CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Burrow

The next three days passed as smoothly as they ever could in the Dursley household. Uncle Vernon, buoyed by his recent success in closing a business deal, was in an unusually good mood. This translated to him retreating to his usual tactic of pretending Harry didn't exist, which Harry found to be a significant improvement. During this time, Harry had caught up on replying to his friends' letters, explaining the delay and promising to share more when they met.

Ron had extended an invitation for the rest of the gang to visit the Burrow, but not everyone could make it. Daphne declined with a promise to explain when they saw each other, and Hermione, vacationing with her parents, assured Harry, she'd meet him in Diagon Alley for school shopping. With his uncle's cheerful mood lingering, Harry figured the timing was as good as it would ever be to ask for his school trunk and books back.

The opportunity presented itself after breakfast on the fourth day. Approaching his uncle, Harry kept his tone measured as he explained, "I'll need my things back. I've been invited to spend the rest of the summer at my friend's place."

Vernon's face darkened immediately, and his jovial mood vanished in an instant. "Absolutely not!" he barked, his mustache twitching with anger. "You think we're just going to let you gallivant off with those... those freaks? We already tolerate you going to that blasted school, being taught by that crackpot! And now you expect to come and go as you please from the roof we so graciously provide?"

His rant escalated, filling the room with gruff indignation. Vernon raved for another five minutes, spitting insults and grievances while Harry stood in silence, wearing the practiced mask of someone pretending to listen. He knew arguing was futile—his uncle's stubbornness was legendary—but Harry had a plan.

When Vernon finally paused for breath, Harry simply nodded and said, "Alright, I understand. I'll just stay in my room for the rest of the summer."

"That's right, boy!" Vernon snapped, jabbing a finger in Harry's direction. "Now get out of my sight before I smack you for ruining my mood!"

Harry turned toward the stairs; his pace unhurried. "Got it," he said casually. "I'll just send a letter to Sirius, explaining I can't visit my friends. He was looking forward to me spending time with them, but I guess I'll let him know I'm stuck here instead."

He didn't need to turn around to know the effect his words had. The room went silent, save for the sound of Harry's slow footsteps. Just as he reached the stairs, Vernon's voice boomed, tinged with a note of panic.

"Fine! You can go to your friends' house," he barked, his earlier defiance crumbling. "But don't expect me to drive you there!"

Harry hid his smirk as he turned back. "That's fine, I'll find my own way there," he said, his voice even.

Within minutes, he was back in his room, now reunited with his school trunk and other belongings. Excitement buzzed through him as he opened his new trunk and then carefully packed his old trunk and its contents into his new, expanding and shrinking trunk. The magical trunk's interior still had ample space, even after accommodating his clothes, old trunk, all his books and supplies. He estimated he could easily fit four more trunks inside without running out of room.

Satisfied, Harry sat at his desk to draft a letter to Ron, informing him that he would arrive at the Burrow the next day. Hedwig hooted softly as he tied the note to her leg. "Wait for me at Ron's house," he instructed. She gave an affectionate nip at his finger before taking flight, disappearing through the window.

Harry leaned back, considering his next move. Originally, he'd planned to Apparate directly to the Burrow from Diagon Alley, but two significant problems came to mind. First, he'd never been there and wasn't sure if it was protected by enchantments. Second, he knew Ron's parents would ask how he'd arrived. Without an Apparition license, it could raise unnecessary questions. For now, it was better to keep his magical abilities under wraps.

His thoughts drifted to an alternative: Victoria, the friendly Curse breaker he'd met recently. While they weren't exactly close yet, Harry liked her easygoing nature—though she did have a habit of asking questions that bordered on intrusive. He wondered if she might be willing to help him Apparate to the Burrow. If she refused, he could always do it himself and come up with an excuse for his arrival.

With the plan settled, Harry shrank Hedwig's cage and stashed it neatly into his trunk, which he then reduced to fit into his pocket. Tomorrow, he thought with a growing sense of anticipation, he'd finally be at the Burrow.

The following morning, Harry rose early, his movements purposeful as he went through his routine. After showering and dressing in a neat pair of casual clothes, he double-checked his preparations. His shrinking trunk, securely tucked in his pocket, and his wands were ready. Taking a final glance around his room in Privet Drive, he stepped out, leaving the house without a backward glance, and began his journey to the train station.

