Harry stepped over the threshold of the Burrow, the warm glow from within immediately wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. The faint scent of fresh bread and a hint of smoke from the fireplace filled his nose, replacing the musty air of Privet Drive. As the door creaked closed behind him, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strange, crooked structure of the Weasley home. It was as if the house had been built in layers, each one added in a rush, the walls leaning at odd angles, yet somehow still managing to stay upright.
"Harry! Look at you!" Mrs. Weasley’s voice rang out, pulling him from his thoughts. She hurried over, enveloping him in a warm, motherly hug. "You’ve grown so much, dear. We were so worried!"
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry muttered, a little overwhelmed but grateful for her warmth. The image of the Dursleys—cold and rigid—faded in comparison to the affectionate bustle of the Burrow.
Ron grinned from beside his mother, his ears pink with excitement. "You made it!" he said, his hand clapping Harry’s shoulder.
"Come on," Ron interrupted his thoughts, grabbing Harry's trunk. "Let’s get you settled. You’re probably starving after spending time with that lot."
"Starving would be putting it lightly," Harry muttered, following his friend as they lugged his things through the crooked hallways of the Burrow.
Hedwig, still in her cage, hooted softly. Harry caught her eye and gave her an apologetic smile. He knew she hated being cooped up, but at least they were in friendlier company now.
The weight of his luggage gone, Harry’s attention returned to the Burrow itself. It had cluttered surfaces, enchanted objects buzzing around, and the ever-present warmth that made the place feel like a real home. Yet, something about it all seemed heightened, perhaps because Harry had been craving this sense of belonging more than he realized.
The twins, already heading up the stairs, waved him along. "Come on, Harry!" Fred called. "You’ll love what we’ve been working on this summer."
"Explosive!" George added with a wink.
Harry smiled, following Ron up the narrow staircase, the twins’ laughter echoing down the hall.
As they passed through the various rooms, Harry couldn’t help but notice how lived-in the house felt—completely different from the sterile, organized perfection of the Dursleys. The Burrow was chaotic, warm, and full of life.
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They passed a small landing, and a familiar flash of red caught Harry’s eye. Ginny, standing just outside her bedroom door, gave him a quick, shy smile before ducking inside, her cheeks flushed.
"She’s been like that all summer," Ron muttered under his breath as they climbed higher, an embarrassed grin tugging at his mouth. "Can barely look at you without going red."
Harry chuckled but didn’t dwell on it. His mind was still buzzing, and he could feel the lingering thoughts about his parents pressing against the back of his mind. Even as Ron chattered away about the twins' latest prank invention, Harry couldn’t fully focus.
By the time they reached Ron’s room, the sense of déjà vu hit Harry full force. The room was just as he remembered it—small, cluttered, and entirely Ron. The Chudley Cannons posters covered every inch of the walls, their orange colors almost blinding in the dim light. A few scattered books and bits of parchment littered the floor, and Ron’s old robes were draped carelessly over his desk chair.
"Sorry about the mess," Ron said sheepishly, kicking a pile of old socks out of the way. "I meant to clean up, but… well, you know."
Harry smiled, feeling more at ease in this disarray than he had in any polished space the Dursleys had ever offered him. "It’s perfect," he said sincerely.
"Well, at least one of us thinks so," Ron replied, though he looked pleased. "You hungry? Mum’s probably making something right now."
Before Harry could respond, a knock came at the door, and Mrs. Weasley’s voice floated up from downstairs. "Ron! Harry! Dinner’s ready! Come down before the twins eat everything!"
Ron’s eyes lit up at the mention of food, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Some things never changed.
As they made their way down the stairs, Harry allowed himself to push aside his worries—at least for a little while. The trial would come, and the answers he sought would be revealed soon enough. But right now, he was surrounded by the Weasleys, people who cared about him, and that was enough.
As they reached the kitchen, the smells of roasted chicken and warm bread filled the air, and Harry’s stomach gave an audible growl.
"Harry dear, sit down, sit down!" Mrs. Weasley insisted, bustling over to him with a plate piled high with food. "You’ve barely eaten all summer, I’m sure of it."
Harry grinned, taking his seat at the long, mismatched kitchen table. Ron sat beside him, already digging into a large helping of potatoes, while Fred and George hovered at the far end, whispering about some new prank they were planning.
Despite the chaos, despite everything weighing on his mind, Harry felt a flicker of contentment. It wasn’t home in the traditional sense, but the Burrow had become something close to it—a sanctuary.
As he tucked into his meal, he let himself enjoy the moment, pushing thoughts of trials and dark memories into the back of his mind. For now, at least, he could pretend that everything was simple again.
But as Harry glanced around the table, a familiar longing tugged at his heart. He missed his parents. More than ever, he wanted to know the truth about them, about their final days, and why the trial now loomed so large over his future.
His mind returned to what Rufus had told him earlier. The answers would come. He would finally learn everything. But for tonight, surrounded by the warmth of the Weasley family, Harry let himself forget.
Tomorrow could wait.