A/N: I'm sorry for the emotional whomping!Harry, but it fits the story. If it helps, while there will be plenty of angst doting on Harry's insecurities, at the end of the day he's a powerful protagonist. So this won't be a fic where he acts like an emo pre-teen rather than an adult Head Auror who can take care of himself. Once the initial 'Harry-was-your-childhood-really-this-awful?!' stuff is done, the Weasleys and Potters will get over their shock and be furious. They'll also soon have far bigger problems to deal with than the Dursleys.

A huge thank you to my beta spellmugwump97!

General Disclaimer: Yep, you've found me out. I'm J.K. Rowling. …what? I am! Not much more to say. So stop gawking and enjoy the story. One that I'm making absolutely no profit from because it's a fanfic, for Circe's sake.


"Harry had no doubt that his Uncle had gone mad. This had already been made abundantly clear when the enraged man torn off half of his moustache. But his throwing the letters in the fireplace and spreading marmalade on the daily paper (before munching absentmindedly on the sports section) were equally good indicators.

The final break in this descent into insanity came that weekend. The morning began with relative normality, with a gleeful Vernon thinking that he'd gotten a reprieve at last.

'No post today!' He chortled (as muggles have no mail delivered on Sundays). Harry didn't look at him, preferring even to watch his cousin's gorging than his Aunt's and Uncle's triumphant glares.

'Yeah, yeah.' The dark-haired boy numbly agreed, fingering his napkin with a sigh. He knew he should be happy; his Uncle being in a good mood was always better than the alternative, and he was thrilled to be in Dudley's second bedroom. But the unknown contents of that first letter continued to float around his mind (though the thought of the envelopes bundled up inside his Aunt's eggs did momentarily distract him). Hogwarts. Spelled out in cursive green ink, a letter to him. To Harry.

No one ever wrote to him. No one knew about his cupboard under the stairs. Thus, while he knew better, a part of him reconsidered his Uncle's previous words. What if someone really was watching the house? What if—

But any more thoughts were pushed away when the fireplace, windows, and doors exploded with a hurricane of letters cascading in from all sides".

—From Chapter 3 of R. Skeeter's "The Rise and Fall of Harry J. Potter".


"Let me get this right." Harry sighed, ignoring his ensuing headache. "You want me to go to the Burrow?"

"Yep." Ron said, popping the syllable. Fred sniggered from the wall. The Harry photos seemed almost as reluctant as their counterpart at this idea.

"Where Molly, Fleur, and likely Audrey and Hermione will strangle me with hugs…all while interrogating me?" The Weasleys who noticed Harry's underlying strained tone backed a few steps away. "Do you think I'm that thick?"

"Uh huh." The oblivious Ron rattled the Floo Powder jar. "Let's go!"

"Not happening."

"Why not?" The redhead gawked at his brother-in-law, having held onto the false hope that it would be easy from this point on. "It'll be fun."

Harry just gazed at him incredulously. George joined his twin and fell into chuckles before, catching a glare from his wife, joined in on the 'let's-persuade-Harry' game.

"Think about it this way." George tried to gulp down his chuckles. "You could follow all of us, or you could be interrogated by your wife. Alone. Without witnesses. If that doesn't scare you, when everyone else does corner you they'll be even more fanatic."

The Man Who Conquered paused. Digesting George's words, he swallowed. "Maybe the Burrow isn't such a bad idea…"

"Not happening." Ginny stole the floo container from Ron's clutch, rounding on her brothers. "Book or not, we're going to have a proper family weekend. Harry's on leave at long last. You lot can deal with this nonsense!"

"What?" Ron stared at his sister's furious face, even more flabbergasted than before. "But we don't know what happened."

"You and Hermione were there for most of it." Ginny growled, grabbing the offending book and shoving it in her purse. She left both the covers on the table. "You even have the photos, figure it out! You don't need him holding your hand."

"But the Dursleys!"

"You'll find out about them on Monday." She carefully took Albus from Angelina and shot a pointed look at her husband before heading to the fireplace. "Say bye to your uncles and aunt, Jamie."

"BYE BYE!" Jamie hollered as Harry (shooting glances at the bewildered Weasleys) shuffled his family away. The wizard then hesitated.

"Look," Harry said in a low, quick whisper to Ron as Ginny impatiently waited, "I'll be back soon. Tell Andy that she and Teddy are welcome at ours any time, and tell Hermione not to go crazy with the lawsuits against my relatives. With PR…damn it. Anything that seems unlikely probably didn't happen, the Dursleys weren't that bad, and—"

"HARRY!"

"Coming!" He called back as Ginny (with Al in her arms) stepped through the floo. He turned to his brother-in-law with more urgency, a fidgeting Jamie at his side. "If she hasn't yet, get Hermione to make a statement that this is rubbish. Keep the other books from being published! Libel, trademarks, lawsuits, whatever. Hit Skeeter with blackmail and bribery for all I care." He sighed. "I'm guessing Kingsley would frown on a nationwide obliviation?"

"It's probably international by now." George piped in, not managing to keep the faint twinge of amusement out of his voice.

"Perfect." Harry groaned. "Just perfect. Now to find out how pissed off my wife is."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "She is our sister, mate."

"Who's bloody terrifying." Ron pointed out, nodding along with his best friend. "Call us if you need rescuing."

"Thanks." Harry shot a glance at the simmering fireplace. "What do you think my chances would be if I ran for it?"