The train ride to London was as long as always, stretching nearly two hours. Harry spent the time watching the countryside roll by, his thoughts focused on the task ahead. By late morning, he arrived in the bustling heart of the city. Navigating the familiar streets, he slipped into the Leaky Cauldron, the quiet murmur of patrons greeting him as he made his way toward Diagon Alley.

Before heading straight to Gringotts, a thought struck him. It would be wise to bring a gift—something thoughtful that could make his request easier. Trusting his instincts, Harry detoured to the shops, picking up a bouquet of bright yellow flowers that radiated cheerfulness and a small packed lunch: a few freshly baked pies and a bottle of butterbeer. With the parcels in hand, he finally entered the imposing marble facade of Gringotts Bank.

Inside, Harry approached the front desk and asked to see Victoria Steward. The goblin at the desk eyed him briefly before ringing a small bell. Moments later, Harry was being escorted through the bank's vast interior, passing cubicles filled with goblins and wizards. He stopped at one marked with a neat plaque reading Victoria Steward. Steeling himself, he knocked on the door.

"Come in!" called a familiar voice.

Harry pushed the door open to find Victoria seated at her desk, her eyes softening when they landed on him. Her face lit up with a welcoming smile. "Harry! How are you? It's so good to see you again."

Harry returned the smile. "Hello, Victoria. I'm good, thanks. How about you?"

"Not bad at all," she replied, leaning back in her chair. "I've got to say, I'm really loving this place more and more."

Harry chuckled at her casual enthusiasm, and her eyes flicked to the items in his hands. "So... flowers, huh? What's all this about?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"These are for you," Harry said, holding out the bouquet and the lunch. "I figured I'd bring a little something for my good friend while I was in the area."

Victoria accepted the gifts, an amused expression on her face as she brought the flowers to her nose. "Well, thank you, Harry. That's incredibly thoughtful. Not many kids your age would think of doing this." She tilted her head, her lips curving into a playful grin. "Yellow flowers, though. Is this your way of telling me you want to be friends?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she laughed lightly. "Alright, spill. What do you need? No one shows up with lunch and flowers without a reason."

Harry laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That obvious, huh?"

Victoria smirked. "I'm a Curse breaker, Harry. Noticing details is kind of my thing. So, what's the deal?"

Taking a seat, Harry leaned back and said, "So, I have a favor to ask you. I was hoping you'd Apparate me to the Weasleys' place. The Burrow. I'm too young to do it myself, no license and all."

Victoria listened, nodding thoughtfully. "Hmm. Alright, I don't mind. I was heading out anyway, and I know where the Weasleys live. Bill Weasley was stationed here when I first came to Britain. Before he moved to Egypt, of course. Dude's living the dream."

Her grin turned teasing. "What's the matter, Harry? The prodigy can't manage it on his own?"

Harry grinned, playing along. "Oh, I could. But the Ministry might not appreciate unlicensed Apparition. Plus, I've got to keep some of my secrets under wraps."

Victoria chuckled. "Cocky much?" She paused, then squinted at him in mock disbelief. "Wait. You're not joking... are you?"

Harry gave a sly smile. "Maybe. Maybe not."

She shook her head, laughing. "I like you, Harry. You're funny."

Setting the flowers in a vase she conjured with a flick of her wand, Victoria packed up the food. "Alright, let's get going. I've got a job—some haunted house in a creepy little village—but I can drop you off at the Weasleys' on the way."

Outside the bank, she turned to him and held out her hand, her caramel skin glowing in the sunlight. "Alright, Maverick, hold on."

Harry frowned in confusion. "Maverick? Why are you calling me that?"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Right, not into muggle movies much? Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough."

Shaking his head with a bemused smile, Harry took her hand. With a crack, they Disapparated, vanishing from the alley in a swirl of magic.

As soon as they Apparated to the Burrow, Harry found himself staring in awe at the sight before him. The house looked as though it had been cobbled together haphazardly, with its unevenly stacked stories leaning precariously on one another. The original structure seemed to have been an old stone pigpen, but now it sprouted multiple crooked extensions and was crowned with four or five chimneys jutting out at odd angles. The entire building looked as though it defied gravity, likely held together by magic alone. Despite its strange appearance, the Burrow exuded warmth and charm, an inviting refuge amidst the chaos of its construction. Nearby, a modest shed stood, completing the rustic scene.

