As they arrived at Bones Manor, Harry stumbled forward, landing unceremoniously on his bottom in the main sitting room. He blinked, trying to steady himself as the room spun slightly. The grand space was warm and inviting, with high ceilings and enough space to house ten people comfortably, though he barely noticed.
Still dizzy and feeling nauseated, he glared up, squinting at the blurry figure in front of him. Through his disorientation, he assumed it was Amelia.
"So help me God, Amelia, if you do that again…" he muttered darkly, pointing a shaky finger before doubling over as his stomach churned. Without warning, he threw up, the sudden movement only making his nausea worse.
The figure in front of him stepped back quickly, and as his vision cleared, he realized it wasn't Amelia but a shorter redhead, about his age, staring at him with wide, startled eyes.
Harry blinked as a glass of water was suddenly thrust into his hand by the real Amelia, who stood beside him with an amused expression. He took a sip, feeling the coolness calm his stomach, then glanced over at the younger redhead.
"Sorry for mistaking you for this… well, this bitch of a woman," he muttered, nodding toward Amelia and managing a half-smile.
Amelia rolled her eyes, and without missing a beat, she gave him a light smack on the back of his head. She immediately winced, her hand throbbing as she muttered to herself, "Metal bones… right."
"Language, Harry," she said, giving him a pointed look. "You're going to have to learn a bit of respect if you're staying here."
Harry just smirked, unfazed, while the redheaded girl stifled a giggle, clearly caught between surprise and amusement at their banter. Amelia sighed, wondering what she'd gotten herself into, but a faint smile betrayed her own amusement.
Harry looked over at the redhead, extending his hand, still slightly keeled over from his disorientation. As he reached out, he almost stepped right into what would have been his dinner—had Amelia not swiftly vanished it with a flick of her wand, just as she'd demonstrated at the Leaky Cauldron when she had "vanished" his whiskey bottle.
"Harry Potter," he introduced himself, giving the girl a half-hearted but sincere nod. "Your aunt and some of her underlings saved me from torture." He burped, then took another sip of water, trying to regain his composure. "Nice to meet you."
The girl's cheeks flushed slightly as she looked down at his extended hand, hesitating before reaching out, her movements careful and reserved. Her gaze flicked nervously to Amelia for reassurance before she returned her eyes to Harry.
"S-Susan Bones," she replied quietly, her voice soft and slightly shaky. She gave his hand a quick, tentative shake, her grip light and delicate. She tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear as she offered him a shy smile, clearly trying her best to be polite, despite her obvious nerves.
"Thank you… Aunt Amelia, for… you know, the heads-up," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flitted between Harry and her aunt, as if looking for reassurance.
Amelia's expression softened as she looked at her niece. "Susan, Harry's going to be staying with us for a little while," she explained gently, placing a reassuring hand on Susan's shoulder. "You'll likely see each other often, so don't feel shy around him. And Harry," she added, turning back to him with a raised brow, "try to keep things… civil."
Harry smirked slightly, nodding at Susan. "Don't worry. I'm only half as bad as she makes me out to be." He took another swig of water, eyeing her with a hint of curiosity.
Susan's smile grew just a little, though her cheeks stayed pink as she looked at him. "It's… nice to meet you too, Harry," she said, her voice just above a whisper, glancing away shyly. Amelia looked between the two with a faint smile, relieved at the start of what she hoped would be a peaceful stay—though with Harry involved, she knew to expect the unexpected.
Harry barely managed to get the words out as he let himself slide down onto the floor, sprawling out on the soft carpet of the sitting room. "I'm gonna nap for a bit. Wake me in… whenever…" he muttered, his voice already fading as he settled his head against the floor.
Within moments, he was snoring lightly, his exhaustion from the journey and recent events finally catching up with him. Amelia and Susan exchanged a look, both surprised by his abrupt decision to just… nap right there in the middle of the room.