"I'd stun you." Angelina said in a grumpy deadpan, still annoyed by the revelations and the 'pregnant' remark. "Then take your wand, tie you up, dump you in front of every female Weasley and Potter, and not let you go until you'd been interrogated on every blasted word in this sorry excuse for a book!"

Harry blinked. Clutching Jamie's hand, he backed away from the fiery woman. "Right. Godric's Hollow it is."


The Weasleys had not been having a pleasant day. Many of them had spent it dealing with the insanity at the Ministry, while most of the others were at the Burrow taking care of another immediate problem. For aside from the emotional upheavals, PR nightmare, riots on the Atrium, and the utter confusion that was currently the Auror force, there were the owls. Or, rather, the letters they were carrying. As well as the mess the hordes of animals made, where the dozens of Evanescos could barely keep up at the peak.

The post owls had been, oddly enough, a reoccurring issue. It'd all begun when a neo-Death Eater group tried to stake out the Potters years ago. Though this threat was handled, putting the family's new address into the public domain was a less than enticing possibility. This suited the Potters' desire for a low-profile life style well enough, and the only problem with 'going partially underground' was simply receiving mail. Getting a box at the Post Owlery was a possibility, but it meant that any crazed fans or the press would be able to get their hands on private correspondence. The idea was therefore raised that mail could be rerouted to the Burrow (a place already well-known, which none of them could do anything about except to add to its defences) and then forwarded to Godric's Hollow.

Since the celebrity cult surrounding both Harry and Ginny had died down some, this solution had worked for some time. That was, until the night Rita Skeeter published a biography on everyone's favourite golden boy, which coincided with the evening someone left the window over the Burrow's kitchen sink open.

The morning after, Molly Weasley wasn't able to step into her own kitchen. Frantically calling her husband down, the two had stared in disbelief at the jumbled mess of impatiently hooting owls still depositing mounds of letters that were filling every corner of room.

After getting over the initial surprise, Molly had snatched up and torn open the nearest correspondence. Mid-way through the third one, she'd collapsed onto a chair. A surprised Arthur tried to help her but was instead pushed towards the floo, "To get the dratted book and bring help back!"

By noon of that first day, said book had been skimmed, half the Weasleys had congregated to get rid of the initial owls,and the kitchen table had been expanded to accommodate the overflowing letters. There'd only been three nervous breakdowns and five crying fits, which everyone felt was rather an accomplishment).

By one in the afternoon, the lunchtime rush had brought with it another fury of owls. These letters included multiple Howlers and half a dozen hidden curses. As the Howlers exploded, Teddy and Victoire (as the oldest kids and the ones most likely to understand the swears) were ushered from the room, Andromeda's and Fleur's hands clasped over their ears as they shouted they were to never repeat these bad words. Both kids had rolled their eyes, having heard far worse before.

By a quarter past two, not a single adult female (or a few of the males) had not burst into either frustrated tears or angry screams at one point or another. Even the arrival of Bill, George, Angelina, Fred (having waltzed into his other portrait), and Fred Jr. didn't bring much appease. For the Potters were still notably absent, including a certain Boy Saviour they sorely wished to interrogate.

At three, the Weasleys built a bonfire with most of the letters.

At half past three, the Wireless exploded (coinciding with a particularly nasty commentary on the Potters). No one would admit to being the cause of the carnage, though Teddy and George shared a grin. When the remnants of the machine then burst into flames, everyone decided it'd be best to ignore how Fleur's hair had suddenly turned feathery. Bill tried to comfort her, but was stopped by her poisonous glare.

By four, Hermione, Ron, and Percy had arrived in a cloud of impatient storminess. With this, a family meeting commenced.

These meetings at the Burrow were always tense affairs. These were wholly different from the free-wheeling Sunday Family Dinners, and only occurred during unprecedented, forlorn events. The meetings were never planned, entirely spontaneous, and yet somehow resulted in (mostly) every member of the close-knit family finding themselves crammed into the Burrow's kitchen. Or, in this case, the living room, as the kitchen and dining room had been evacuated as a result of overflowing envelopes, parchment, the stray feather, and patch-work burn marks.

There'd been a total of six family meetings over the years. From the 'Fred-and-Ron-unbreakable-curse' 1986 debacle, 1993's 'how-to-cheer-up-Ginny-without-mentioning-you-know-what', the joint 1995 discussion of 'holy-Merlin-Voldemort's-back-and-is-Harry-officially-family?' (with an unanimous agreement for the latter, having agreed that Percy's absentee vote didn't count), the 'sobbing-and-intermittent-hopeless-condolences' meeting of 1997, the silent meeting of 1998, and the Deathly Hallows Fiasco of 1999.

This meeting (with every member of the family who was in Britain gathered, except the Potters) was thus the seventh. No one cared about the symbology behind that. They were mainly preoccupied with backing as far away from the fiery brunette as the crowded room would allow.

"Ginny did what?" Hermione growled, taking her frustration out on the much-abused book in front of her. "Especially with Skeeter speaking up. We need Harry in front of the press to refute these rumours! Why can't I stop those wretched books? It's a travesty! Skeeter's raving about freedom of speech? What about journalistic integrity! Preserving privacy! Basic libel suits to prevent idiots from ruining a man's reputation! Christ, why isn't Harry HERE?"

"Love?" Ron cautiously interrupted. She turned and stared daggers. He fidgeted. "Between us we can figure out most of the lies."