Victoria glanced at Harry, catching his amazed expression. "Cool, right?" she said with a grin. "That was my reaction when I first saw it too, it's kinda strange, but really inviting. Anyways Come on, let's go meet them."

Harry followed her up the pathway to the front door, his nerves mixing with excitement. Victoria knocked briskly, and within seconds, the door swung open to reveal a plump, kindly woman with a warm smile.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes moved from Harry to Victoria, her expression curious. "Hello, Harry," she greeted warmly before turning her attention to Victoria. "And hello, young lady. Who might you be?"

Victoria returned the smile. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley. I'm Victoria Steward. I work as a Curse breaker for Gringotts. I know your son, Bill."

Recognition dawned in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and her face lit up. "Oh, of course! The young woman from America Bill told us about. It's so lovely to finally meet you."

Victoria nodded, her grin widening. "That's me. I just stopped by to drop Harry off. It was a pleasure meeting you."

But Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hear of her leaving so soon. "Oh, nonsense! You've just arrived. Don't you fancy a bit of lunch? I'm almost finished cooking for the family, and there's plenty to go around."

Victoria hesitated, clearly tempted, but finally shook her head with a regretful smile. "I'd love to, ma'am, but I've got a job to get to. Maybe next time?"

Mrs. Weasley gave her a knowing look. "I'll hold you to that, dear."

Harry turned to Victoria, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thank you, Victoria."

She waved him off with a playful smile. "You're welcome, Harry. And please, call me Tory—all my friends do."

Harry nodded. "Alright. Bye, Tory."

With a final wave, Victoria stepped back and Disapparated, vanishing with a soft pop. Mrs. Weasley lingered, staring at the spot where she had disappeared. "When Bill spoke of her, he didn't mention how beautiful she was," she said almost to herself before turning to Harry with a bright smile. "Well, Harry, how has your holiday been? And happy belated birthday, by the way."

Harry thanked her and began recounting his summer so far, sparing no detail about the Dursleys' usual neglect. Mrs. Weasley's face darkened as she listened, her motherly instincts clearly outraged. "Well," she said firmly, "since you didn't get a proper birthday celebration, I'll bake you a cake. Every child deserves to have their birthday celebrated."

A surge of emotion welled up in Harry at her words. Her kindness and warmth struck a deep chord, making him wonder why the Dursleys had never shown him even a fraction of this care. Pushing the thoughts aside, he allowed Mrs. Weasley to usher him into the Burrow. The inside of the house was as chaotic as its exterior—cluttered but filled with a sense of love and life. The mismatched furniture and cozy decor gave it a unique charm, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile order of Privet Drive.

Mrs. Weasley glanced him over, her gaze appraising. "At least the Muggles seem to have been taking decent care of you," she commented. "Your clothes are nice, and you're at a healthy weight."

Harry scoffed, his expression darkening. "They didn't care about me. I had to take care of myself—find ways to make things work."

Her face fell, pain evident in her eyes as she listened to his words. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tight around him. "No child should have to go through that," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

After a moment, she released him, patting his arm. "The boys are upstairs," she said, her tone more cheerful now. "Go on up and say hello. Their rooms are just at the top."

Harry nodded, thanking her again before heading up the narrow, creaky staircase. As he climbed, he heard a door creak open ahead of him. A girl's head peeked out—red hair falling around her face. "Mom, I can't find m—" Ginny's words cut off abruptly as her eyes landed on Harry. She gasped, her face turning crimson, and in an instant, she slammed the door shut with a resounding thud.

Harry blinked, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "What was that about?" he muttered under his breath, continuing up the stairs with a bemused expression.

Harry climbed the creaky staircase to the fifth floor, his hand brushing the banister as he ascended. Reaching the door to Ron's room, he paused, hearing muffled whispers from within. He rapped on the door lightly. The whispering stopped abruptly, and a voice called out, "Come in."