Amelia shook her head, suppressing a smile. "Well, I suppose that's one way to handle things," she murmured, her voice touched with amusement.
Susan giggled softly, her shyness easing a bit as she watched Harry sleep with an expression of curiosity. "Is he… always like this?" she asked, glancing at her aunt.
Amelia chuckled. "From what I've seen so far, yes. Unpredictable as they come." She placed a gentle hand on Susan's shoulder. "Come on, let's let him rest for a while. He's been through more than enough for one day."
The two quietly moved out of the room, leaving Harry to his well-earned nap, the room settling into peaceful silence around him.
Harry stirred awake as though he hadn't just spent twelve hours sleeping on the floor. He sat up groggily, spotting a glass of water beside him and a note in Amelia's handwriting, resting next to the "magic bag" that Dumbledore had crafted for him. Harry instinctively checked the bag, finding his money still safely inside, then picked up the note, reading it carefully.
"Harry, the water here is yours for when you wake up. When you do, please find Susan. She should be in her room—down the corridor, second bedroom on the left. She's waiting for you.
I have matters that require my attention at work, so I won't be back until most likely tomorrow morning.
Please try to trust Susan as you've begun to trust me.
—Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Harry chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "I guess even she can be a bit pretentious," he muttered, though without any malice. With a small sigh, he grabbed the water, drained the glass, and headed down the corridor. Stopping outside the second door on the left, he gave it a firm knock.
Inside, there was a sudden squeal of surprise that made Harry wince, his enhanced hearing protesting the sharp sound. He heard a frantic rustling, the distinct sound of someone tripping over things, followed by a few hurried footsteps. Leaning against the wall, Harry chuckled, realizing this might take a little longer than he'd expected.
Two minutes later, the door finally opened, and Susan stepped out, blushing furiously. "S-sorry, Heir Potter… my room was a mess…" she said in a small, embarrassed voice.
Harry, already tired of the constant formalities, gave her a flat look. "Please, just call me Harry."
Susan's face lit up with a shy but genuine smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you, Harry," she said softly, her tone warm.
"Amelia said to find you when I wake up. Why?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
Susan's expression brightened as if she'd just remembered something exciting. "Oh! Right!" she said, and without another word, she darted back into her room, nearly taking the door off its hinges in her rush. She reappeared moments later, clutching a small bag and trying to tug Harry toward the fireplace. However, she quickly found that pulling him was like trying to move a statue—he didn't budge an inch.
Harry resisted, planting his feet firmly. "Now hold on just a damn minute," he said, his tone stern. "Where are you taking me?"
Susan looked up at him, slightly flustered but quickly recovering. "To my friend Hannah Abbott's house!" she explained, her excitement returning. "We're all going to spend the day together."
Before he could object, she darted over to the fireplace, grabbed a small handful of powder from a bowl on the mantel, threw it in, and called out, "Abbott Hall!" She vanished in a swirl of green flames.
Harry stared, still unnerved by the sight of someone willingly setting themselves on fire. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself that this "Floo travel" didn't actually burn people, despite how it looked. Mimicking Susan's actions, he grabbed a pinch of the powder, stepped into the fireplace, and called out, "Abbott Hall!" just as clearly. As the green flames engulfed him, he braced himself, trying to ignore the instinctive fear of fire as he prepared for the strange new sensation of magical travel.
As Harry landed in Abbott Hall, his knees hit the stone floor with a metallic clang, the sound echoing sharply through the room. He lifted his gaze, scanning his surroundings. Standing nearby was a young girl, about his age, staring at him with wide eyes—her attention focused on the strange metallic sound his knees had made on impact.
Behind her stood two adults, their wands raised defensively, shock and suspicion evident on their faces. They were clearly unprepared for Harry's sudden arrival. They exchanged wary glances before turning their attention to him, assessing him as a potential threat.
Susan quickly stepped forward, inserting herself between Harry and the Abbotts, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Wait! Please, he's with me! He's not dangerous!" she insisted, her tone pleading, but they ignored her, determined to shield their daughter from any perceived danger.
