8 the burrow

"Apparate!"

Ciaran departed from his manor, using Apparition to travel to the Weasley family's burrow. In Fremont Manor, both his deceased parents and himself had arranged numerous protective spells. Among them, the anti-Apparition spell stood prominent, providing a layer of defence. During the tumultuous era when Voldemort and his Death Eaters dominated the British wizarding world over a decade ago, wizards spared no effort in fortifying their residences with protective enchantments. These included various jinxes, some so complex that even the casters themselves struggled to counter or find counter-curses.

The history of the wizarding world spanned millennia, witnessing the invention of countless spells by both virtuous and malevolent practitioners. Even the most erudite spell masters, like Professor Flitwick, might not possess exhaustive knowledge of every incantation devised over the ages.

Apparition, a highly advanced spell akin to spatial teleportation, required considerable skill. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, students typically had to wait until their sixth year before being eligible for the Apparition class.

This optional course was personally conducted by Apparition instructors from the Ministry of Magic. Upon completion, students needed to pass the examination administered by the Department of Magical Transport to obtain a license for Apparition. Otherwise, practicing the spell would constitute an illegal act.

Ciaran reminisced about the nervousness he had felt during his own examination, a wry smile gracing his lips as he recalled the experience. He flicked his wand, envisioning the Burrow in his mind, and performed the Apparition.

The Burrow, nestled on the outskirts of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, served as the abode of the Weasley family. Ciaran had been invited here on previous occasions.

Initially resembling a sprawling pigsty constructed from stones, the Burrow had undergone numerous expansions over the years. Additional structures, haphazardly appended, imbued the edifice with a whimsical charm that seemed almost magical. When Ciaran had queried Mr. Weasley about the unconventional architecture, the latter had responded with a cryptic smile.

Several chimneys adorned the roof of the ramshackle red dwelling, while a sign bearing the name "The Burrow" stood askew in the front yard. Nearby lay a collection of weathered leather boots, a rusted cauldron, and a handful of plump brown pigeons. Chickens pecked about the yard, imbuing the scene with a tranquil yet animated ambiance.

"Ack!"

"Look out!"

The sudden exclamations reached Ciaran's ears as he materialized. Before he could react, a gust of wind heralded the arrival of an unseemly object hurtling toward him.

"protego!"

Ciaran swiftly brandished his wand, conjuring an ironclad barrier that intercepted the airborne projectile—a pygmy puff, he noted upon closer inspection.

With another deft flick of his wand, Ciaran silently cast a levitation spell, causing the disoriented goblin to drift away from the Burrow.

"Marvellous!"

"Splendid!"

Two nearly identical voices exclaimed as four figures materialized before Ciaran. Three red-haired youths, each sporting a smattering of freckles, undoubtedly belonged to the Weasley clan. The fourth individual, a slender lad with tousled black locks, piercing green eyes, and a distinctive lightning-shaped scar adorning his forehead, required no introduction—Harry Potter.

"Mr Fremont, that was quite the display! If I were a professor, I'd award Hufflepuff ten points!" declared one of the Weasley twins.

"George?" Ciaran hesitated, struggling to distinguish between the identical twins, Fred and George.

"No, I'm Fred," asserted the redhead who had spoken first.

"No, I'm Fred!" chimed the other twin with a mischievous grin.

"Very well, then," Ciaran replied, rolling his eyes before addressing the remaining Weasley and Harry Potter. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Ron and Harry appeared somewhat apprehensive, having been apprised by Ciaran who is their combat professor for the upcoming semester.

"Fred! George!"

Before Ciaran could utter another word, a roar akin to that of a lion resounded through the air. He observed a sudden pallor overtake the faces of Fred, George, and Ron as they recoiled in fear.

A matronly figure swiftly approached from across the yard, her demeanour transforming from kindly to ferocious. Chickens scattered in her wake, sensing the impending storm. Once amiable, she now exuded an aura of fierce determination, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Oh," Fred mumbled.

"Merlin's beard," George muttered.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt before them, her countenance akin to that of a lioness ready to pounce. She fixed Fred, George, and Ron with a withering glare, causing them to visibly shrink in her presence. Harry, meanwhile, appeared guilt-ridden, knowing he bore some responsibility for the commotion.

Clad in a floral apron and with wand tucked into her pocket, Mrs. Weasley wasted no time in addressing the situation. "Good afternoon, Ciaran," she greeted, her voice carrying a tinge of reproach.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley," Ciaran reciprocated, offering a conciliatory smile.

"Mom, Professor Frémont is here. Let's head inside," George interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension.

"How dare you fling a pygmy puff at the professor's head?!" Mrs. Weasley's tone was low and menacing, eliciting a collective gulp from the guilty trio.

"I apologize, Mrs. Weasley, Professor Frémont. It was my doing," Harry confessed, his face flushing crimson with shame. Not only had he nearly struck his professor, but he had also allowed Fred and George to shoulder the blame.

"Oh? This—," Mrs. Weasley faltered momentarily before offering a smile. "Harry, it's quite alright. The fault lies with George, and I failed to provide adequate clarification."

"Enough standing about! Make way for your professor," Mrs. Weasley commanded, her voice brooking no argument. "Professor Frémont, please, do come inside. Arthur has returned from work and is in the parlor."

Ciaran duly followed Mrs. Weasley into the Burrow.

"I'll deal with you lot later," Mrs. Weasley cast a final stern glance at Fred, George, and Ron before retreating toward the kitchen. "Professor Frémont, if you'll excuse me, the meal will be ready shortly."

"Fret not, Mrs. Weasley. I may have arrived a tad early," Ciaran reassured her with a genial smile.

"Professor Frémont," greeted a smartly attired red-haired youth sporting spectacles as he emerged from the Burrow. Percy Weasley, the third son of the Weasley brood, appeared eager to make amends for his brothers' transgressions.

"Professor, I trust my brothers' antics haven't caused you undue distress," Percy ventured, his demeanour earnest.

"Oh, Percy, ever the perfectionist," muttered Fred

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