Set during Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Harry arrives at The Burrow.

Harry Potter does not belong to me.

"Dad?"

"Mmm?" Arthur hummed absent-mindedly, as he looked up from the Daily Prophet to see George hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Do you need help with anything in the shed?"

The three youngest Weasley boys had spent a gruelling morning degnoming the garden. Harry, having never so much as seen a real life gnome, tagged along. While he was greatly intrigued and entertained - at least in the beginning - Fred, George and Ron had known they were in for a morning of torture. Arthur would have felt sorry for them, only he didn't much like the task either, so he couldn't find it in himself to be too upset.

Once their job was done, the boys came traipsing loudly back into the house, scattering to lay claim to showers, snacks and beds. Barely 10 minutes had passed since then and as George lingered in the doorway, Arthur noticed two things. Firstly, his son's hair was still dripping, so he had showered in a hurry and abandoned all thoughts of a well-earned nap. Secondly, his lips were tightly sealed, but his bottom teeth were chewing at his upper lip; a surefire sign that George was feeling troubled.

Not that Arthur needed such a blatant indicator. He knew his children well, and they each had their own outlet where they could enjoy his undivided attention and, when needed, seek his guidance and advice.

From his first steps, Bill had always enjoyed walks with his father. Out in the fresh air around Ottery St Catchpole (or sometimes further afield depending on whether Molly was in earshot to hear the telltale 'crack' of side-along apparition), Bill and Arthur talked about everything and anything. Even now that Bill was of age, both men still cherished their time together.

Charlie's love of all living things was inherited from Arthur. From tending the garden to identifying the insects and animals that made their homes around The Burrow, Arthur patiently taught his son all he knew, and doled out some life lessons along the way. That Charlie was now the one teaching him about proper care of creatures was a source of great pride for the Weasley patriarch.

Percy's thirst for knowledge wasn't licked off a stone either. As Percy's ambitious and studious nature became apparent, Arthur would set aside one Saturday a month to visit the nearest muggle library with his son. There, he would help Percy select books on a variety of topics for them to sit and read together at home. Now that Percy was at Hogwarts, he would write to his father with new facts he had learned or updates on the muggle book he was reading.

Fred bonded with his father over Quidditch. While he enjoyed his brothers' company during a practice game at home, it was really Arthur's keen eye and easy coaching style that Fred valued. Once Fred had tired of batting away the apples thrown at him by Arthur, the two would spend some time just flying together away from the noise of the house. And if Fred ever asked Arthur for his input on some of their more complicated pranks while at a safe altitude, Molly was none the wiser.

Ron's strategic brain was honed through hours of wizarding chess played with his father. Arthur gently coached Ron through his first few games but it wasn't long before he was forced to admit that he was no longer letting Ron win and was in fact struggling to best him. When Arthur received a letter from Albus Dumbledore notifying him of Ron's success with the giant chess set at the end of his first year, Arthur immediately started putting aside any spare knuts, sickles and galleons to get Ron his very own chess set.

Moreso than any of his other children, Ginny loved magic. Before she could even talk, she would reach for Arthur's wand or point at it in his hand until he performed some feat to entertain and delight her. Once she was old enough to see her brothers off to Hogwarts, she would beg her father to teach her. Ginny was younger than her brothers when she first managed to control her accidental magic, though that's not to say it didn't reappear occasionally. She was nine when she first levitated a cup from the table to the sink using Arthur's wand (under his strict supervision of course). She was ten when she expertly pulled off her first bat bogey hex. Ginny swore blind she'd read it in a book, but anyone looking closely enough at Arthur in that moment would have seen a very traitorous, mischievous glint in his eyes.

Of all the Weasley children, George was the one who most resembled his father in temperament. Gentle, kind and intuitive, George spent Sunday mornings helping Arthur in the shed, learning about whatever muggle artefact his father was investigating this week. Arthur taught George things like how to pick a lock with a muggle hairpin and how cars work. In return, George provided information from his muggle-born friends on things like Telephones and Printers.

A sensitive, conscientious soul, and a worrier to boot, George could easily sense his siblings' emotions and often shared his concerns with his father in the safety of the shed. Arthur could still remember George's tears of guilt as he sat at the workbench at the age of 5, recounting the terrified look on Ron's face when his soft, cuddly teddy bear suddenly became a large spider.

So quite aside from any physical manifestation of anxiety, Arthur knew his son was troubled when he asked to retreat to his safe place on a weekday afternoon.

Rising from his seat and draining the last of his now cooled tea, Arthur gestured to his son and, throwing an arm over his shoulder (while he still could - Merlin, when did the children get this tall?) led him to the back door.

"Do you know, I reckon the Anglia could do with a once over," he smirked. "Some people have a tendency to stay on the clutch…"

Arthur knew that whatever was bothering George would come out sooner or later, but after half an hour he was growing worried. Far from the usual chatter they kept up on a Sunday morning, George seemed a bit listless and unresponsive.

"Your mother has left me for Celestina Warbeck," Arthur said from under the bonnet of the car. George was perched on the workbench nearby, surrounded by muggle tools and implements.

