwig's soft head and she hooted sleepily at him from her perch. He rubbed the downy spot between her eyes for a moment and then let her sleep again.
The clock read 10:30, and Harry felt a bit astonished that he would have slept so late. He peered over the top of Ron's bed but saw only a twisted lump of empty covers and some stray pajama bottoms. He felt a small thrill that Ron would have changed in front of him while he slept and suppressed it quickly. "Ron?" he tried. Nothing.
He rose and yawned, fumbling with his shirt buttons and finally pulling it over his head.
The next moment he nearly jumped out of his skin as a loud banging noise assaulted him from behind. He yelped and landed ungracefully on the floor, arms tangled in his sleeves and glasses askew. Then he spotted a twin at the smallish window facing the Weasley's front yard, floating in front of it on his broomstick and laughing at him. Harry tried to scowl but it was SO HARD when the twins were smiling at you. He just flushed and removed his pajama bottoms in the relative safety of behind the closet door. George- or was it Fred? booed and zoomed away to continue whatever mischief he'd been in.
Dressed in raggedy muggle khakis and a T-shirt that had seen better days, he left the warm comfort of Ron's bedroom and poked his head into the nearest open door, Percy's. Percy was bent over his fanatically neat desk, scratching furiously at a piece of blotted parchment. Harry tiptoed to him and sneaked a look over his shoulder.
'Miss your face' it said. And 'Stuck with nosy trolls for the summer.'
He stuck his inky head right next to Percy's ear and sniffed.
"Is that for Penelope, then? Or Bill?"
Percy must have jumped a mile. Harry fell back laughing, watching as Percy's pointy face flushed red as his hair and brandished the quill like a wand. Then he really did have to fall back, stumbling and snorting with giggles as Percy located his real wand and held it aloft.
Something rattled Percy's door as Harry slammed it shut behind him, wiping tears out of his eyes. Oh...he'd forgotten to ask if Percy knew where Ron was. Oh, well. No point in venturing back in now, was there?
Harry meandered down the stairs, following the sound of Pig's frantic hooting and the general rustling and clanging that accompanied everything in the Weasley household.
In the dining room, Charlie's flaming head was bent over a standard brown mail parcel freshly delivered. He was beaming and sifting through a number of documents rather quickly.
"Charlie?" Harry asked. Charlie dropped the papers and turned to Harry, his smile less enthusiastic and more friendly.
"Hey, Harry. Come over here and look at this. You remember Hagrid's dragon? Nerman? Normer?" Harry walked over and sat gingerly in the chair Charlie had pulled out for him. "Norbert."
"Norbert! Yes, sorry. Norbert. Here, these are some recent shots of him my old Hogwarts friend sent me while I was home. Great, isn't he?"
He set one large hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed it absently while he ruffled the pictures some more. Harry found himself more than a little distracted by what Charlie was doing with his hands, but he told himself it was the lack of physical touching in his childhood that made it feel so strange. He forced himself to focus on the pictures and watch as a monstrous, colorful dragon chased half a dozen handlers out of the frame. "Is that little Norbert?!" he gasped, reaching for the next picture. Charlie chuckled above his head.
"Yeah. Got big, didn't he? That's why it Hagrid couldn't keep the poor fellow. Can you just imagine him hiding that on Hogwarts grounds?" Harry winced and shifted a bit under Charlie's hand. "No. If I think about it, he'd probably have let him loose in the Forbidden Forest." They looked at each other. And both began to laugh.
After Charlie promised to tuck one in Ron's room for Harry to send to Hagrid and denied any and all knowledge of the whereabouts of his little brother, Harry left the dining room, still smiling.
The kitchen was its customary bright self with pots washing themselves in the sink, delicious treats baking in the oven, and one pudgy redheaded woman in the corner examining a cookbook.
"Mrs. Weasley? Have you seen R- hthumf!"
A large knitted oven mitt had zoomed up to him the moment he'd walked in and tickled him under the chin like a baby. Harry dropped his head and snorted with laughter and the mitt took advantage of his opened mouth to stuff a fresh-from-the-oven tasty something or other into it. The mitt ruffled his hair innocently and zipped back to mixing a batch of rolls for dinner. "Morning Harry. Have I- no, haven't seen Ron all morning. Sorry, love." And with that, she bustled out of the kitchen to attend to an errant whiskbroom. Harry dutifully finished chewing and snagged another bun from under the mitt- which attempted to smack his hand- and waved an admonishing finger at him- and wandered out the back door.