"That's not the problem!" His wife ranted. "Wizarding laws regarding publishing rights are more lenient than you can imagine. There isn't much I can legally do, though I'm still going to take that bug down! You mark my words. But the issue is with credibility; for the public to believe us it has to be Harry to make the announcement. While the 'Dark Lord Potter' idea's utter nonsense, some will still believe it. Skeeter already has the upper hand and we're wasting time!"

"I know but…hold up." Ron halted, the words catching up to him. He couldn't help but snicker. "Dark Lord Potter?"

"Harry's evil now." George said nonchalantly, ignoring his mother's tongue clicking at his feet rested on the coffee table. "Get with the programme. You know how it goes. One day, he's a mild-mannered wizarding hero. The next, Britain loses its memory and decides he tosses cute little pygmy puffs off cliffs. Very fluffy, innocent, cabbage chomping pygmy puffs with big doe eyes. Eyes which Harry probably pokes out for the fun of it. Then gives the poor blind pygmy puffs to orphans and, just when they're hugging them and giving them names, he tosses them off a cliff!" He paused, checking himself. "Throws the bunnies, that is. Though with how Skeeter's building it up, the orphans would probably follow. Or Harry would brainwash them to be his minions. Or brainwash the blind pygmy puffs, not actually blind them, and have a terrifyingly adorable army."

Ron blinked.

None of the other adults, except for portrait Fred (who was reading one of the aforementioned scandalous books with the pages magically flipping in front of him), seemed overly surprised. That is, at least at the general idea of the story. A few were eyeing George oddly, Hermione and Angelina were headdesking, Molly had clearly given up, and Arthur just sighed. The kids all looked a bit confused.

"That's what the Howlers were about?" Teddy leaned around his grandma, realisation dawning. His hair turned from a bright yellow to crimson red. "My goddad's evil? Awesome!"

"No, not awesome," Andromeda chided, shaking thoughts of doomed pygmy puffs away, "and it's not true. Don't listen to any of the rumours."

"It'd still be wicked." The young boy gave a wide smile as his eyes turned emerald green. "Imagine if he was secretly ruling the world! So cool. Think he'd give me America? Or a killer pygmy puff? Ooo, how about both!"

"I want France." Victoire said huffily at Teddy's side. She turned to Fleur. "Maman, can Uncle Harry give me Paris?"

"You'll have to ask him." Bill replied absently while he tried to comfort his still-upset wife. "Fleur, I swear those things aren't true."

"But 'Arry was only a liddle boy!" The blonde beauty wailed, clutching Louis and a surprised Dominique to her. "Those 'orrible monsters. Let us see how they like playing with fire!"

Bill scooted away from his wife's transforming feathery skin and piercing stare. "Err, love?"

"I'm tired of waiting! Do you 'ear me?" Fleur cried, anger and sadness making a volatile mix. Dominique took the opportunity to escape her mum, clutching onto an annoyed Victoire. Teddy was likewise trying to tug away from his Gran's sudden hug. "Why are we sitting around?"

"Finally!" Angelina joined the shout, drawing her wand while also hugging a squirming Fred Jr. to her. "Privet Drive?"

George gave an oddly menacing smile, swinging his feet off the table. "I'll grab some supplies. How many fireworks will we need? I actually do have some evil pygmy puffs if anyone—"

"Sit down!" Percy cut in as half the room started to stand with more than a few cries for homicide. "Yes, we all want to murder the Dursleys. But shouldn't we first find out, from Harry, what they've actually done?"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Perce." Audrey waved her husband's comments aside. She then turned to her siblings-in-law, an eager light in her eyes. Like the other mums, she was tightly holding onto her daughter. "Should we burn down the Prophet or Privet Drive first?"

"Privet Drive, dear." Molly said, her expression one that'd only been seen whilst challenging Bellatrix Lestrange to the death.

"No one's burning down anything!" Hermione cried, her tone shrill enough to drown out the other voices (which was quite an accomplishment in itself). "Honestly, are you all pyromaniacs?"

George shrugged. "I prefer explosions."

"NO BURNING DOWN OR BLOWING UP ANYTHING." The brunette shrieked. "Stop acting like a mob!"

"Look at it logically." Percy tried again, trying to pull the wand from his wife's hand to no avail. "I'm angry as well, but we're cursing Skeeter for telling lies and cursing the Dursleys for being horrible to Harry—which we're basing off of Skeeter's book. See the problem?"

"Percy's right." Arthur nodded with his son. "They're at least somewhat contradictory. We need to calm down and figure out the truth."

"We could do that," Hermione said heatedly, "if Ginny wasn't being ridiculous. You know what, that's it, I'm flooing them. I'll drag Harry back by his ear if I need to!"

"Don't do that." Bill sighed, happy that his wife was back to her non-bird-of-death self. "Let them have some quiet before the storm. Ron's already said this, but we should be able to figure out most of the truth. You two know everything that happened at Hogwarts and Harry gave us plenty of clues about the Dursleys. So Hermione, Ron: what did he ever say about his childhood?"

"Nothing." Hermione huffed. "That's the problem, he's as secretive as they come. At least when it comes to that."

"We know bits and pieces." Ron said slowly. "He hated his relatives and the feeling was mutual. He even blew his aunt up like a balloon once. Something about an evil dog?"

Angelina narrowed her eyes. "Did he tell you on the train ride that he wore hand-me-downs from his cousin and never had presents?"

Ron blinked, aghast. "Wha—how did you—blimey. It was one conversation. Are you telling me that's actually in the book?"

Arthur frowned as his wife's eyes brimmed with tears. "Hermione, have you read it?"