"Yeah dad, sounds good," he muttered as he tapped an erratic rhythm onto his lap with the handle of a screwdriver.

Arthur downed tools and stood directly facing his son.

"What's wrong, George?" he asked quietly.

The rhythm stopped and George's breath hitched.

Arthur, with a bit more difficulty than he would ever admit, pulled himself up onto the workbench beside George and waited.

"You know the trick you showed us with the muggle hairpins? How to open their locks?" George began, shakily.

"If your mother asks, no," Arthur chuckled, nudging his son with his elbow.

This elicited a huffed laugh from George and the tension left him for a moment. It quickly returned though, as he tried to phrase his next words carefully.

"I think you should teach Harry," he said.

If Arthur was surprised by this turn in the conversation, he didn't show it. He was surprised however that George was asking him about this, when George himself was perfectly capable of teaching Harry. What's more, surely Harry - having been raised by muggles - was more well-versed in their methods than Arthur was. There was clearly more to this and Arthur needed to get to the bottom of it.

"Of course I can," Arthur said, "but is there a reason Harry might need that particular skill?"

Silence. Then a sniffle. Arthur glanced at his son and his heart clenched as he saw tears rolling down the 13-year-old's face.

"George, son, tell me! What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes widening in concern as he threw his arm around his son and gave a light squeeze.

"The muggles dad. They… they… locked him up," George wept.

The dam broke and through tears, George told his father the full story of their daring rescue early that morning. He found himself telling Arthur about the bars on the window, the empty soup tin and the cat flap. He cried harder still when he recounted picking the lock on Harry's bedroom door and then again on the cupboard under the stairs to retrieve Harry's things.

Now that he had started talking, he couldn't stop, and he told Arthur something he hadn't even told his brothers. While Fred had kept lookout, George had retrieved Harry's belongings from the cobweb infested cupboard.

"There was a mattress in there dad," he sucked in a breath between sobs. "I had to move it over to get Harry's trunk and 'Harry's Room' was written on the wall along with dozens of scratches. Almost like someone was counting down the days."

Arthur's blood had run cold as George told him about the locks. Now, however, it was boiling. He had met Harry for the first time that morning and had immediately taken a liking to him. Strictly speaking, Arthur had taken a liking to the boy as soon as Ron had written home, waxing lyrical about his best friend.

Considering what George had just told him, Arthur was now seeing the signs. Harry was extremely small and skinny for his age. This wasn't genetic; Lily and James were quite tall, and James was broad shouldered. Arthur also noticed that although Harry cleared his plate in record time at breakfast, he never asked for seconds.

What's more, unlike his own unruly brood, whose constant chattering comforted and cheered Arthur like nothing else could, Harry kept quiet until he was directly addressed.

Arthur was not prone to fits of anger but he reckoned he could have easily cast a devastating Crucio at that moment. He knew who he would direct it at, too.

Returning his attention to George, whose tears had slowed and who seemed much lighter for having shared his burden, Arthur stood from the bench to give his son a proper hug.

"Thank you for telling me that George," he said, earnestly. "I know it can't have been easy. I'm so proud of you for helping Harry and for speaking up.

"I know that we normally operate on a 'what happens in the shed, stays in the shed' basis, but I am going to investigate what you've told me and get Harry any help he needs."

George sighed deeply against his father's shoulder.

"Love you dad," he murmured.

"I love you too, son."

The process was a long and arduous one, and Arthur's heart broke a little more every time Harry insisted that "it wasn't that bad" or that he wasn't worth the hassle. A few months, several dozen legal documents, a court hearing and one 'Obliviate' later (Arthur thought it best that Vernon didn't remember their… conversation…), Harry was freed from the Dursleys.

The scene in the shed on Harry's first Sunday officially living in The Burrow was a happier one. Arthur walked in to see George already working away at the bench, brow furrowed and lips pursed in deep concentration. On his father's arrival George looked up, beaming, beckoning him to come closer.

George gave his father a brief 'good morning' hug, and so could feel the sharp intake of breath as he took in George's project.

An ornate, silver clock hand had been clumsily but lovingly etched with Harry's name.

"I thought you could show me how to charm and attach it!" George smiled.

Arthur's "seventh son" met him from his apparition point after work every day; morning or night. Together, they would walk back up to the house, Arthur handing Harry the Daily Prophet, and telling him about his day's work.

Harry would make them both a cup of tea - in the muggle way, filling Arthur in on the goings on at The Burrow as he went - and then they would sit together in the living room and listen to the headlines on the wireless. Harry took the Sport section from the paper, handing the News to Arthur. They read, swapped and discussed.

Harry fit into the family as if he'd always been there. In fact Arthur always joked, after regaling Harry with what limited stories he had about the Potters and their friends, that if the black-haired boy had inherited his mother's colouring instead of his father's, you'd swear he'd been born a Weasley.

Years later when he married Ginny, the Weasley boys claimed that Harry was only doing so to claim the Weasley name. Arthur could have burst with pride that day; partially as he watched the young man he had always counted as a son officially become part of the family. But mostly because the bat bogey hex Ginny levelled at her brothers was the best he'd ever seen.