The sounds of wood cracking and hyped-up yells drew him around to the front of the house, where he spied two flame-colored twins zipping around the yard after a pair of furious bludgers. He watched them for a bit, grinning at the pell mell havoc they wreaked as they crashed into trees and each other and each other's clubs. Mrs. Weasley would raise hell with Fred- Geo- FRED, later, for giving his brother a bloody nose. Or maybe it WAS George. A bludger momentarily spun out of control and bolted for the ground. The unbloodied twin had to practically freefall to catch it and ended up about half a yard from Harry's position, grinning madly at him and tightening his grip on the wildly struggling bludger.
"Hiya, Harry." he said.
His brother belted the free bludger straight into a tree and landed while it flitted about in a dizzy motion.
"Hi, Harry." he said.
"Wipe your face off, George, before people start t'think you're bad at this sport." Fred said. George waved his club at him and searched his pockets for a rag; failing that, he tried to search Fred's. Fred swiped at him with his club and George let him alone. Harry shrugged at him. Finally George dropped his club and stripped his shirt off, wiped his nose and his face and left in the ground in a frayed heap. His torso was hard from years of Quidditch and gleamed with sweat. Harry could see his ribcage expand and contract with each breath he took. He looked away.
Fred flew away from Harry and shouldered George aside lightly to bat away a newly tree-freed bludger.
"George, if you take your clothes off, mate, people will be able to tell us apart." George looked incensed at Fred's logic as he picked his club up again. "Then take yours off." Fred handed him his bludger club and Harry felt a little worried. "Right! And then Harry can take his shirt off and we can all play together." George avoided Fred's shirt and it caught Harry full in the face.
"Wot? Harry's not a twin."
A light, midair wrestling match ensued for the affront of having shirts thrown.
"Harry can take his off just for fun."
Fred's shirt smelled good. Harry decided it was time to leave.
"Have you seen Ron?" he asked them as he backed away. They both shook their heads and resumed searching for the bludger that appeared to have disappeared and could be up to no good.
Ron wasn't in the bedroom. He wasn't in the kitchen. He wasn't in the yard. Where was Ron?
Harry escaped back inside and narrowly missed having one very frantic Pig stuffed up his nose. He caught the little devil between thumb and forefinger and gave it a little pet as he went to look at the Weasley Status Clock. He liked Pig. Pig had come from Sirius. Pig was good people. The clock's Ron hand, recently defaced with a magic...real magic marker, flicked to a new spot on the clock, one that hadn't been there before. It read 'Garage'. Did the Weasleys have a garage...?
Harry tromped around outside a bit, taking pains to avoid the yard of Weasley Nakedness where he could hear the twins' yip and cry as they resumed their games. On his third lap of the house's exterior, he found the garage. It was smallish and cluttered, nothing like the Dursely's spotless garage. In it, the flying car (seated next to an anxious Mr. Weasley) rumbled softly, revving from time to time like an anxious child getting a shot.
From beneath the car, a pair of long, lanky legs extended, covered in grease-spotted loose shorts with wrenches in the pockets.
"Ron?" Harry asked.
Ron rolled out from under the car. He was wearing all muggle clothes today; rather dirty, tattered ones. He grinned up at Harry. He had a smudge of oil on his nose.
"Hey, Harry. The car got a flat, so I thought I'd come out and help dad fix it." Harry nodded hello to an anxious Mr. Weasley and sat cross-legged next to Ron.
"Ron, the wheels aren't under the car, mate."
Ron grinned and tried to wipe the oil off his face, which just resulted in more oil on his face. Harry grabbed a nearby rag and performed the service for him.
"I know. But things under the car are just really...interesting. Want to see?"
Harry shook his head, smiling. He'd done loads of auto work for the Dursleys and knew quite a bit about cars. He also knew that the tire remained unchanged.
"You sound like your dad. Want me to help you, then?"
Harry changed the wheel, the oil, his shirt, and added windshield wiper fluid. The car spouted fluid like an emerging whale, honking happily at them.
Harry and Ron left Mr. Weasley tinkering around with the bent antenna, fascinated by the changing radio stations. They were both filthy and grinning.
"I was looking for you." Harry told him.
"And did you find me?"
"Have I?"