0415 The Burrow

Harry tumbled off the Knight Bus, his head spinning and stomach churning from the wildest ride he had ever experienced. The world seemed to tilt and sway around him as he struggled to find his footing on the solid ground. To meet Harry's urgent request of arriving in St. Catchpole before dinner, the driver, Ernie Prang, had raced recklessly the entire way.

Stan Shunpike, the acne-faced conductor had even unceremoniously "dropped off" a few unfortunate passengers through the windows mid-journey. Their startled cries had faded quickly as the bus zipped away, leaving Harry to wonder if they had somehow landed safely or if the Ministry of Magic would have a mess to clean up. All of this, apparently, was to accommodate Harry's needs – though he wasn't sure he had asked for quite such enthusiastic service.

"Farewell, Mr. Potter!" Stan called out eagerly, sticking his head out the window and waving so enthusiastically that his conductor's hat nearly flew off. His grin stretched from ear to ear, clearly thrilled to have transported the famous Harry Potter. Before Harry could even consider a response, the bus vanished into thin air with a whoosh that rustled the leaves on nearby trees and left a faint smell of burning rubber in its wake.

"Never again!" Harry gasped, bent over with his hands on his knees, panting as if he'd just run a marathon. His glasses were skewed, and his messy black hair seemed even more disheveled than usual. "That's absolutely the last time I'll ever ride the Knight Bus!"

"Don't speak too soon, young man—" Sirius began, hearing Harry's complaint, walking up to place a hand on Harry's shoulder with a smile.

Apparition favored by adult wizards, wasn't much better than the Knight Bus in Harry's opinion. However, Sirius and Remus didn't look nearly as disheveled as Harry felt. Their robes were only slightly creased, and they both wore expressions of mild amusement at Harry's dramatic reaction to the bus ride.

When Harry finally caught his breath, the nausea subsiding to a manageable level, he took in his surroundings. They were standing on a quiet country lane. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass, a welcome change from the stuffy interior of the Knight Bus.

To the left side of the road lay a quaint village. The village was surrounded by vast farmlands, their neat rows of crops stretching towards the horizon. In the distance, a modest mountain stood silhouetted against the setting sun, its peak tinged with golden light.

To the right, however, was the sight that truly captured Harry's attention. There stood the Burrow – a crooked, multi-story building that seemed to violate the muggle laws of architecture. It was a hodgepodge of rooms and extensions, each floor looking as if it had been precariously balanced atop the one below. Chimneys sprouted haphazardly from the roof, and Harry could swear he saw a window on the top floor blink sleepily at him.

This was the home of his best friend from Hogwarts, Ron Weasley, and it held a special place in Harry's heart. In fact, it was Harry's second favorite place in the world, right after Hogwarts itself. Despite still feeling nauseous from the Knight Bus ride, Harry's spirits soared at the sight of the Burrow's lopsided silhouette bathed in the rosy-golden light of the setting sun. The warm glow seemed to breathe life into the old house, making it look even more magical than Harry remembered.

The thought of Ron being just inside those walls, along with Mrs. Weasley, whose cooking was more delicious than anyone else's he knew, made Harry's stomach growl in anticipation, and all traces of nausea was forgotten.

"Come on, Harry," said Remus, placing his hand on Harry's other shoulder. The sunset had given his usually pale skin a healthier glow, masking the signs of weariness that often marked his face. His amber eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at Harry, "Your friends are eager to see you—"

Harry nodded, his excitement growing. He reached down to the cage at his feet, where Hedwig, his snowy owl, had been watching with her large, intelligent eyes. "You must be tired of being cooped up," Harry said softly as he opened the cage door. Hedwig hooted gratefully and stepped onto Harry's outstretched arm.

With a gentle toss, Harry launched Hedwig into the air. She spread her magnificent white wings, catching the last rays of sunlight and seeming to glow as she soared upwards. She circled once above their heads before flying off towards the fields, no doubt in search of a tasty mouse or vole for her dinner.

As they began walking towards the Burrow, Harry asked curiously, "By the way, Sirius, Remus, how do you know the Weasley family?"

"Oh, that—" Sirius said lazily, squinting his eyes against the intoxicating evening breeze. "We've known Arthur and Molly for much longer than you have, Harry. Isn't that right, Remus?"