With a swift flick of her wand, Mrs. Abbott cast a spell intended to gently move Susan aside. But Harry, misinterpreting the intent, stepped in front of her, his instincts flaring as he braced himself against the spell, which bounced harmlessly off him, his enhanced weight and metal-infused body making him immovable.
A cold fury flickered in Harry's eyes as he glared at the two adults. "Point your wand at her again, and I'll break it in two," he growled, his voice low and unwavering.
The Abbotts recoiled, exchanging alarmed looks, their initial confidence shaken by Harry's sheer presence. Before either could respond, Susan, trying to ease the tension, hurriedly blurted out, "He's Harry Potter!" Her words came out louder than she'd intended, her voice edged with desperation.
The Abbotts froze, their eyes flicking back to Harry, finally registering the scar on his forehead. Their expressions softened, eyes widening with the recognition of who he was. Mrs. Abbott's hand flew to her mouth, while Mr. Abbott's grip on his wand loosened, though his unease remained.
"Oh… I… forgive us," Mrs. Abbott stammered, her voice unsteady. "We… we didn't expect anyone else…"
Harry's glare didn't soften. "Doesn't matter who I am," he said coldly. "Susan's in my care. Her aunt saved me from hell and then some. She's protected, and that includes from you."
The Abbotts flinched at his words, visibly startled by the level of protection Harry seemed to offer. They attempted to recover, their postures and tones shifting to a more conciliatory stance.
"Well, we're very sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Potter," Mr. Abbott said, forcing a tight smile. "You must understand we were only being cautious…"
Harry scoffed, his gaze unrelenting. "Cautious? Doesn't matter. You'd best remember who's under whose protection," he said, voice like steel. Then, with a final glare, he added, "And for the record? Go fuck yourselves."
The air in the room became tense and silent, the Abbotts stunned and speechless at his blunt, unfiltered response. Susan's cheeks flushed, but she quickly stepped closer to Harry, standing by his side. Despite the harshness of his words, she seemed comforted by his presence.
Hannah, who had watched the exchange in stunned silence, glanced at her parents, then back at Harry, her expression full of awe. "You… really are Harry Potter," she said, her voice quiet with wonder.
Harry didn't respond to her directly, but he gave a small nod, his expression softening just slightly as he took in the girl's open curiosity.
Mrs. Abbott, still visibly shaken, cleared her throat, trying to find a way to move past the harsh exchange. "Perhaps we should… sit and have some tea?" she suggested hesitantly, a note of pleading in her voice.
Susan gave Harry a gentle nudge, encouraging him to follow her lead. After a long pause, Harry relented, allowing himself to be led into the sitting room, though his gaze remained watchful as he kept close to Susan.
Once they settled, Mrs. Abbott poured tea, her hands trembling slightly as she placed a cup in front of Harry. He accepted it without a word, taking a sip as he glanced around, the tension in his shoulders still apparent.
"So," Mrs. Abbott ventured, her voice tentative, "you'll be attending Hogwarts soon, yes?"
Harry nodded, giving her a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah, seems that way," he replied tersely, his gaze shifting to Hannah, who sat beside him with an expression full of quiet fascination.
Hannah leaned forward, clearly excited. "I'm going to Hogwarts too! My parents are magical, so I've always known," she said, trying to bridge the tension with her enthusiasm.
Harry managed a faint, almost reluctant smile. "Should be… interesting, I guess," he replied, his tone softening just a bit as he met her gaze.
Susan, encouraged by the gradual easing of tension, joined in. "Hannah and I were talking about what it'll be like to finally use magic," she said, her voice shy but hopeful.
As the conversation shifted to Hogwarts, Harry found himself relaxing, the animosity from earlier slowly fading as he listened to the girls' excitement about starting school. Though he kept his guard up, their genuine enthusiasm and curiosity began to wear down his defenses.