"Unfortunately."

"Why don't you tell us which things mentioned about the Dursleys are clearly not true." Her father-in-law continued.

Hermione bit her lip. For the first time this evening, she seemed more nervous than angry. "Harry didn't have any broken bones, limps, bruises, or cuts when he came to Hogwarts. I would've noticed. I wanted to be friends with both Ron and Harry, you see, so I paid attention. Oh, and he's never 'flinched away' from touches or any such nonsense."

"Skeeter wrote that?" Ron gaped at her, again taken aback. "Maybe this is rubbish after all."

"There were one or two things that were right." His wife hesitated. "Or not 'right', but do have a grain of truth in them. Harry's always been skinny, though never starved. While he's not claustrophobic he's never loved small, closed off spaces. Though who does? None of the three of us have liked that sort of thing since the tent. Besides, Harry's never said anything about a cupboard or—"

"He mentioned that to us earlier." George gave a dark scowl as he clutched his wand. "Implied it was real."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. "What? No. That's not possible. He'd have told us or an adult—oh." Her fingers came up to her lips in realisation. She swirled on her husband, startling him with the crisp movement. "Minerva."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Non-sequitur." He shot back.

"No, Minerva." Hermione insisted. "We went to her about the stone in first year and she didn't believe us, remember? She also took off far too many points and sent us to the forest for breaking curfew. She never listened to our side of the story."

Molly straightened to attention, steam practically rolling from her ears. "She actually sent you to—"

"It happened ages ago, mum." Ron nervously halted the rant, turning back to his wife. "What's the point?"

"The point," Hermione's anxiousness grew as the moments ticked by, "is that Skeeter might be right about something. Harry had no reason to trust any adults. The Dursleys were horrible, Minerva wouldn't listen, Dumbledore was aloof and manipulative, Snape was…Snape, and Quirrel tried to kill him! It isn't shocking that he didn't go to anyone for help. If he needed help, that is."

"What about us!" Ron protested, trying to hide his sinking feeling of doubt. "We'd have listened."

"Not much good we could've done." George piped in. "Remember the bars that summer? Sorry mum, but you didn't believe us."

"Bars?" Molly looked from husband to the book, then back to her sons as realisation dawned. "On his…window. You, you were telling the truth?" The last statement was more of a horrorstruck whimper than a whisper.

George nodded grimly. "Hey, that was our fault. You'd have been mental to believe Fred and me after all the times we exaggerated other things." He shook his head. "Merlin, Harry had the worst luck."

Ron choked back a snort. Hermione's lips twitched in a faint imitation of a smile. "It sometimes seemed like every little thing would go wrong around him, except when it was a matter of life or death."

"If I didn't know better," Ron leaned back in his seat, his amusement filtering away, "I'd have guessed he'd been cursed to have only ridiculous luck. Good thing it evened out after Hogwarts."

"You mean after the Master of Death fiasco." Hermione reminded him, slightly chilling the room with her words.

"Ah," Ron made a face at the memory, "right, after that then. You said the books only go up to our 'seventh year'?"

"If I have it my way, the second one won't even be published." Hermione said with a grim line set in her jaw. "But, yes. Skeeter seems to only be planning on writing up to the Battle of Hogwarts."

A silence cluttered with tension filled the air. Until, that is, Fred decided that they'd been quiet for long enough.

"OI!" He rapped on his canvas, drawing their attention. "Aren't you lot going to dig through those letters? This is an opportune moment to get blackmail on Harrikins. No sense in missing it."

"Right you are." George chuckled, pretending he'd gotten some dust in his eye. He stood up, balancing Fred Jr. on his hip. "I also want to check the book for something. If I remember correctly, our brother-in-law didn't have a handle on his name for the longest time."

"'Are you Harry Potter?'" Fred quoted his past self, a grin on his lips. His voice then went childish and confused. "'Oh, him. I mean, yes, I am.' The wonderful witticisms of the 'boy-with-too-many-hyphens'."

Angelina sniffed but gave a soft smile. "Don't forget him sticking his wand in the troll's nose. I'm stunned you three didn't drive McGonagall into retirement."

Molly narrowed her eyes at her youngest son as the rest began heading back towards the kitchen. "Ronald, we're going to have a long talk soon about all the things you 'forgot' to tell me." Ron wisely edged away, giving nervous glances to everyone else. "That's how you learned levitation? You accepted a duel for your best friend? Why didn't you tell us about the mirror and your worries? My poor boy! A DRAGON BITE? YOU WENT DOWN THE TRAPDOOR AND SACRIFICED YOURSELF?"

"To think that Harry's interrogation will be so much worse." George chuckled, managing to see the humour in his mother chasing a terrified Ron into the kitchen, where the latter accidentally bundled head-first into the pool of letters.


"Da da da da da! Da da da!"

Harry couldn't help but grin, gently pulling the blanket around his squirming son. Extremely squirmy son, that is, so it took a few tries. "Nap time, Jamie. Plenty of time later to make your mum jealous."

"Excuse me?" Ginny said as she walked over, having finished putting Al in the pram. "Odd. I could have sworn he learned to say 'ma' before 'da'. Didn't you sweetie?"

"He's realised his mistake. Right Jamie?" Harry pulled a funny face, making his son giggle as he still tried to escape from the blanket. "We all know who your favourite parent is, don't we."

"Yep," Ginny grinned. Looping her arms around her husband's waist, she rested the side of her face against his back, "his fantastic mum who gives him biscuits."