"That would be before you were even born," Remus replied, tightening the collar of his wizard's robe. This action made Harry notice that Professor Lupin was wearing a brand-new robe, unlike the faded, patched one he always wore at Hogwarts. The Slytherins had often mocked him for it.

"It was before Voldemort's downfall, you know, Harry," Remus continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Back then, there weren't many people brave enough to stand against the most evil dark wizard in the world. Albus did his best to bring these people together. Sirius and I, and of course your dad and mum, met Arthur and Molly during that time."

"But Molly never really liked me—" Sirius said with a chuckle, nimbly jumping over a puddle. The area around Stoatshead Hill must have had rain recently; though the ground was mostly dry, it was still dotted with small pools of water that reflected the deepening twilight sky.

"That's because some of your ideas were always too radical. Molly doesn't like high-risk plans," Remus said cheerfully, "Plus, you always liked to joke about Arthur's thinning hair."

Harry laughed heartily, surprised and delighted to learn his godfather had such a mischievous side when he was younger.

As they climbed a small hill, the Burrow suddenly loomed close. The smell of home-cooked food wafted towards them, making Harry's mouth water. Two figures were standing in front of the Weasleys' small stone broom shed, craning their necks towards them. Even in the fading light, Harry recognized the red hair that could only belong to a Weasley.

"Harry!"

Both figures began running towards him, but the girl was noticeably faster and more agile. Before Ron had covered much ground, Hermione had already reached Harry. Her bushy brown hair streamed behind her as she ran, and her face was lit up with joy.

"Are you alright, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, giving him a tight hug before stepping back, her face was beaming with joy and excitement. Her brown eyes scanned him quickly, as if checking for any signs of mistreatment or suffering.

Like himself, Hermione had grown considerably taller since last term, making her appear much more mature. To Harry's surprise, he noticed that Hermione's fair cheeks were now dotted with pink pimples.

"Hermione?" Harry said with a grin, pushing aside his idle observations. "What are you doing here? There are still some days before the World Cup."

They had agreed to meet at the Burrow to attend the Quidditch World Cup together at the end of last term, but the final was still some days away. Harry wondered how Hermione had ended up here so early, and why she hadn't mentioned it in her last letter.

"It was Black—Oh I mean, Sirius!" Hermione explained, her breathing perfectly steady despite her sprint. This made Harry realize that Hermione must have kept up with Professor Watson's running regimen over the summer, while he had completely forgotten about it once the holidays began. He felt a twinge of guilt, imagining Hermione diligently following their Professor's instructions while he had lazed about at the Dursleys.

"He wrote to me, saying you'd want me here to celebrate your birthday with you!"

Harry immediately turned to Sirius in surprise, seeing a face full of warm smile. Sirius's grey eyes were twinkling with satisfaction at Harry's evident pleasure.

"You deserve a proper birthday celebration, don't you?" Sirius said softly, ruffling Harry's already messy hair.

"Phew," Ron had finally caught up, his face red and sweaty, gasping for breath. His freckles stood out starkly against his flushed skin, and his red hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. "I can finally see the value of Professor Watson's PE classes now. Hermione, you run so fast! Oh, mate, how've you been these past few days? Are the Muggles still—"

Ron's words were cut short by Harry's nervous cough. He had just covered for the Dursleys in front of Sirius and didn't want Ron's unintentional words to reveal the truth about how they really treated him. The last thing he wanted was for Sirius to worry or do something rash that might land him back in trouble with the Ministry.

"Everything's been fine, hasn't it?" Harry said hastily, shooting Ron a meaningful look. Ron's eyes widened in understanding, and he quickly changed the subject, launching into an excited description of the preparations for the World Cup.

The thick white smoke billowing from the Burrow's many chimneys indicated that Mrs. Weasley was likely very busy at the moment inside, probably preparing a feast to celebrate Harry's arrival and upcoming birthday. After Hermione and Ron greeted Sirius and Remus, exchanging polite but slightly awkward hellos, they all headed towards the Burrow.

As they passed the Weasley family's vegetable patch, a blur of ginger fur caught Harry's eye. Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, was jumping up and down in the garden, engaged in what looked like an epic battle with the gnomes. The cat's squashed face was set in a determined grimace as he pounced on the potato-headed creatures, who squealed and tried to dodge his attacks.