The Abbotts, meanwhile, watched in silence, clearly still rattled by the encounter but relieved at the softer atmosphere. Mrs. Abbott offered a tentative smile, finally beginning to understand the fierce loyalty Harry had to those he cared about.
As the conversation flowed, Harry allowed himself to feel a hint of something new—a glimmer of what life might be like beyond the constant battles and distrust, surrounded by people who, despite everything, were starting to become a strange, tentative sort of family, he didn't know how to process it, so he took it one step at a time.
As the Abbott parents stood up in unison, something in Harry snapped to attention. Without a second thought, his claws extended with a sharp snikt, metallic and fierce. He moved in front of Susan, placing himself as a shield between her and the Abbotts, his eyes blazing with a cold, steely determination. He didn't fully understand why he'd done it, but his instincts screamed that he was here to protect, to defend—his mind defaulting to the only role he'd known for six long years: a weapon, a tool, something to be used and controlled.
The room fell silent, the adults frozen as they took in the sight of this eleven-year-old boy, standing like an immovable wall, claws extended, his stance unwavering as he blocked Susan from view.
Susan, shocked, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Harry… it's okay," she whispered, her voice soft, but he didn't budge.
His muscles tensed, his stance ready, every fiber of his being on high alert. He didn't understand anything beyond the need to protect, the deeply ingrained instinct to shield and fight if he had to.
The Abbotts raised their hands, palms open, and Mr. Abbott spoke cautiously, his voice low and careful. "Harry, we mean no harm. We were simply standing. There's no danger here… we only wanted to offer you and Susan a bit of a tour around the house. You're safe here."
Harry's gaze remained fierce, his claws still bared, but his breathing slowed as he took in the words, the softer tones, and the lack of any immediate threat. He stole a quick glance at Susan, who looked at him with calm, reassuring eyes, her hand still lightly resting on his shoulder.
Slowly, painfully, he retracted his claws, though he kept his stance firm. "If you try anything…" he warned, his voice like steel, the underlying message clear.
Mrs. Abbott nodded, her face filled with sympathy and a quiet understanding. "We understand, Harry," she said gently, choosing her words carefully. "You've had to protect yourself for a long time. But here… you're among friends."
Harry swallowed, not entirely trusting the sentiment, but he gave a faint nod, the tension easing just slightly. He remained close to Susan, though, his eyes wary and watchful. Inside, he was conflicted; he wanted to believe their words, to feel safe, but his instincts told him that such trust could be dangerous.
As he stood down, the Abbotts exchanged a worried glance, realizing just how deeply Harry's scars ran.
The Abbotts, visibly shaken but determined to smooth things over, took a tentative step forward. Mrs. Abbott raised her hand in a friendly gesture, her expression softening as she tried to meet Harry's gaze.
"I'm Matilda Abbott," she said gently, offering him a tentative smile. "And this is my husband, Edgar. We're… well, we're aware of some of your story, Harry. The Daily Prophet has kept us all informed over the years." She paused, looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and admiration, as though she already knew everything he'd been through.
Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, the mention of the Daily Prophet putting him on edge. He didn't care for the sympathetic looks that bordered on pity, nor did he appreciate the assumption that they could know what his life had been like.
"You don't know my story," he said bluntly, his voice flat, though there was an edge of resentment in his tone. "Whatever they told you… it's not the whole truth."
Edgar's face softened, his gaze steady but respectful. "Of course," he replied, nodding in understanding. "We didn't mean to assume. We just wanted to offer a welcome."
Harry kept his stance firm, saying nothing, though he felt the light pressure of Susan's hand on his shoulder, grounding him slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased, if only a little, though his eyes stayed hard.
Matilda gave a small, nervous smile, her hands clasped in front of her. "Thank you for looking out for Susan," she said, glancing at the girl with a warm, motherly look. "She's been through a lot, losing her parents so young. It's nice that she has friends she can trust."