Pushing the door open, Harry stepped inside and was immediately struck by the explosion of orange that enveloped the room. The walls, ceiling, and even parts of the furniture were drenched in the violent hue. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that every inch of the shabby wallpaper had been plastered with posters of the same seven witches and wizards. They were dressed in garish orange Quidditch robes, each holding broomsticks and waving animatedly at the viewer. The team's identity was unmistakable—it had to be Ron's favorite, the Chudley Cannons.

Before Harry could fully take in the spectacle, three voices erupted in unison. "Harry!" Ron and the twins sprang to their feet, their faces lighting up with excitement as they hurried over to greet him.

Ron clapped Harry on the back, his grin wide. "How's your summer been?" he asked eagerly.

Harry shrugged; his own smile tempered by the memories of his less-than-pleasant holiday. He recounted his time at the Dursleys' house, skimming over the unpleasant details. However, he made a deliberate decision to withhold any mention of his visit to Sirius in Azkaban. His instincts warned him against blind trust, especially in the shadow of Voldemort's growing threat. Until his closest friends were skilled enough in Occlumency to protect their minds, he resolved to keep certain truths to himself.

Ron's expression darkened as Harry finished. "That's awful, mate," he said sympathetically.

Harry shook off the mood, nodding toward the twins. "What were you three arguing about before I came in?"

Ron rolled his eyes dramatically. "We were making plans to rescue you in case the Muggles didn't let you come visit us," he said.

Fred and George smirked. "Plans that were brilliant, might we add," Fred said with mock grandeur.

"Yeah," George chimed in. "Ron's just upset because he's too thick to appreciate genius."

Ron shot them a glare. "They wanted to steal Dad's car."

The twins gasped in exaggerated offense. "Borrow," Fred corrected, placing a hand on his chest. "We would have borrowed it."

Harry chuckled at their antics. Before the conversation could spiral, Fred turned to him, his tone curious. "Anything else interesting happen, Harry?"

Harry hesitated but decided to share one unusual event. "I had a visit from a house-elf named Dobby, who serves the Malfoys. He came to warn me not to return to Hogwarts. Said there was some kind of danger."

Ron frowned instantly. "Malfoy probably put him up to it," he said, crossing his arms. "That git would love to mess with you."

Fred and George nodded in agreement. "Sounds like something Malfoy would do," George said. "Always sneaky, that one."

Harry, however, shook his head. "I don't think so," he said firmly, though he didn't press the issue. Deep down, he felt the weight of Dobby's warning and the reality of the danger they all faced, even if his friends dismissed it.

As the conversation wound down, Harry took out parchment and quill to write letters to Daphne and Hermione. He informed them both that he had arrived safely at the Burrow and was staying with Ron. After sealing the letters, he sent Hedwig off with the messages, watching as she soared out the window and disappeared into the distance.

With that done, the trio headed downstairs for lunch. The warm, delicious scents of Mrs. Weasley's cooking greeted them as they descended, and Harry felt a flicker of contentment in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt at home.

Harry followed Ron and the twins down the creaky staircase, their footfalls echoing softly as they descended toward the kitchen. "Where's everyone else?" Harry asked, glancing between the brothers.

Fred was the first to answer, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Bill and Charlie moved out ages ago. You know, off living their best lives."

George added, "Yeah, and Percy? Well, Percy's become somewhat of a recluse. Always in his room, doing who-knows-what. We call him 'Perfect Percy.'" His tone dripped with mock reverence.

Fred snorted. "Perfect Percy," he repeated, shaking his head.

Harry chuckled, but before he could respond, Ron chimed in. "And Ginny's in her room, the door on the first floor."

At the mention of Ginny, Harry's thoughts flicked to the moment he'd passed her door earlier—how she'd slammed it shut the instant she saw him. Before he could dwell on it, the twins exchanged a knowing glance and burst out laughing.

"Oh, right," Ron began, shaking his head. "Ginny. She's got the biggest crush on you, mate."

"Hasn't stopped talking about you since school let out," George said, grinning. "It's been nonstop, honestly, and kinda annoying."

Harry felt his face grow warm, and he scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. He hated being the center of attention, even more so in matters like this.

The brothers didn't seem to notice his discomfort as they led him into the kitchen. The scent of home-cooked food enveloped Harry like a comforting blanket. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about, moving from counter to stove in a flurry of motion, her wand flicking to stir a pot while she ladled thick gravy onto plates by hand.