"And vegetables." Harry pointed out with a smile, massaging the back of her hands with his. Jamie had now tugged the blanket off and was wadding it up in his fists. The wizard contemplated just tying the cloth around him, but figured this would defeat the point about his excellent parenting. Plus, that meant he'd have to relinquish Ginny's embrace. "The boys love me best: I give them flying lessons. Jamie, no chewing on that."

"It's too big for him to swallow, don't worry." She noted. "But flying lessons? You spin them around. I, on the other hand, will give them their first toy brooms."

"Not if I get them first."

"I'd like to see you beat me."

"Or if I allow them to play invisible Quidditch…" he sent a cheeky grin over his shoulder at her.

Ginny mock huffed, pulsing her hands against his. "Are you seriously hinting at giving our kids mystical items?"

"It'd only be one. Anyway, it's a family heirloom." Harry glanced back down to Jamie and was relieved to see that the chewing had fallen into sleepy nods. His voice lowered to a slight whisper. "Completely different thing."

She gave him a look, lifting her head slightly. "You want to give our babies a Deathly Hallow." At this she glanced back down, smiled as her son drifted off to sleep. Unwrapping her fingers from her husbands', she gently straightened the blanket to tuck the toddler back in.

"Only when they're older." Harry partly assured her, before before joining her to look with a soft smile as the toddler rolled over as his eyes closed. "Who'd have guessed. A bit of banter puts him right to sleep. Glad to see we're so interesting."

"Count your blessings." Ginny steered him out of the room. After turning off the lights and flicking on an alert charm, they quietly closing the door to the nursery. They then glanced at each other, smiles fading into tired grimaces. "So. Tea?"

"Sure. Tea, yeah." Harry leaned against the wall, feeling the day catch up to him. "If I say I don't want to talk about it, will it mean much?"

"Of course it will." She replied, walking towards the kitchen. She squeezed her husband's hand as she softly pulled him along. "If you don't want to, you don't have to." She paused, turning to him seriously. "Come on, you know I was acting to help you escape the interrogation."

"I know." He smiled faintly, swishing their enclosed fingers. "Thanks for that."

"But I am here to talk. If you want to. Whenever." Concern lingered over Ginny's words. She hesitated before the next, tightening her grip. "You, you know this isn't going to get better soon."

"I know." Harry repeated with a sigh. "Skeeter's popular. This book's going to be a bestseller whether I like it or not."

Ginny again guided them towards the kitchen, keeping silent. Once there she regretfully detached her hand and moved to the counter. With a swish of her wand, the water was boiling. "It'll be a nightmare when we resurface. With the press conferences, denials, lawsuits—"

"—mess with the aurors, mess with the Prophet, mess with the Ministry, and mess with the whole wizarding world?" Harry counted off before snorting. "Not to mention the family. Since the 'biography' seems like a mix of truths and lies, they won't know what to believe. Means I'll have to read the dratted thing."

"Later." Ginny said firmly, pouring the finished tea and pushing one of the mugs over to Harry. She moved to sit beside him, leaning against his shoulder. "We'll deal with it later. The public, Ministry, and press can do whatever they want. Who cares what they think?"

He took a slow sip. His answer was slow and reluctant. "We should probably care. After all, it is both our jobs. Can't imagine the Prophet will leave you alone. Thanks for the tea, by the way."

"I write about Quidditch. They know better than to bother me about you." She frowned, holding her hot mug to her nose to smell the chai. "The last lifestyle editor who questioned me about my personal life went to the next gala with a pig's nose."

Harry tried and failed to hold back a laugh. "You never told me what she asked."

"You're too innocent, love." Ginny smirked. But she then became more serious, leaning further against her husband. "But that doesn't matter. None of them do when it comes to Skeeter's book. All of us who do matter know who you are, and won't care about the lies."

"It's not only her lies." Harry placed the glass down with a hard, irritated thump. "Skeeter's dragging up things from years ago! I've moved on. Sure, I didn't want people to know. But that's not because I thought it'd 'hurt me' or some nonsense. Those bad memories just don't deserve any importance."

"I get it. We get it." Ginny repeated, voice soothing. She carefully didn't mention that, whatever 'it' was, he was clearly nowhere near over it like he claimed. "All of us just want to help. I know the family can be annoying, but they aren't going to obsess over the past if you don't want them to."

"But they already are! Not you, but," Harry weakly protested, staring down at the tea, "at the shop? They were horrified with learning even a bit of it. Which is ridiculous, they knew my childhood wasn't brilliant. Why the hell would any of it matter? It was years ago!"

"They were surprised." She said gently, setting her cup down. Her arm reached around to give him a half-hug. "We all were. Are."

"There's 'surprised'." He replied tightly, though returned the hug. "Then there's an interrogation. Why do they even want to question me about things that happened before Hogwarts?"

"None of us knew how bad it was." Ginny breathed into his ear, snuggling into the crook of his neck. Her other arm wrapped around to complete the embrace. "I can't speak for anyone else, but I feel awful for not seeing it."

"Don't." Harry brought her closer to him, slowly breathing in her soft scent. "Don't worry and don't feel bad about this. I'm over it, it's long gone. I don't care. I haven't for ages."

"But we do care. I care. Can't you see?" She spoke into his hair. "We're your family. We're supposed to worry, it's our jobs."

"Doesn't mean I have to be questioned." He said grumpily. But he understood and pulled away just enough to look at her. "We don't have to go back immediately?"