Susan's cheeks flushed as she glanced shyly up at Harry. "He's… good at that," she murmured softly.
Matilda sighed in relief, sensing the atmosphere beginning to calm. "Why don't we start over?" she suggested. "We just wanted to welcome you properly, and if there's anything we can do to make you feel comfortable, just let us know. We're here as friends, not… the press," she finished with a chuckle.
Harry gave a slow nod, though he kept his expression guarded. He wasn't about to trust them based on words alone, but for Susan's sake, he allowed the moment to settle.
As they walked around Abbott Hall, Hannah led the way with excitement, pointing out what she called "the good spots," a term that made Susan giggle and Harry raise a skeptical eyebrow. Despite himself, he found himself paying attention, watching the way sunlight filtered through the grand old windows, and taking in the comfortable, lived-in feel of the house.
They moved to a long hallway with tall windows, overlooking the garden. Harry caught sight of a figure outside, and his posture stiffened. He squinted, narrowing his eyes cautiously. "What… is that?" he asked, his voice low and wary, as if expecting a threat.
Hannah and Susan exchanged a glance, and then both girls burst into laughter. Even Matilda chuckled, and Edgar shook his head with a smile. "That's just my father," he explained, amused. "He's out there gardening. Probably lost in his own world, as usual."
Harry blinked, feeling the tension slip away as he watched the man's silhouette moving through the garden beds, gently pruning flowers. Realizing he'd overreacted, Harry gave a slight, sheepish nod.
"Right," he muttered, giving the window a final glance before turning back to the group, trying to play it off. "Guess it's just… quiet out here."
The tour continued, with Hannah enthusiastically pointing out cozy nooks and favorite spots, her energy seemingly boundless. Susan followed, occasionally glancing back at Harry to make sure he was keeping up. Despite himself, Harry found he was enjoying the peaceful feel of the place, though he still kept his guard up.
Eventually, they reached the back garden, a lush area filled with well-kept flower beds, winding paths, and a small fountain surrounded by colorful blooms. An elderly man, hunched with age but still moving with surprising purpose, was kneeling by a flower bed, trimming the edges with a pair of well-worn shears.
Hearing their footsteps, he looked up, squinting as he took in the group. His face broke into a warm, wrinkled smile as he spotted Edgar and Matilda, but then his gaze landed on Harry. He straightened slightly, curiosity filling his gaze.
"Now, when did you two decide to have a second one?" he asked in a raspy voice, glancing between Edgar and Matilda with a hint of mischief in his eyes.
Edgar chuckled, shaking his head. "Dad, this is Harry. He's a friend of Susan and Hannah's—he's just visiting."
The old man nodded slowly, eyeing Harry with mild amusement. "Ah, I see," he said, his tone playful. "I was about to congratulate you on keeping it quiet all these years."
The group chuckled, and even Harry managed a small grin, feeling a bit more at ease around the older man's easygoing demeanor.
A sudden memory flashed through Harry's mind, vivid and unexpected. He saw himself as a baby, nestled in the arms of an elderly man who held him with both care and rough humor. Fleamont, his mum had called him—his grandfather.
Flashback
A baby Harry giggled as the old man playfully tapped his nose, each poke earning a delighted squeal. Fleamont Potter, grizzled and tired from the war, had a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked at his son and daughter-in-law with mock exasperation.
"When the fuck did you two have time to conceive this small brat?" he grumbled, though the warmth in his tone and the way he cradled Harry told a different story. "We're in the middle of a damn war, not a bachelor party." He paused, looking down at Harry with a grin, then back at James and Lily. "Actually, better question—how the fuck did you keep this little guy a secret from me of all people?"
Baby Harry cooed, grasping at Fleamont's finger, blissfully unaware of the harsh language but somehow feeling the love in his grandfather's gruff words.
