EDITED: July 10th, 2020

04 — Weasley & Son

Something inside Marie must have broken. The moment she saw Harry – and it had taken her a while to notice him, what with her rambling about Mrs. Darcy and some chores –, she'd frozen and had yet to speak.

Harry was handling it as graciously as he could. He looked around the kitchen with genuine interest, all the while ignoring Marie's staring.

"So this is where you live," he commented.

"No, we live in The Attic. This is where I cook and she breaks the dishes." I closed the refrigerator. I placed the bottle of water next to the bacon sandwich, then lifted the tray and returned to the table.

"Here." I sat across from Harry and next to Marie, who occupied the head seat.

Harry looked slightly nervous. "Are you sure you won't get in trouble for this?"

Marie snorted, breaking out of her enchantment. "You're joking, right? If she hasn't been kicked out after punching a girl repeatedly throughout the years, I doubt a sandwich is going to get her a slap on the wrist."

I threw her a dirty look. She pressed her lips, but her eyebrows shot up in amusement and she was vibrating on her seat.

Harry's lips quirked. He picked the sandwich and bit into it hesitantly. His eyes lit up with delight.

Marie leaned closer to whisper, "I can't believe Harry Potter is eating in our kitchen." She eyed the way he swallowed his drink. "You'd think they starve him, the way he hoards his dish."

I kicked her none-too-gently, and she got the message.

Marie cleared her throat. "So! Are you going to stay, Harry Potter?"

Her tone was cringe-worthy—and she noticed too, from the way she flinched—but she had raised a good point. I hadn't planned further from getting him away from that house—I'd just winged it.

A decidedly feminine giggle rang outside the kitchen from the hall. "That'd be really awkward, wouldn't it?" Harry said, smiling slightly.

I laughed weakly. Never mind the fact St. Louise's was populated with girls – Mrs. Darcy would skin me alive if she found out I'd brought a boy inside the land, let alone the building. I refused my gravestone would read: "Anya Barton. Killed for bringing a boy in." Too embarrassing.

"What about Ron?"

I focused on him. "What about him?"

"You said he invited us to stay with him." He tapped his fingers on the table. "Maybe the invitation still stands?"

"Of course it stands," I said. I stood. "Let me get Otto, then."

"Could you use Hedwig? She'd enjoy the chance to stretch her wings."

"Okay." I went to one of the drawers and pulled out two sheets of paper and an envelope. Unfortunately the only available biro was of red ink, so it was that one I gave Harry.

"I'm sure you want to write Ron."

He eagerly set to write. I did the same.

Ron,

I found Harry. Don't ask how, but I did. His relatives had him locked up – bars in the window and three locks on the door – so I got him out. He's fine, don't worry. I'm planning on convincing him to stay at my place while I wait for your answer.

Is there any way you can come and retrieve him? It's not that I don't want him here – it's more like a boy in an orphanage for girls would be a little too obvious.

Anya

I folded the paper. Harry, on the other hand, ripped his sheet on a half and folded both.

"Hermione," he said to my questioning look.

Ah. I was dreading informing her about the methods I used to get out Harry. Better than Ron coming with his twin brothers though.

I was just settling back on my seat when the door burst open. A ginger girl panted my name. "Mrs. Darcy is looking for you."

Then her eyes focused, and they landed on Harry. Her mouth fell open – for different reasons than Marie's.

"Is that a boy?" she screeched.

Harry almost fell out of his seat. I shushed her harshly. Marie bolted out of her seat and went straight for the door, pushing it closed with her weight. The result was a thunderous shake, and there was a moment where a hush fell inside the building.

Voices picked up then, and the stomping of feet could be heard from above.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned, slapping my cheek. "Why is Mrs. Darcy looking for me, Amanda?"

"You missed your appointment with Ms. Carver," she said breathily. She approached Harry and poked him. Hard, judging from his reaction. "You're a boy."

"I know that!" said Harry offended.

She ignored him. "You brought a boy," she said to me, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Still rubbing his shoulder, Harry turned to me. "Is she serious?"

"No boys allowed," said Marie, "ever. To some, it's paradise; to others..." she pointed at Amanda.