Harry's eyes roamed the room, taking in the cozy chaos of his first proper visit to a wizard's house. The clock on the wall immediately caught his attention—it had no numbers, only a single hand that pointed to phrases like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're late.

His gaze moved to the mantelpiece, where books were stacked three deep, their spines bearing quirky titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts — It's Magic. The place felt alive, brimming with warmth and personality, a stark contrast to the sterile coldness of the Dursleys' house.

Mrs. Weasley turned, balancing several plates in her hands. "Take your seats, dears," she said, ushering them toward the table.

The kids shuffled into their places, Harry finding a spot between Ron and Fred. Mrs. Weasley set a heaping plate of pie and gravy in front of him, her expression kind. "Harry, if you're still hungry after this, don't hesitate to ask. There's plenty more."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said earnestly before diving into the meal. The rich, savory flavors of the pie and gravy were unlike anything he'd had at the Dursleys'.

As they ate, the twins couldn't resist poking fun at Percy, who had emerged from his self-imposed isolation to join them for lunch.

"Well, well," Fred began, raising his fork dramatically. "Look who's graced us with his presence. Percy, how generous of you to take a break from your top-secret work!"

"World peace can wait," George added, feigning a solemn nod. "After all, lunch with the family is important."

Percy scowled, his ears turning red. "I don't see why my ambitions should be mocked," he said stiffly. "Some of us actually have goals."

The twins traded grins, their teasing only intensifying. The rest of the table erupted in laughter, the lighthearted banter filling the room with a sense of familial warmth.

As the meal continued, Harry caught Ginny stealing glances at him from across the table. Her cheeks would flush every time their eyes met, and she'd quickly duck her head, letting her fiery red hair fall like a curtain to shield her face. Harry pretended not to notice, though he felt a twinge of awkwardness at the attention.

Still, as he sat among the Weasleys, listening to their jokes and feeling the comfort of their home, Harry couldn't help but think that this was what a family was supposed to feel like.

The sound of the kitchen door opening drew everyone's attention. A tall, balding man with thinning red hair and glasses stepped inside. Harry instantly recognized him as Mr. Weasley. The man's face lit up as he crossed the room, greeting his wife with a warm kiss on the cheek before turning to his family.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed; her tone affectionate but hurried as she continued bustling about the kitchen.

"Dad!" the twins and Ron greeted him in unison, their voices carrying a mixture of respect and familiarity.

Arthur Weasley's gaze landed on Harry, and his eyes widened. "Merlin's beard," he breathed, his tone filled with genuine amazement. "Harry Potter! What time did you get here?"

Harry stood, offering a polite smile as he extended his hand. "Just arrived earlier today, sir. It's nice to meet you."

Arthur shook his hand firmly, his grin growing wider. "Nice to meet you as well, Harry. Though I must admit, you are becoming something of a celebrity in the ministry. Your exploits with Quirrell have been all over the papers."

Harry's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Quirrell, but he kept his tone neutral. "Right. That."

Arthur nodded, oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil. "Quite the impressive feat, capturing a dark wizard like that."

Harry nodded absently, his mind racing. The memory of the Ministry's spin on the incident left a bitter taste in his mouth. Quirrell had been living proof of Voldemort's survival, yet Cornelius Fudge had dismissed the entire ordeal, branding Quirrell a mentally unstable man. The possession had left Quirrell's body deteriorating rapidly, a convenient excuse for Fudge to sweep the whole affair under the rug. Harry clenched his fists under the table, his annoyance simmering. The Ministry was useless. Fudge even more so.

As Mr. Weasley turned his attention to the twins, laughing at their latest antics, Harry's thoughts shifted. Fudge isn't a wartime leader, he concluded grimly. When Voldemort rises again, alliances will be crucial.

Fortunately, Harry had an advantage most didn't: Voldemort's memories. They offered invaluable insight. Harry now knew how to approach influential families, how to forge alliances, and—if necessary—how to blackmail those who refused. He wouldn't harm the innocent, but as for those aligned with the Death Eaters? They were fair game.

A small, determined smile crept onto Harry's face. The pieces were falling into place. And this time, he would be ready.

