A small drizzle rained down on top of the roof of a house in Devon. The house looked like each floor had fallen from the sky; had fallen and stayed stacked that way, like the universe had been indifferent about following logic, or gravity. If a normal person could have seen it, they would have pointed, and called their friends over so they could go and see. Perhaps it was a new attraction? A sort of prank house?

If they could have seen it. But, as it was, they could not. Normal people would not even think about what laid behind the hills, because to be able to see the house or even get near it, you needed to have a special characteristic.

You needed to be a wizard. And fortunately for him, Harry Potter was one such man. Well… boy, to be more exact, so he had the privilege of being able to see the odd masterpiece that was the Weasleys' home. The Weasleys' was always busy and noisy in some way or another. The Burrow, which was the name of the house, was always groaning and creaking, and loud stomps could be heard from when everybody ran up and down the stairs. So there Harry sat on the couch in the sitting room, and he was loving this place. He could not stare long enough at anything on sight. He took in all of the small bits and odds whenever his eyes turned to. From the completely brilliant clock that showed the family's whereabouts, to the pots that cleaned themselves, to the gnomes scurrying back into the garden, to the weird jars and pitchers filled with weird substances, to the table with mismatched chairs, to the comfortable yet worn couch he was sitting on. Let us just say, Harry simply could not get enough of this place.

He knew Ron was uncomfortable. He knew it because whenever Harry would stare for too long, Ron would start to shift in his seat, and his ears would turn red, and even though he tried to hide it from Harry, Harry knew. He had tried to control himself; he didn't want to make Ron uncomfortable, but it was all so interesting. It wasn't just the carrots chopping themselves in the kitchen counter, nor the garden, nor the clock. He had known about magic for a year, and he was curious, yes; but there was something about The Burrow that Harry had never met before. Ron would try to distract him, but eventually, Harry's eyes would return to the uncut grass outside, or the marks in the dining table, or a badly concealed drawing (that apparently Fred and George had done when little) on the sitting room wall. Or his ears would alert him and pull him into an argument between Percy and the twins, or Ron's voice carrying upstairs from the kitchen: "Mum-! I'm fine, mum! You should really look at Ginny, though-she's the one that got scraped worse-No, she's trying to hide it but-!"

Harry knew he was upsetting Ron somehow with his attitude, but he didn't know what to do about it, so he just tried to act more like a normal kid. He tried to be the best guest as possible: He got downstairs when he was asked to, ate when it was time for breakfast, lunch and supper, and he offered to do chores, but Mrs. Weasley never let him do anything. To be quite honest, Harry was feeling a little awkward about it too. The Weasleys were so good to him, and he felt like he was being a burden. For the first time in his life, Harry felt bad about not doing anything around the house, and every time he was (quite reluctantly, too) asked by Mrs. Weasley to do something, as big or small as it would be, Harry felt some sort of relief. With this routine, it was actually a long time before anything was even done about this awkwardness.

The sky had started to turn soft pink and lavender over Ottery St. Catchpole, in Devon.

They had been woken up by the ghoul up in the attic, and the ruckus had been going on for an hour now, so both Harry and Ron had been tossing and turning without being able to go back to sleep. Harry saw the outline of his friend's bright red hair move out of the corner of his eye as he examined the ceiling with interest.

Ron turned his whole body around so he could face Harry, who laid on the makeshift bed half a meter away from him. "Harry-" he whispered. "Do you really think-?" and he stopped.

Harry groaned as he sat up. "I do think, thank you, Ron" Harry smiled jokingly, but Ron didn't respond for a while, and Harry got a weird feeling of vague alarm. "Ron?"

Ron sat up and started massaging his left shoulder. Harry knew Ron's shoulders and knees had been giving him occasional pain.

"Do you want me to call Mrs. Weasley upstairs?"

Ron left his shoulders alone. "No,-" Ron said, momentarily alarmed. He hesitated. "Listen, Harry, you can tell me the truth."

"The truth? About what?" Now, he was intrigued.

Ron gave a long sigh and laid back down on his bed. "You can tell me. I know you said it was brilliant before, but I think you changed your mind." Ron waved his hand around like he was saying 'all this' "I saw the house you live in "

Harry laid back down on the bed. "Ron, I told you! Your house is brilliant." Harry yawned "Besides, I hate that house" Harry turned over. "I wish I lived in a place like your home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They stayed quite for a little bit, and then Ron sat back up.

"But you're always staring at everything and looking so awkward!"

The black haired boy didn't turn around, but he let out a couple of "uh..." "er...".

"I didn't want to be… Uh… getting in the way?"

Ron could tell the question had made Harry uncomfortable, but his friend answered him anyway.

"Your family is great though." Said Harry in a whispering voice. Ron made a loud sound of disbelief. "I wish my family was like yours."

Ron, laughed as he turned over.

"Well… I don't mind sharing, you know."

Harry smiled widely.