I ignored them. "They're not out of this world," I said exasperatedly. "And what do you mean I missed my appointment with June Carver," I searched for the calendar on the wall, "it's not –"

It was.

After Mrs. Darcy demanded it, I saw June Carver diligently every Thursday, at exactly eleven o'clock in the morning. Today was Thursday, and I had run out of here half an hour before the woman's arrival. Yesterday's dreading had been forgotten in face of today's little adventure.

The door opened, pushing Marie forward. Harry caught her in time, which only made this entire situation worse.

•••◘◘◘•••

Harry Potter better be grateful about the things I did or so help me —

Marie kicked my shin gently, moving her shoe forward. I looked at her first, saw her pointed stare, and sighed. Why did it feel like she was the elder instead of the younger of us?

"I wasn't planning on letting him stay," I told the ceiling. "Yeah, he's my friend from school, but he had a bit of a situation. So we contacted another friend of ours to see if he could pick Harry up – we're waiting for the answer."

I could literally feel Mrs. Darcy sigh before she slumped in slight defeat. I glanced at her—she was rubbing her forehead. An oncoming headache—or a growing one.

Probably the latter.

"Give me the number," she said.

I frowned. "Number?"

"Phone number, Miss Anya." She picked up the telephone receiver; a finger hovered over the numbers as she gazed at me expectantly.

"Whose number?" I said dumbly—then cringed when I realized... how else was I expected to contact a person at all? "Er, no. My friend Ron doesn't have a landline at all."

The receiver came down hard. Marie jumped.

"Miss Anya—are you telling me you wrote a letter, perhaps?"

I nodded slowly.

Mrs. Darcy's nostrils flared. "Do you know how long it takes for the post to come and go?"

"He lives near!" Marie blurted out.

Mrs. Darcy narrowed her eyes at her. "How near?"

"Near," we said.

The old woman was flaring up, so I said quickly, "His answer will come around midnight—the service he uses is really quick, I swear."

Then, to my dismay, I saw Otto hang on one of the branches of the tree outside Mrs. Darcy's window. I made a face at it when she looked away; I waved and mouthed go go go.

Otto ruffled his wings and left.

"Really quick," I repeated.

Mrs. Darcy looked unimpressed.

•••◘◘◘•••

I threw the pillow at Harry. He quickly caught it, placing it behind him gently. The makeshift bed on the floor made me cringe, but Harry had steadfastly agreed to Mrs. Darcy's conditions.

"I can't tell if you're angry," he said. He looked incredibly small in the cluttered office that housed most of the archives of St. Louise's.

"I'm not. I'm offended on your behalf." I glanced at his trunk and Hedwig's cage in the corner. "You got no bartering skills, Harry. I'd have at least argued for a bed."

"What's a bed when you get three meals a day and a place to stay?"

I huffed. "Yeah—in exchange of chores."

"Isn't that what you do every day?" He glanced at me pointedly.

I laughed shortly. I turned on my heel, but before I could get to the door, his hand around my wrist stopped me.

"What? Did I forget something?"

Two thick blankets for the makeshift mattress; a thin bed sheet, as it was summer; and a pillow. No, I hadn't forgotten anything.

"No," Harry said. He looked uncomfortable, but his eyes were shiny. "I just wanted to say thanks."

I stared. What? Thanks? What could I say to that? You're welcome? It's no problem? All that came to mind was—

"Put the chair under the doorknob. That way no one will sneak inside."

I ran. Like a coward.

•••◘◘◘•••

Harry Potter's first and last day at St. Louise's Orphanage for Girls began when the doorknob of his temporary room rattled early in the morning. Harry thought it was a fluke the first time—a figment of his imagination. By the fifth time, he was gazing warily at the shadows that filtered through the glass of the door, rather aghast by the round of giggles that rang outside often.

He'd considered not listening to Anya. It wasn't like someone would come up and rob him in his sleep. Him, the Potter hooligan with Dudley's old clothes and broken glasses. But Anya so rarely gave him advice that did not include beating up someone, so he'd sceptically placed the only chair in the room underneath the doorknob.

At four in the morning, the floor shook. Last time something like this happened, Harry had happened to meet Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Hopeful that it was him who came, Harry had quickly searched for his glasses on the ground next to him.