"Certainly not this weekend." Ginny's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She sat back into a seat, swallowing another bit of her tea. It was only then that she noticed Harry had been studying her. She turned to him with a questioning glance, one that became more concerned as she saw how he was fighting over his words.

"Do you really want to know?" Harry finally spoke, the question coming out in an uncertain huff. He shook his head, as though surprised he'd said anything. "It's not like it's some great secret, but I don't want to keep things from you. Even if these things haven't mattered in years, which is why I didn't tell anyone. Not Ron, not Hermione…though, they've probably suspected. Okay, maybe not Ron. Probably Hermione."

She nodded in answer (yes, I understand, yes, I'd love to know, yes, my brother's an idiot), intertwining her hand back around his. He sighed and leaned his head against her hair. Time passed. Just as she began to wonder if he'd speak, his quiet breath gave way to soft words.

"Your brothers weren't really exaggerating. The Dursleys were…they hated me." Harry bit out the last part. She leaned closer and wrapped her arm around him, trying not to make her swelling anger too apparent. "They hated magic and made it clear that extended to me. Still, since they never told me I was a wizard, I had no idea growing up why they were like that."

"Back at the shop, it was mentioned the Dursleys put bars on your windows?" Ginny asked hesitantly. "Mum thought it was a joke from the twins. They weren't making it up, were they."

"They were telling the truth. For once." Harry chuckled hollowly. "It wasn't that rare a thing, even. The bars, that is, or something like it. Almost got used to it."

"Used to it? What did they do?" Ginny whispered, her thoughts swirling from one horrible possibility to the next. She struggled against the dread pooling in her stomach. Harry, looking at his wife, realised his mistake.

"Oh hell, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It wasn't that bad." He sighed, annoyed at himself. "I know what Skeeter hinted at but I swear they weren't abusive. Not like what you're thinking." She doubted this was true, but couldn't help but feel a weight lift off her shoulders.

"What did they do?" Ginny repeated, silently daring him to try to lie to her. She thought back to her husband at Hogwarts: the handsome though skinny boy, who had no problems rescuing damsels in distress but was wary of very crowded rooms, who was surprised by the harmony of the Burrow and when her mum insisted he eat more. 'Not abused' her arse. "They starved you." The words slipped out of her lips before she realised that George had previously alluded to it. "You don't like small spaces. Did those monsters lock you up!?"

Harry fidgeted. She instantly turned red (realising she'd hit the bullseye) as he cast her a wary look. "Plenty of people have some claustrophobia. It doesn't have to be a traumatic…look, no cursing the Dursleys. I mean it, this was years ago! I'm over it."

"You clearly aren't." Ginny said angrily, still fingering her wand. "If you don't tell me what happened, never mind the dratted book. I'll go 'question' your relatives myself!"

"What more do you want to know?" Harry said testily, frustration digging into his words. "They despised me! Treated me like dirt while spoiling my cousin rotten. He got two bedrooms, I got the cupboard under the stairs. They told me my parents were drunks and that I was an 'ungrateful little freak'! Think of Sirius' delightful mum, all right? That was my bloody family! That was all I knew!" His breathing was heavy and halting by the end. Ginny got the impression he'd revealed far more than he'd meant to, but she didn't worry about that at the moment.

"Cupboard under the stairs?" She said softly, catching her husband's chin as his expression shifted from enraged to horrified at what he'd said. "Those words you used, they called you that? A—a freak?" Her voice stuttered.

Harry, a lump in his throat, nodded tightly. He didn't trust himself to speak, wishing that the past few hours hadn't happened and that the past remained merely memories to forget.

Ginny breathed out, hiccoughing. She forced herself to calm down, remembering that this must be the last thing he wanted to talk about. "Some vacation this turned out to be." She found and squeezed his hand in silent support.

Harry laughed with a bit of true amusement (though she didn't miss the note of hysteria). "To think it started out so incredible." He shifted his gaze from her's eyes to her stomach. A smile couldn't help but appear. "Let's forget about this mess. No one, not even Skeeter, should be able to ruin this."

Ginny looked down as well, a matching grin forming. The anger wasn't forgotten, but she was happy to follow her husband's lead (for the time being). She let her free fingers hover above her belly, only lightly touching her shirt. "Another one. Potter, why do I let you do this to me?"

"Why Potter, I'm not sure." Harry's grin was finally real. Ginny felt relief spiral through her. "But last time I checked, this took two people."

"Not a word!" She gave a faux groan. "You're not the one who's going to be sick, fat, ugly and—"

"You're always gorgeous and the potion will—"

"—ironically horny for nine months straight!" She stormed over his interruption, though still brightened at this short return to their version of normality. "That's not even mentioning what comes after."

"Labour, early wake-ups, diaper changes, screaming and crying from us and them, while dealing with another round of, 'But I'm your kid and don't want a baby'?"

"Exactly!" She agreed, rubbing her belly. There was a gentle pause. "Another mischievous little boy."

"Or girl." Harry pointed out.

"Or boy." Ginny sent him a look. "Weasleys are infamous for having male munchkins."

"Sure." Harry coughed discreetly, not mentioning that she'd become a touch too obsessed with a movie Hermione had introduced in a previous film night. "Yeah, the Weasleys always have sons. That family would have no idea what to do if they had a girl. Would probably do something barmy like name her 'Ginevra' or something! Imagine that."

"Git." She stuck her tongue out. "What I meant? We're having another boy."

"I vote girl." He swirled the now lukewarm tea. "I have a feeling."

Ginny gasped in fake shock. "Harry Potter's had a feeling, run for the hills!"