"Hello, Crookshanks—" Harry called out, waving at the ginger cat. Crookshanks paused in his gnome-chasing endeavors, turning his lamp-like yellow eyes towards Harry. After catching a glimpse of Harry, he gave a lazy meow and waved a paw back at him, looking almost comically human in his gesture.

"Honestly, Hermione—" Harry said seriously, though his eyes twinkled with amusement, "You should check if Crookshanks is also an Animagus. He's less like a cat than any cat I've ever seen."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was fondness in her voice as she replied, "Oh, Harry, don't be silly. Crookshanks is just very intelligent for a cat. Aren't you, Crookshanks?" The last part was directed at the cat, who had returned to his gnome-chasing with renewed vigor.

"At least his rat-catching skills are genuine," Sirius said with a chuckle, a dark look briefly crossing his face at the mention of rats. "He kept me fed with the rats he caught during that time before last Christmas."

The reminder of Sirius's time in hiding, surviving on rats while everyone thought him a dangerous criminal, casted a momentary shadow over the group. But it passed quickly as they approached the welcoming warmth of the Burrow.

Ron pushed open the back door of his house, leading Harry and the others inside. The door creaked slightly on its hinges, a homey sound that brought a smile to Harry's face. As he stepped over the threshold, breathing in the smoky air of the cramped, cozy room, a sense of comfort and security enveloped Harry. The Burrow smelled of wood smoke, herbs, and something delicious baking – scents that Harry had come to associate with safety and belonging.

As he walked through the living room, Harry's eyes were drawn to the magic clock hanging on the wall. It was unlike any clock Harry had ever seen, with nine golden hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member. Instead of numbers, the clock face was surrounded by phrases like "home," "work," "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and "mortal peril." Currently, except for Mr. Weasley's hand that still pointed to 'work', the other eight hands all pointed to 'home'.

Harry blinked, puzzled about something. He could have sworn there was a new hand on the clock, but before he could get a closer look, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room.

"Oh, dear, was the journey alright?" Mrs. Weasley rushed out of the kitchen, wielding a still-smoking ladle that filled the air with the mouthwatering aroma of her cooking. As soon as she heard movement in the living room, she quickly came to Harry and gave him a fierce hug, just like Hermione had.

"Ahem! It was all fine, Mrs. Weasley!" Harry gasped, his voice muffled against her apron. Despite the slight embarrassment of being fussed over, Harry couldn't help but feel touched by Mrs. Weasley's genuine affection.

"Such a good boy!" Mrs. Weasley said fondly, stepping back and cupping Harry's face in her hands. Her eyes shone with warmth as she looked him over, fussing softly at how thin he seemed. (Ron rolled his eyes at his mother's fussing, while Hermione bit her lip to suppress a giggle).

"I was planning to have Arthur pick you up, but the Ministry's been so busy lately, he couldn't get away," Mrs. Weasley explained, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Sirius insisted on going himself, so I had to agree."

"I'm Harry's godfather, Molly!" Sirius said, his face darkening slightly. "It's only right that I pick up Harry, and I don't need anyone's permission to do so."

The tension in the room suddenly became palpable. Harry shifted uncomfortably, caught between his affection for both Mrs. Weasley and Sirius. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to diffuse the situation, but Remus beat him to it.

Mrs. Weasley raised an eyebrow, her lips thinning slightly, but Remus smoothly intervened with a diplomatic smile, "Your scrambled eggs are about to burn, Molly—"

The effect was immediate. Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, thanks for the reminder, Remus—" she exclaimed, her attitude towards Remus noticeably warmer than it had been towards Sirius. She turned and rushed back to the kitchen, calling out over her shoulder, "Dinner will be ready soon, Harry. Arthur promised this morning he wouldn't miss your birthday dinner!"

Harry felt a rush of warmth at the thought of a proper birthday dinner. He opened his mouth to tell Mrs. Weasley not to make a fuss over his birthday, but before he could speak, the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind them caught everyone's attention.

Harry turned, half-expecting to see the mischievous grins of Fred and George. Instead, he found himself face to face with two young men he'd never met before—though they too had the trademark Weasley red hair.

"Charlie and Bill—" Ron said, grinning inexplicably at Harry's surprised expression. "You must remember the stories about their time at Hogwarts, right?"

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