But it hadn't been Hagrid beyond that door. A pair of girls—and they were girls, Harry was absolutely certain of that—had cluttered outside, picking at the lock. At that, he couldn't help but remember Anya, who had just as swiftly unlocked all four locks of his room at Privet Drive. Was it something teachers taught here?

They gave up when the door didn't open the first try. He'd almost fallen asleep when the knob rattled yet again, this time with a trio of girls that were quieter. They too went for the lock first (really, he had to ask Anya whether she had a subject that taught how to break in), but stopped just as quickly when they realized the door wouldn't budge. Then, to Harry's surprise, a card of sorts slipped in somewhere above the lock, then slid down to the latch.

This continued well into the morning. Some gave up easily; others fought with the door. Some, to his irritation, just came to talk next to the door. By eight, the headache he was sporting became worse when anothergirl came—and he was done.

He'd barely slept three hours worth of sleep. His eyes stung. And much to his frustration, his stomach was also demanding to be fed. So Harry jumped to his feet, pulled off the chair, opened the door—

And came face-to-face with Marie.

She blinked at him. Her hand was raised mid-air, a weak fist if he ever saw one. The girl eyed him up and down, and said, "Anya forgot the earplugs, didn't she?"

•••◘◘◘•••

Harry was snoring.

The sound seemed to fascinate the girls behind him, but he was snoring and he was about to drop the broom. So I carefully took it from him, slid my arm around his waist, and led him to a chair. He didn't flinch when I dropped the broom accidentally; he moved with me without opening an eye, without his snoring stopping. How he stayed standing without falling flat on his face, I didn't know.

I threw a look over my shoulder. The girls stopped tittering and scattered. I kept staring... and two more girls appeared from behind the door, sniffed at me, and closed it. I returned to Harry.

I was proud of him. I was really proud of him – and embarrassed. I was thoroughly embarrassed he had to go through all this so that he could stay. If I wasn't – if I had a –

Well. It wasn't my fault. But I still wished Natasha had been here at least to spare him this.

He did all chores without complaining. In fact, he did some of them much better than I would have. It had me wondering if he'd always been so accommodating... or if the Dursleys forced him to work. If he was expected to pay his stay there, too.

I sighed. Then I sat down on the floor next to his chair, facing the door. I made myself comfortable and watched it for the next two hours.

•••◘◘◘•••

Of all things I imagined, Ron Weasley arriving in a blue Ford Anglia wasn't one of them. The little car wobbled as it passed through the gates, and even from this afar, I could glimpse the striking hair that could only belong to Ron. Or Weasleys in general.

I was stumped by the dullness of it. The Weasleys were anything but mundane.

Harry and Marie joined me, the latter blinking at our stricken expressions.

"What? The two of you never seen a Ford Anglia before?" She eyed us oddly. "You're weird." She left for the hallway that led to the main stairs.

Harry squinted at the car. "Is that really Ron?"

The door of the car opened. A lanky boy stepped out, wearing a maroon sweater – and it had to be maroon, because despite all of Ron's moaning about it, he loved to wear that thing on a daily basis. I doubted he washed it at all. The driver's door swung open, and an equally lanky man with receding hair stepped out with a jump.

"Yeah. And he brought his dad."

Now, him – he was what I'd been expecting. Mr. Weasley wore a mix of Muggle clothes that would've been nice, had they been worn by another person and the correct situation. But a pair of Jodhpur pants and a vest that was clearly for golfers? Wizards had no sense of fashion, not at all.

I pursed my lips. "Let's hope Mrs. Darcy doesn't think they are recruiting for the circus and lets them in."

She did.

They were standing in the foyer, gaping at the sheer size of the building. I could almost hear them thinking it's bigger on the inside, what with the maze-like halls, high ceiling, and very long stairs.

Not unlike Hogwarts. But this was home.

"Told you the service was quick," was what I told Mrs. Darcy when I landed on the last step. Harry had rushed ahead to greet the Weasleys, and he and Ron did their special handshake.

Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, met us with a bright grin. He had this boyish quality, and I couldn't help but like his enthusiasm.