After the plates were cleared and lunch concluded, Mrs. Weasley turned her attention to her sons. "Ron, Fred, George," she said briskly, "it's time to de-gnome the garden, those critters have taken over the garden." Her tone brooked no argument. The boys groaned but rose from their seats, accustomed to the chore.

Harry, intrigued, pushed back his chair and stood as well. "Can I help?" he offered.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him with a mixture of surprise and kindness. "Oh, Harry, you don't have to. You're a guest, after all."

Harry shook his head, a determined glint in his eyes. "It's okay, I'd like to. I've never seen it done before."

She smiled and sighed, pulling a hefty, well-worn book from a nearby shelf. "Well, if you insist. Let's see what Gilderoy Lockhart has to say about de-gnoming a garden."

The collective groan from the Weasley boys was almost theatrical. Harry glanced around, noticing how Fred and George dramatically rolled their eyes while Ron muttered something under his breath. George broke the silence. "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden. We don't need Lockhart's advice."

But Harry wasn't paying attention to the protest. His gaze had landed on the book cover, where a wizard with perfectly coiffed blond hair and piercing blue eyes grinned back at him. Gilderoy Lockhart, the name read. Harry didn't recognize the man, but it was clear Mrs. Weasley thought highly of him.

"Oh, Mum fancies him," Fred said in an exaggerated stage whisper, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Mrs. Weasley flushed pink, her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. "Don't be ridiculous, Fred," she scolded, though her tone lacked true severity. "All right then, if you think you're such experts, you can get on with it. But mark my words—if there's even one gnome left in that garden when I come to inspect, there will be trouble!"

The boys didn't need telling twice. They led the way outside, Harry trailing behind, eager to see what awaited them.

The garden was sprawling, untamed, and utterly enchanting. To Harry, it was the perfect embodiment of what a garden should be. Gnarled trees lined the walls, their branches reaching in every direction. Weeds thrived in abundance, and patches of wildflowers spilled from the beds in a chaotic riot of color. A large green pond sat in the middle; its surface dotted with frogs that croaked intermittently. The Dursleys would have called it a mess. Harry thought it was brilliant.

As they wandered further into the garden, Harry turned to Ron. "So, what exactly do we do?"

Ron grinned and dove into a nearby bush, emerging moments later with a small, wriggling creature clutched in his hand. The gnome resembled a potato with legs, its lumpy face contorted in outrage. "Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" it screeched, flailing wildly.

Ron held it aloft, unfazed by its protests. "This is a gnome," he said, grinning at Harry's wide-eyed look. "You've got to make them dizzy so they can't find their way back."

With a swift motion, Ron began to spin the gnome by its legs, the creature yelping as it became a blur. Then, with a practiced flick of his wrist, he launched it high into the air. The gnome sailed over the garden wall, landing with a faint thud somewhere in the distance.

Harry watched, impressed but curious. "Wouldn't magic make this easier?" he asked.

Ron hesitated, glancing at the twins. Harry quickly decided not to elaborate further. He knew the Weasley twins well enough now to realize they'd abuse the knowledge that they could use magic at home without triggering the Trace. Better to keep things simple.

The group worked steadily, clearing the garden of its noisy inhabitants. By the time they were done, the field was empty, and the gnomes were nowhere to be seen—at least for now.

Back inside, Mrs. Weasley inspected the boys with a sharp eye before nodding in approval. "Good job, all of you. Harry, you'll be sharing Ron's room."

Harry followed Ron upstairs, their footsteps echoing on the creaky wooden stairs. Once inside the room, Ron hesitated, shifting awkwardly. "It's a bit small," he said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And, um, I'm right under the ghoul in the attic. He's always banging on the pipes and groaning."

But Harry was grinning ear to ear. "This is the best house I've ever been in," he said earnestly.

Ron's ears turned pink, and he ducked his head, clearly flustered but pleased. Harry could see the faint self-consciousness in his friend's expression. Ron had always been sensitive about his family's hand-me-downs and modest home, but to Harry, the Burrow was magical in every way. It wasn't just the charm of the house itself—it was the warmth, the laughter, the sense of belonging that filled every corner.

Harry thought of the grand estates he'd seen through Voldemort's memories, like Malfoy Manor, with its opulent halls and cold, unwelcoming air. None of them had ever felt like this. This house, with its quirks and imperfections, felt like a home.