End Flashback
The memory faded, but the feeling lingered, leaving Harry with a faint smile. He realized, in that moment, where he'd picked up his "foul" language. His grandfather's humor and unfiltered speech had clearly left a mark, one that ran deeper than he'd ever known.
Harry, feeling a strange sense of connection, raised his hand to the old gardener. The elderly man's eyes lit up with surprise, but he graciously extended his own hand, giving Harry's a firm but warm shake. He looked at Harry with an amused curiosity, sensing a depth in the boy that seemed unusual.
"What'd I do to earn that honor, then?" the gardener asked with a grin, not noticing the way the Abbotts and Susan stared at the two of them, momentarily dumbfounded by Harry's rare, open gesture.
Harry gave a faint smile, his gaze steady. "You helped me remember… a memory I thought I'd lost." His words were simple, but there was a warmth in his voice, an appreciation he hadn't expected to feel.
The old man chuckled, oblivious to the impact he'd had. "Well, you're very welcome then, young man!" he replied cheerfully, giving Harry a small pat on the shoulder before returning to his gardening.
As Harry watched him work, he couldn't shake the feeling that the old man bore a faint resemblance to his own grandfather, Fleamont Potter, with his sharp eyes and playful spirit. The memory brought a gentle warmth to his heart, and for the first time in years, he let a genuine smile spread across his face.
"Thank you, old man," Harry murmured, his voice quiet but sincere, watching the gardener chip away at some hedges with practiced hands.
The gardener laughed, glancing over at his granddaughter. "Well, Hannah, you'd better find yourself a husband like this young man here," he said with a wink, entirely serious. "A lad who'll treat his elders with respect—and keep things interesting, too!"
Hannah's face turned red, while Susan stifled a laugh, watching as Harry rolled his eyes with a faint smirk. The group continued on, the atmosphere lighter now, as if Harry's rare smile had lifted a weight from them all.
Eventually, they made their way back inside and headed up to Hannah's room. Before they entered, Mrs. Abbott reminded them to keep the door open since Harry was with them. The three eleven-year-olds shuffled into the room, and Harry took in his surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the walls and decor.
"Too much yellow," he muttered, eyeing the bright, sunlit room with mild discomfort. But after a few moments, he grew accustomed to it, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed.
After a beat, he looked at Susan, his eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. "So, what exactly am I doing here? Clearly, you wanted me here for a reason, Susan."
He'd hit the nail on the head, and Susan's cheeks flushed a light pink as she looked away, caught off guard. "Well… I, um… I thought…" she stammered, fiddling with her hands.
Hannah gave her a little nudge, smiling encouragingly. "Go on, Susan. Just tell him."
Susan took a breath, gathering her thoughts. "I thought… I thought it might be nice to just… have you spend a day with us, like friends do. You know, normal things. Not… not just magic or training or…" Her voice trailed off, her gaze flicking to the floor. "I thought maybe you'd like it."
Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. The concept felt unfamiliar, almost foreign, but the sincerity in her expression softened him.
"So… you wanted me to hang out?" he asked, his tone slightly incredulous but softened by a hint of curiosity.
Susan nodded, looking up at him shyly. "Yes. I know you've… probably never done anything like this. And I thought… maybe you'd want to know what it's like to just… be around people."
Harry considered her words, letting them settle in. A flicker of something he hadn't felt in years—warmth, maybe even a hint of belonging—broke through his usual guarded demeanor. With a small shrug, he gave her a faint, almost reluctant smile.
"Alright, then," he said quietly, glancing around the room. "Guess I can try it out."
Settling down next to the two girls, his curiosity winning over his usual reluctance. He looked between them, a slight frown of concentration on his face as he tried to piece together what this "hanging out" business actually meant.
"So… what do people do when they 'hang out'?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
Hannah and Susan exchanged a look, each stifling a small laugh. Susan tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and gave him an encouraging smile. "Well, it can be anything, really. We talk, maybe play games… just, you know, enjoy being around each other."