Mrs. Darcy, it appeared, couldn't either. Her face softened, and while she wasn't smiling, her presence became welcoming.

"Mr. Weasley, I presume? I'm Eleanor Darcy." She offered her hand for a handshake. And she got one, if a little overenthusiastic.

"Yes! Arthur Weasley, madam. I must say, you have such a lovely home here!"

Home. No one had referred to St. Louise's as a home before, not that I could remember. Hearing it was jarring. How funny that a wizard saw it that way when Muggles coldly called it that place.

"And you must be Anya," said Mr. Weasley, smiling warmly. He shook my hand as well. If he was surprised by my firm grip, he didn't show it. "After hearing Ron here talk about you, I had no doubt I'd recognize you immediately. I was right!"

I didn't dare mention Marie and I were the only girls in the foyer. Mr. Weasley seemed too kind to be victim of my humour. But it did make me wonder about what Ron told him. If he'd confessed to everything, from his initial dislike of Hermione to his near death at Professor McGonagall's chessboard.

"I met your father once," said Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Darcy froze. "Just the once. Brilliant young man. He was the one who opened my office, you see." He glanced at Mrs. Darcy and Marie, seemingly thinking if he'd said something revealing. "Unfortunately, it never progressed from what it'd been during his time. I tried to push it forward, you know, but..." he shrugged. "The opportunity never arose."

"You shouldn't give up," I said, genuinely moved. "If you put your mind to it, you could make it."

He shook his head hastily. "Oh, no! No, I haven't given up. I have been working on this – err – protection act, you see. One of the Office's earlier goals was to raise awareness of mugg – of discrimination! It took a lot longer than originally planned, but I believe it may just be ready to apply for next year."

I grinned. "That's good."

Still grinning, he turned to Harry. His expression became fond. "And Harry Potter. I'm very pleased to meet you as well. Ron's told us so much about you that it feels like you're another of my sons."

Harry turned very pink.

"All packed?" said Mr. Weasley. Harry, who'd ran all the way down and to the back to retrieve his trunk, nodded.

When Mr. Weasley and Ron looked at me, I blinked back at them.

"Err... no? Was I supposed to?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course you were. That woman said you'd be staying at our place during the summer. You know, the redhead –"

Mr. Weasley clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder, almost dragging the ginger down. The man's eyes fixed on Mrs. Darcy, whose lips had gone white.

The redhead. Ah.

•••◘◘◘•••

"I don't get it. Why didn't Ms. Rosenberg tell you or Mrs. Darcy about going with the Weasleys?"

What an unhelpful girl. She stood near the stairs, watching as I ran from side to side and throwing things inside my trunk, never once lifting a finger to help.

"I don't understand the machinations of that woman," I grumbled. I deposited a pile of skirts and trousers next to my Charms books. "Just one conversation with Mrs. Weasley as she feels entitled to hand me over – as if I were a toy!" I kicked the trunk. "What game is she playing at?"

Mrs. Darcy rarely lost her cool, but Natasha had tested her will today. Having known her for years, I recognized the signs – and it had been her manners that made her keep face in front of the Weasleys. Mr. Weasley had clearly noticed Darcy hadn't been aware of Natasha's actions, but he'd courteously kept his mouth shut when she apologized to me for not giving me notice of the impromptu vacation.

It was Mrs. Darcy agreeing that had me uneasy. I knew it, like I knew my wand's little nooks from heart that she wouldn't have accepted if it hadn't placed us both in the spotlight.

Natasha Rosenberg knew what she'd been doing.

"You make it sound like she's... manipulating you," Marie said tentatively.

I looked at her. She'd gone really pale.

I couldn't help but wonder. What was her true purpose here? Natasha had brought her, but as Marie pointed out, the woman didn't do things out of the kindness of her heart – if she had any. It must have occurred to her as well, to look that sick.

The Attic's door opened, making us jump. I gazed around, sagging in relief. Otto had left already. He must've followed Hedwig.

Mrs. Darcy's heels clicked as she climbed. She scrutinized the place with a beady eye, stopping briefly at my side of the room. With my things gone, The Attic looked uneven. Even then, the place still looked well-cared.

"I spoke with Ms. Rosenberg," she said at last. "It appears this... was proposed the very same day of your return."