"Funny." But neither of them could stop grinning.

"You know I love you." She said flippantly. "So, how about we cast all conversation about Skeeter aside, ignore the fact that it'll now be horrendously awkward to let anyone know I'm pregnant, and debate baby names?"

"God, no. At least for the last." He made a face. "How about we, like planned, have a relaxing family weekend?"

"After all the effort of putting the munchkins down for a nap? No." She shook her head resolutely. "Baby names!"

"Yeah, no. Nope, not happening." Harry's smile slightly faded. "You take far too much pleasure in this. After Al your brothers interrogated me about name-hogging! They still refuse to believe I had nothing to do with it."

"It is fairly unbelievable." Ginny pointed out, her smirk flickering. "After all, what sort of sensible person would believe your protests?"

"Thanks." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, really, thank you for going with Jamie's name. I can't tell you how much it still means to me. But remind me why you refused to name Al 'Arthur'?"

"Because mum and dad don't want anyone named after them." She said, her tone reflecting how oft-repeated this conversation had become.

"But Percy's done that."

"Because it's Percy." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Mum wouldn't stop bawling for ages."

"What about Al's actual name then?" Harry insisted. "I had nothing to do with that. Someone was in labour and threatening to curse off my—appendage—if I didn't go with it!"

"I've already explained this. Numerous times." She repeated, her smirk never leaving. "Imagine having to sit for hours, listening to every insane name Luna could come up with while trying to slurp gurdyroot tea. 'Albus' and 'Severus' were the most normal of the batch. Then my water broke in the middle of the visit and the idiotic mediwitch insisted that our son have a name immediately!"

"That was the only name you could think of?" Harry remained a touch defensive when remembering his—limb's—close call.

"I was under duress, love. Luna had gotten into my head."

"The point is," he was determined not to be thrown off topic, "I'm not going to be blamed for name-hogging again. Your brothers will kill me. Gleefully kill me."

Ginny thought for a moment before grinning. "Lily." She said primly, crossing her arms as though daring her husband to disagree. He could only gape, words struggling out after a pause.

"…that, that defeats the purpose! I mean, thank you, and yes I noticed you mentioned a girl's name, but…" he shook his head while her smirk widened, "no. Nope, not happening. I'm not going through that again. This name would actually get me murdered."

"Lily Luna." Ginny continued, unperturbed by his stubbornness.

"Nope again. You know why? Let me remind you. We aren't using that name because they will kill me. Slowly and brutally. Why aren't you getting this? Or do you want to be a single mum?"

"If it's a girl," she cut in, "it's perfect. Has alliteration and all."

"That's supposed to be a selling point?"

Ginny clicked her tongue in a fake pout. "Some head of an ancient pureblood family you are."

"Half-blood." Harry pointed out, taking a sip of the now cold chai tea before making a face.

"Doesn't matter." She waved this off as he pushed the mug away from him. "The name is sweet, honours your mother and a good friend, and is alliterative. It's perfect. So! Now that's done, we can figure out the actual name for our son. Harry Jr."

"Merlin NO!" Harry prayed she was joking. "Besides, I still don't agree with 'Lily'."

"It's catchy. They're both catchy."

"If we go with that, your brothers will use Unforgivables and set fangirls on me. Fangirls armed with rabid bludgers. All of them riding in on a dragon. Probably an Horntail, knowing Charlie and his bloody humour."

Ginny blinked, inclining her head. "You're so overdramatic."

"They. Would. Murder. Me. Before resurrecting me—don't look like that, the twins could figure something out—and doing it again and again! There are worse things than death, and facing six brothers who think I've hurt their sister tops that list."

"Absolutely melodramatic." She sighed. "Play up the sympathy with Skeeter's slandering. You'll be fine."

"I—" Harry paused to contemplate this. But he then came to his senses and rapidly shook his head, "no, still no! Even aside from getting me repeatedly killed, 'Harry Jr.' is an awful, egoistic name."

"The middle name can be Harry."

"Not happening. I can see what you're thinking, and nope. Don't even try to bring what my dad did into this."

Ginny paused, her next argument neatly derailed. Yet she rallied. "Ronald?"

Harry began to automatically protest before stilling. He was surprised at the half-way decent suggestion. "Not as bad, still not good. Can we just assume it's a girl and go with Li—" he froze, paling as he realised what he'd been about to say.

"Hah!" Ginny beamed in triumphant delight. "Lily Luna it is. I think we're done here."

"Wait, what? Aren't you convinced it'll be a bo…" reality rushed in as another realisation hit. He felt like he'd been blind-sided by a flying Ford Anglia, "ooh…oh. Oh Merlin. You…you…?"

"Me." Ginny grinned, nimbly sipping her frozen tea before spitting it out with gag. She pushed the mug away with a sour look. "Kneazle got your tongue?

"…you planned all of this?" Harry burst out, barely believing it. "I don't…wow. I'm not sure if I'm more impressed or annoyed. You're mental, did you know that?"

"Thank you, and yes, I did. All the best people are." Her smile widened as she wiped off the tea from her lips. "But of course we're having a girl, don't be silly. Maternal instincts never lie. I just wanted to ensure there'd be no fuss over her name and distract you from Skeeter. Two birds and all that."

"You're a genius." Harry said slowly. "Conniving, manipulative, mental, and I'm still not agreeing to 'Lily Luna'."