Hannah chimed in, her eyes lighting up. "We could play a game! Or we could tell stories? Or… oh, we could just talk about what Hogwarts will be like!"
Harry blinked, still trying to wrap his head around the concept. "So… talking? Playing games? That's it?"
Susan nodded, her smile soft. "It's not about what you do—it's more about who you're with. Just… relaxing. No pressure, no expectations."
Harry thought about that for a moment, feeling a strange sense of relief and unease at the same time. He'd spent so long on edge, trained to always be prepared, that the idea of just being felt oddly intimidating. But the warmth and openness from the two girls made him want to give it a shot.
"Alright," he said, his voice softening. "Guess I'll give it a go. So, what game are we playing?"
As the laughter died down, Susan managed to catch her breath, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, Harry," she said, grinning. "That's just a house-elf! They help with chores and things around magical households. They only do tasks we ask of them, that's all. They're harmless, really."
Harry's expression remained cautious, his gaze shifting from Susan to the spot where the creature had disappeared. "So… like a weapon?" he asked quietly, almost to himself. "Like… me…?"
Susan's face softened, understanding the weight behind his question. She shook her head adamantly. "No, Harry. Not like that at all." Wanting to reassure him, she pulled out her wand, focusing intently as she called, "Mimsy!"
With a faint pop, a small house-elf with large, round eyes and a neatly pressed uniform appeared beside her, looking up at Susan with a beaming smile. "Yes, Miss Susan?" the elf asked, bowing deeply.
Susan glanced at Harry, then turned back to Mimsy. "Mimsy, could you explain to Harry here… do house-elves like working with wizards?"
Mimsy's face brightened, her big eyes practically glowing with pride. "Oh, yes, Miss Susan! Most house-elves are very proud to work for good wizards and witches! It's an honor to help. Mimsy loves her work here very much!" She looked at Harry, nodding vigorously. "We're not like weapons, sir. House-elves choose to serve—it makes us very happy."
Harry relaxed a little, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "So… you want to do it?" he asked, still sounding skeptical but relieved.
Mimsy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir, we do! A house-elf's greatest pride is to serve well. It's what we're meant to do!"
Harry's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he watched the cheerful elf bow politely and disappear with another pop. He looked back at Susan, his gaze a mixture of relief and gratitude.
"Alright… guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Edgar and Matilda, who had watched the exchange with quiet understanding, nodded approvingly. "Not everything in the magical world is like what you've been through, Harry," Edgar said gently. "Some parts of it are… simpler. Even joyful."
Harry gave a small nod, finally settling back down into his chair. "I'll try to remember that." And, feeling a little more at ease, he reached for his fork, allowing himself to enjoy the warmth and comfort of the Abbott family dinner.
After the meal, Harry and Susan bid their goodbyes to the Abbott family and returned to Bones Manor. The moment they stepped inside, Susan stumbled to the nearest sofa and flopped onto it, completely drained after a day of endless games and laughter. Harry watched her with a smirk, shaking his head slightly. Without a second thought, he leaned down, picked her up by her arms, and lifted her off the sofa with a steady, unceremonious grip.
"Come on," he muttered, as Susan mumbled something incoherent, barely awake. He carried her to her bedroom, setting her down on her bed and pulling the covers over her before heading back to the living room.
With a sigh, Harry stretched out on the sofa Susan had tried to nap on, letting his mind drift over the events of the day. It had been strange—being part of something so normal, feeling the warmth of a family, and spending time without a sense of danger lurking nearby. He felt a flicker of contentment, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
As his eyes grew heavy, he heard a faint sound, the familiar whoosh of the Floo network activating. A delicate scent of perfume filled the room, and he recognized it instantly as Amelia's. His senses relaxed, and he settled back into the cushions, knowing there was no threat nearby. The familiar scent and the soft sounds of the Manor made him feel secure, and he drifted into a peaceful sleep, comforted by a sense of safety he was still learning to accept.