"What are you going to do?" I asked quietly. Insubordination like this couldn't – wouldn't – be forgiven.

Mrs. Darcy leaned against the post next to the stairs, crossing her arms. "You're going with the Weasleys and will stay with them for the rest of the summer. As for Ms. Rosenberg—" she inhaled sharply. "Her services will be rescinded as soon as she presents herself."

It should've been relieving. Perhaps pitying. However, as I looked at Mrs. Darcy and Marie, those were the last things I felt.

•••◘◘◘•••

By logic, Harry's trunk and mine shouldn't have fit in the boot of the tiny car. But when Mrs. Darcy was called inside, Mr. Weasley hastily waved his wand and my trunk floated over, landing neatly on Harry's. There was still space left for another trunk.

"Ready!" he said, very loudly, as Mrs. Darcy returned. Her troubled expression smoothed as I walked up to her.

"Was it Natasha?" I whispered.

She gave me a benign smile. "Have a wonderful summer, Ms. Barton. And remember, do behave yourself. The Weasleys were very kind to invite you."

I almost sighed. I turned to Marie, who had been silent so far.

"You're quiet. That's weird."

She scowled automatically. But it fell as worry took over. "Will you be fine? I mean" – her eyes darted anxiously; her voice lowered – "what if that happens again? Can it?"

"It won't," I hissed. "That was a terrible moment of judgment. I can control myself at Hogwarts."

"Really?" This was said with heavy scepticism. "That was just a special case then?"

"That's right." I eyed her coolly. "Try to not break any dishes in my absence, will you?"

I turned on my heel, my nose high. When I finally settled next to Harry, I noticed both boys were looking at me.

"What?" I snapped.

"It's been a long time since we saw that expression," Ron said. "You know, the whole 'I'm murdering you with my eyes for simply existing' thing."

I sniffed. "If anything, I'd murder them for their stupidity."

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. I flushed.

"Seat belts ready?" We nodded. "Cages tied?" Harry clasped one hand over his cage and gave an affirmative. "Well then." His wand slid down his sleeve. He tapped the ignition with it, and the car roared alive.

The ride was bumpy at first, but Mr. Weasley got the handle of it down the playground, where he took a right turn and drove straight to the empty part of Little Whinging.

Harry and I shared concerned looks. He leaned forward to peer through the windshield.

"Err, Mr. Weasley? You made a wrong turn – we're getting far from the highway to London..."

"Oh, we're not going to London," said the man happily.

The car kept driving until we reached the entrance of the old tunnel system of the town. The surrounding graffiti made the moment feel ominous.

"You probably were wondering why we didn't Apparate or use the Floo Network, Harry, Anya. Well," his voice quivered in excitement, "this is why!" He pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard.

Everything vanished. The car, Harry's cage, us. All I could see was the faint outline of our shapes as we shifted, as the car rumbled once more and rose smoothly to the air. In ten seconds flat, Little Whinging was under our feet, looking as tiny as a scale model.

"What did you say you worked on, Mr. Weasley?" I asked faintly.

"The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office," said Mr. Weasley proudly. "Its priority is to retrieve Muggle objects that were bewitched, mostly out of brutish intentions. Sometimes, they are small; sometimes, they are quite... big."

I couldn't imagine what the Muggle who saw this car sprung alive thought. I would've run for the hills, thinking there was a sliver of truth in Stephen King's works and with the newfound purpose of ditching my copies.

"Is this legal?" Harry asked.

Ron snorted as Mr. Weasley turned very pink.

"No," he stuttered. "But! As there was never an intention to use it recreationally during its creation, it truly isn't breaking any law now, is it?"

I could barely believe my ears. Harry also looked like he wanted to burst out laughing.

"Never mind him," said Ron, uncovering his face. He'd slapped his hand on his forehead when his dad had been speaking. The redhead turned on his seat to look at Harry. "Harry, what's been going on? Dad came and told me you got an official warning from the Ministry, and Anne here didn't exactly say how she found you."

"I broke and entered private property," I said, irritated.

The car briefly toppled sharply to the right. Ah, right. A grown-up.