"Thanks love. Oh, but don't worry. You'll agree." The gleam in Ginny's eyes was, frankly, terrifying. Harry began to reassess whether it'd be more dangerous to go up against her or her brothers.


After the grand escape of Dominique, Victoire, and Teddy (as well as the rescue mission of Louis, Fred, Molly, and Rose from the adults' clutches), the kids high-tailed it upstairs to the attic to do who-knows-what. Andromeda, looking between the laughing children and the still-growing piles of letters, proclaimed herself as their supervisor and ushered the few trailing kids away. The other parents were faintly appeased, though in looking at the mounds of parchment to sort through (as well as the continuing arrival of owls), they all wished they'd been a bit faster to volunteer as child minder.

But, whatever their first doubts, they managed to make the letter sorting partly entertaining. A good portion of this was due to most of the questionably dangerous parchments having already been tossed into the bonfire outside. Most of what was left was well-wishers, Skeeter fans, journalists' queries, and otherwise hilarious responses.

"Listen to this one." Ron failed to bite back his grin, creasing the paper with colour changing ink. "'Dear Harry Potter,' blah blah blah, some stuff about being a fan for years and enjoying the biography, then: 'I realise you must get this question all the time, but I must know. Do all snakes have Spanish accents? Did he get back to Brazil?' Out of all the things you could ask about!"

"Better than this blighter." George humphed before incendioing the parchment and banishing the ashes. "Claims Harry's been practicing dark magic since he was a baby. Figures that's why the first killing curse backfired. Barmy git."

"I have another marriage proposal!" Bill called out from the other end of the pile. "Pictures too, bringing the count up to a round dozen. Huh, maybe it's a good thing Ginny isn't here."

"Especially considering we're up to fifteen 'illegitimate kids'." Percy scowled at a parchment in his hands.

"Thought the count on that was only twelve?" Fred questioned from the portrait, still focussed on finishing the biography.

"Triplets." Percy scoffed, tossing the paper in question to the correct pile. "Triplets who, might I add, are four years younger than Harry and claim to be his sons. The explanation involves a time-turner and plenty of paradoxes: don't ask."

"That's nothing." Angelina snorted, digging through the sea of papers. "The last one I read was two chaps from Cornwall proposing to him—oh, so the count's up to fourteen. Anyway, they actually seem like a nice pair. But have some kinky feti…" she trailed off, realising her father-in-law was raising an eyebrow at her. She coughed, shifting the topic. "Though what really gets me are these offers for adoption. There must be dozens of them! Do they realise he's twenty-seven and has kids of his own?"

"I can't blame them for that." Molly sighed, pausing as she made yet another round of coffee in the small area of the counter they'd managed to clear away. Though she'd missed the earlier part of the conversation, she'd listened in just in time for the last. "That book made it all come back. Not the made up nonsense, of course, but still. The little boy nervously asking about the platform, Percy's notes about how Ron and Harry were following in the twins' footsteps, Ron writing home about his new best friends and asking me to knit another sweater, Minerva's fire call that every Hogwarts' toilet seat cover had gone missing, Ginny hiding one in her closet…" her words dwindled off as she sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I always remember you as children and now, now you're all so big! You've gone through far too much, and I, I'm so proud of you, but it's, it's…"

"Aw, mum." George struggled through the perilous parchment to give his mother a well-deserved hug. "It's all right. See? Plus, now you have oodles of grandkids to spoil and knit sweaters for."

"It's just," Molly reluctantly pulled away from her son to look at the rest of the family, "all these people are reading about Harry at eleven. Just from hearing his story, exaggerated as it is, they're making offers of adoption. Which is silly because it's years too late, but…but…" her eyes again welled with tears, "it shouldn't have been too late. We were there, we could have taken him in!"

"I don't think Ginny would've appreciated that." Fred tried to break the tense atmosphere from up on the wall.

"Yeah," George gratefully took up the joke, "can't imagine she'd be pleased with incest. Horrible thought, really. Though does it count if they aren't blood related?"

"Oh, you two." Molly swatted at George and sent a pointed look at Fred. "Shush! You know what I meant. We could have given the poor boy a proper family."

"We did, mum." Ron said quietly, putting his mound of letters to the side. He glanced at Hermione then turned back to his mother. "Harry been my brother practically since we were eleven. I'm pretty sure he considered the Burrow home soon after that, and as for all of us?" He paused, trying to figure out his next words. "You know his photo album of his parents? I gave him some Weasley family photos at the end of fourth year. He's had them stored in there ever since."

Molly leaned against the counter, trying to regain her balance. "You mean he—"

"Harry considers himself adopted." Hermione spoke breathily, a few tears escaping. Ron reached over to take her hand. "He has since Hogwarts. We knew the Dursleys were rubbish, but it didn't matter. Or at least, not as much as it should have. Because he always had us."

Ron nodded in instant agreement. Arthur moved forward to take his now-sobbing wife in his arms, though he was barely keeping a grip on similar tears.


A/N: Molly Molly Molly. I'm never sure what to make of her. While I love arguing with a friend of mine that the woman is highly flawed (destroying your kids' creations and alienating your daughter-in-law does not a good mum make), part of me wants to squee when picturing her with Harry. For all her faults (but no, I don't go for the crazy Weasley!Bashing), Molly Weasley took an orphan in and became his mother figure without a second thought.

While Molly, like all the adults in Harry's life, could have done more, she arguably did the most to help him. This was when she was under no obligation to do a thing! It wasn't her responsibility, but she still all but adopted him and gave him a place to consider home. For that alone, she's pretty damn awesome.