Over a hill in Devon, down in a shallow river valley, stands a house like none other around it.
Well, apart from the large stone tower, not far West, which housed a strange pair.
That was a tale for another time, however.
The house like none other was more of a teetering pile of wood and various accessories. It held many roofs, windows, and hallways. Staircases coated the interior like a rabid plague, but what was plain and clear for all to see was that this house was a home. Created out of necessity and love for the growing family within it.
This house was the home of the Weasleys. A large, raucous family that needed no introduction to the world they themselves took part in. They were a famous family, despite their lack of fortune or royalty.
They were close to a man who had saved thousands on more than one occasion, it was true, but among them stood fighters. People who, when told to stand down, refused.
Of course, this introduction is written from the perspective of an outsider.
A snowflake, for example, would see nothing more than what I have just described.
It drifts lazily down to the deeply covered fields and orchard. The lights from within the house cast great, long shadows over the white abyss.
Suddenly, a delicate gust of wind, silent from the lack of any resistance, brushes against the snowflake.
It swirls and soars, tumbling low before being swept right back up again.
It makes its way nearer and nearer to the walls of the house like none other. Occasionally, it is flown off-course, but generally, the flake continues its trajectory without much trouble.
As it gets closer to the windows, which, despite the cold, were open to let out some of the kitchen's heat, it gains a new perspective.
The perspective of an insider.
The flake passes by one of the kitchen windows and sees a young man with a thin nose. He's tall, though not gangly. Evidently, he'd grown since last we met him. His blue eyes twinkle as he pulls out a tray of biscuits from the oven.
"And that right there," he says, "is how you make biscuits the way you're supposed to," as he drags out the word supposed, he leans in close to the girl opposite him. She was graced with thick brown hair, which was currently knotted up in a hasty tie. "With magic!" the man concludes.
The woman rolls her eyes. "Ron, honestly. The muggle way is just as efficient," she sighs and reaches for one of the biscuits. "It just takes longer,"
The man, Ron, laughs. "Bit contradictory, don't you think, Hermione?"
The woman, Hermione, turns her head down to the floor and smiles. "Shut up," she whispers, and he pulls the tray of biscuits away.
"These are for later." Ron says, "Merlin forbid we eat them all before Ginny gets her hands on them. Honestly, she's been eating so much lately, and for what?"
The wind picks up again, and the snowflake drifts away from Ron and Hermione, as they begin to bicker over whether or not it's acceptable to judge a woman's eating habits.
The wind circulates perfectly to slow the flake in front of a new conversation. Or, perhaps this was a little more than a conversation.
A record was playing in the corner over the phonograph. A shorter, stockier man with the same red hair danced with his mother. Though her locks may once have been as red as the rest of the house's occupants, a good bunch of hairs had turned grey over the last few years.
"L, is for the way you look at me," the man sang. "O, is for the only one I see."
"George would you please stop," his mother laughed. "I need to check on the roast!"
The man, George, didn't seem to care. "V, is very, very extraordinary,"
His mother shook her head at her son's antics as he spun her on the spot, catching her gracefully. "E, is even more than anyone that you adore can love!"
"Oh, honestly, George. I have your father for that, now let me go check on Ron and Hermione…" she broke free from her son's grip and sauntered off the snowflake's previous spot. George laughed. The long-established smiling lines shone brightly once more.
They'd come to do so far more often in recent years.
The wind shifted and the flake continued its journey. A young man with horn-rimmed glasses was laughing uproariously with his wife. They were an odd pair, but the man's father seemed pleased.
The flake continued its journey and landed on an odd sight.
A young boy no older than five with violently blue hair was laying on his stomach, pushing a train along its wooden tracks.
A man with round glasses and thick, messy black hair mimicked the boys' actions. Both seemed rather enthralled as they pushed their respective trains along the track.
If I had not described to you their difference in age, you may not have known they were not two young children playing with their newest toys together. That was the degree to which the man was enjoying himself.
"Uncle Harry, look," the boy pointed to his train, which was being pushed up a large incline.
The man, Harry, stopped his actions and watched. "Wait, Teddy, wait, hang on!" he said, picking up the pace to which he pushed his wooden train so that it was stationed at the base of the wooden hill. "Okay, now let it go,"
Teddy grinned alongside his godfather and pushed the train over the hill. As expected, the train picked up speed as it began its descent. Just as it was about to make it clear, it reached a crossing and smashed through Harry's train.
"Brilliant," they murmured together in unison. Though, Teddy struggled over the word.
"Again!" Teddy squealed.
"Agreed," Harry nodded, quite seriously.
The snowflake didn't get a chance to dwell on Harry and Teddy for long, however, as it was quickly swept up through the air again and moved a shorter distance around so that it could still catch a glimpse of the man and his godson while focusing on a new pair.
One was an older woman with thick black hair and hooded eyelids. The other was a young, petite woman with vivid red hair unlike the rest of her family. It had multiple different shades of reds and oranges all mixed together to create the image of a fire sat on her head. She had deep brown eyes and sported an athletic frame.
"How far along?" the older woman asked.
"What?" The other replied, shocked out of her intent concentration on Harry and Teddy.
"Ginny," the woman smiled. "I can tell. The way you're watching him interact with Teddy," she paused and shifted so she properly faced Ginny. "And don't think I haven't noticed our resident heavyweight avoid alcohol all evening,"
Ginny blushed and closed her eyes. "Please don't say anything, Andi," she pleaded. "I'm surprised mum hasn't figured it out…"
Andi shrugged, nursing the glass of wine in her left hand. "I doubt she'd expect her daughter, only twenty-two years old and at the height of her dream career to get pregnant,"
Ginny nodded solemnly. "I know."
They fell silent for a moment and the flake began its slow, gradual descent to the windowsill.
"Does Harry know?" Andi asked.
Ginny shook her head. "We've talked about it before, of course… but that sort of… I don't know. I thought I'd be older. Twenty-six or twenty-eight or something like that. I feel a bit lost at the moment," she took a sip of her glass of water and sighed.
Andi shifted in her seat. "You'll be a great mother. I've seen the way you are with Teddy,"
Ginny grimaced. "Right, because that's always been super successful and never much of a disaster at all."
Andi gave off a humorous sigh and let the silence stretch on. "Let's say it's a bit of a learning curve, then,"
Ginny laughed.
"But that man there," Andi pointed to Harry, who was trying to show Teddy how the trains are supposed to interact together at a level crossing, "He'll be an excellent father,"
Right then, a gush of warm air came through the cracked open window, bathing the snowflake with heat. It heard the cries of "Supper in the kitchen! Come on then," and "Ron, would you stop that? I know you made them but there's barely any left!"
"It was Hermione, mum. Honest!" Ron complained. The snowflake's crystals began to crumble under the continuous rush of warm air.
"It's true Mrs. Weasley, I was eating them,"
"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"
"Shut up, Harry,"
Then, the flake turned to water, continuing its adventures as the wind pushed it off the windowsill and into the snow below.
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