"It's good that you did," Harry said quickly, "How long would it had taken anyone to come around? The Dursleys would've lied to their faces, too..."

"Molly and I were planning to come and get you, Harry," said Mr. Weasley warmly. "But as Anya's letter sounded rather urgent, we decided to hasten and retrieve you today. Molly unfortunately had to get out to town, so she couldn't come."

"Might as well," Ron muttered to us, glancing pointedly around the car. "What's been happening then?"

Harry retold the story, every once stopping to gauge Mr. Weasley's silence.

"Are you sure it was a house-elf?" said Mr. Weasley at last. Harry nodded. "Do you have an inkling as to who could it possibly belong?"

Harry hesitated. "If it was playing a prank on me, I think it could've been Draco Malfoy."

Once again, the car veered off course. Instead of getting back on track, we rolled—the world turned upside down several times—until Ron threw out his arm and steered the wheel sharply.

Mr. Weasley was quite red and it didn't seem it was because of the ordeal. "Malfoy, you say? Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"His father's name is luscious?" I asked incredulously, swallowing back little vile.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley corrected. He was frowning. "This is worrying, Harry. If he's involved, this could play both sides."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Lucius was known to support You-Know-Who back in the days. He got off being sentenced by claiming he was Imperiused – controlled, in other words – but those of us who made a stand from the beginning knew he was in You-Know-Who's inner circle of Death Eaters."

"What are Death Eaters?"

"That's what his followers called themselves," said Ron grimly. "Most of them got off with the same excuse."

"Do the Malfoys even own a house-elf?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Old wizarding families do."

"But it doesn't fit, does it?" I said. "I mean, why would a house-elf come and warn him? If I were its owner, I'd rather not tell Harry Potter anything about my 'evil' plans, lest he tries to stop me." Harry made a face at me and I copied him.

"You have a point, Anya," said Mr. Weasley thoughtfully. "I'll see if anyone I know has heard about this Dobby. Unfortunately, most families that own house-elves tend to be tight-lipped about their services."

I could believe that. It was human nature to treat those who don't have the means to defend themselves poorly.

Small talk continued through our journey. Mr. Weasley was particularly excited to speak with Harry and I about Muggle technology, waxing poetry about light bulbs. Like any child with short-attention span, he varied from object to object, and it endeared us to speak about how some things worked. Ron looked like he was feeling second-hand embarrassment, but he listened to us raptly as we explained how a kite floated or how telephones worked.

At some point, the sky began to darken. From gray to light blue, and from blue to orange and pink and red. Surrounded by green fields, it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, until the first house appeared on the horizon. It was followed by another and another, until once again it was an empty field.

The car began to lower.

I looked around. "Not to be annoying, but are we there yet?"

"Wait for it," said Ron. He was grinning to himself.

The air outside the car rippled—and little houses appeared out of nowhere.

Separated by a great distance, and from this point of view, all building resembled lighthouses. The Ford Anglia continued to lower, flying past all of them and towards an enormous wall of grass and vines.

With a small bump, we finally hit the ground. The car kept moving alongside the wall, slowing as we passed a pen of chickens and stopping next to a large shed.

"Home sweet home," said M. Weasley, stepping out. We followed suit.

I looked at Ron's house for the first time. It was... astounding? Amazing? An architectural disaster?

It didn't matter. While only the first floor looked like it was stable (it was made of stone), rooms had been added until it was several floors high. Like the buildings at Diagon Alley, it was crooked and gave the impression it was only standing because of magic. It had a lot of chimneys, too. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, tHE BuRrOw. Another thing I noticed was the several brown chickens pecking around their yard.

Rationally, I was dismayed by the lack of care they'd given to the construction of the house. But it was such a beautiful mess that just screamed home, and I couldn't help but fall a little in love with it.

"It's not much," said Ron, rubbing his neck.

"It's wonderful," Harry and I chorused.

Ron's ears turned red.

The house's door snapped open and shut as a woman with flaming hair strode towards us. I stepped back on instinct. Almost pushing Harry forward was just that Slytherin trait the Sorting hat had talked about.

But I wasn't the only one. Both Mr. Weasley and Ron backed quickly as she came to a stop in front of us.

"Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley, "tell me I did not just see you land the car!"