Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"—and that is why, Albus, we believe that Harry should stay with us for now," Arthur Weasley said, his words followed by a heartbreakingly hopeful smile. "Some time in the Burrow will be a nice change, certainly."

"And after what happened," Molly added, clutching her green hat tightly in her hands. "I'd rather not have him return to those awful muggles, Albus. They wouldn't know what to do with him! He needs support and he won't get it from those people!"

"I understand your concerns Molly, Arthur," Albus Dumbledore said, "I truly do, and no one is sorrier than I for what happened with Sirius. But Harry must return to his home with his aunt."

"I absolutely disagree," Molly replied, leaning forward, "Do you not remember how the death of that Hufflepuff boy affected him? This will be even worse for him to cope with on his own. I will not have him waste away in misery simply because of some silly reason that you seem to think justifies sending him—"

"What Molly is trying to say," Arthur cut in, patting his wife's hand soothingly. "Is that leaving Harry alone this summer will be terribly risky for his health. He is fifteen, Albus. As much as people – including Harry himself – like to think of him as an adult, he is not. He deserves all the support we can give him, and leaving him to weather through his grief with muggles, who do not care enough to help him, will be an act of great injustice."

"I do not disagree with you, Arthur," Albus admitted with a heavy sigh, "But the only place where he will be safe from Lord Voldemort is, indeed, his aunt's house in Surrey. The blood wards surrounding the area depend on the presence of both Harry and his aunt. Should he go to the Burrow, you all will be in danger."

"We already are in danger," Molly said sharply, "Harry too, blood wards or no blood wards. However, no matter the danger, we would still rather have him with us than be without him and safe."

"That is very noble of you," Albus said, stroking his bread and wondering if he could reach for the lemon drops without Molly hexing them to emphasize her annoyance with him. "But you won't be only risking yourselves, I'm afraid. Your children—"

"Oh, Harry is one of our children," Molly said instantly, her bright brown eyes fixed on the Headmaster with unsettling sharpness. "Now that we have established that Harry will be staying with us, we can carry on to discuss the safety measures that you will doubtlessly wish to set up."

"Molly," Albus frowned, shaking his head, "Please, I know that you are worried about him. We all are—"

"Albus, for the love of Merlin," Arthur interrupted, finally showing some of the impatience and frustration that he had managed to keep well under wraps so far. "There are many wards that can keep the Burrow just as safe and hidden as the blood wards. We could even use a Fidelius Charm if that would make you feel better."

"It wouldn't," Albus said, "The Fidelius Charm isn't entirely reliable, as proven by Peter Pettigrew and what he did. There is always a risk involved."

"You're right," Molly agreed with a sweet smile, and the Headmaster felt wary of what that sudden sweetness meant. "There's always a risk involved. Therefore, it's safer for Harry to stay with people who are fully capable of handling these risks, wouldn't you think so?"

"Well, it's simply—"

"Assume one of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters decided to use some sort of a compulsion on a few muggles and make them kidnap Harry from his home and deliver him to them? The blood wards won't be of much use then, since not having a free will is not enough to trigger any of the ward's alarm systems."

"That," Albus started, looking worried for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. "Molly, I hardly think— How— For how long have you been holding on to that particular argument?"

"For quite a while," Molly admitted, "I spoke with Bill a few days ago, you see. He understands these things better than anyone. We weren't discussing blood wards specifically, but, rather, generally the relations between warding and intentions. So, of course, it got me thinking of all the things that could go wrong."

"Of course," Albus muttered, slumping on his chair and contemplating, for the first time, whether or not he should allow the Weasleys to house Harry for a little while, at least. Perhaps if he had some Aurors from Order patrolling the area at all times? Now that Molly had pointed out the flaws of blood wards, there was little point in making Harry return to his aunt's house.

"We know you are worried, Albus," Arthur said, his voice once again calm and soothing. "But I assure you that this is the best course of action. For Harry and for everyone involved."

"There will be some level of surveillance directed at the Burrow at all times,." Albus said, in a last ditch attempt to make the Weasleys reconsider. "You may find it intrusive."

"Oh, that is fine," Molly assured him, brushing few strands of her red hair aside and beaming at the Headmaster. "We can invite the surveillance for dinner if we notice them looking."

Albus knew that if he continued to resist the idea, he could manage to make the Weasleys accept Harry's return to Surrey. But, should he be entirely honest with himself, he did believe that Harry had suffered enough already. Albus didn't enjoy the boy's sadness and found no happiness in his struggles.

"As you wish," the old wizard finally relented, and reached for the lemon drops knowing that Molly wouldn't hex them after her victory. "Let us discuss the security measures, then, before you can go and collect Harry and Ronald from the Gryffindor common room."

*

Harry was alone in the dorm room, slowly packing the rest of his things into his trunk. His hands were shaking slightly as he shoved the last few items inside, and tried to close it by leaning on the trunk with his whole weight. Ron, who was sitting on a bed nearby, moved to help.

"Listen, mate," Ron started as soon as the trunk had been closed successfully. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"It kind of really was," Harry replied, his voice cracking at the fourth word. "But I don't want to talk about it."

"All right." Ron sighed, feeling useless and hating it. "But if you need anything--"

"Yeah, I'll tell you," Harry said, knowing that he wouldn't. How could he? He had dragged Ron and Hermione and the others all the way to the Department of Mysteries, into something akin to a horror show that had ended with Sirius's death. It was a miracle that no one else had died.

Harry felt... Harry didn't know how he felt.

Oh, he was sad. There was some sort of a bottomless black pitch of misery swallowing him up from the inside. He felt guilty and angry. At himself. At Kreacher. Harry felt selfish for mourning the time he would now never have with Sirius, rather than the future Sirius would have had on his own. He wanted to cry over all the things he had lost, though he didn't understand why losing Sirius made him suddenly feel as if he had lost his both parents at the same time.

"Let's go," was all Harry ended up saying. "The train is going to arrive sometime soon, right? We might as well go early and look for a compartment."

"You don't want to stop by the kitchens for a quick bite?" Ron asked, following his friend down to the common room. "You didn't eat much at the feast."

"I'm really not hungry."

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione called from the couches near the fireplace. "You're finally here. I was wondering what took you so long. Almost sent Seamus up to look for you."

"Are we pretending that you can't march into the boy's dorm room again?" Ron asked, "Because you can march into the boy's dorm room, Hermione. You've done it before."

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron. "I mean, oh, what a stupid question. I'm sorry. How are you holding up? Is there anything Ron and I can do?"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said in response. His head ached and all he wanted to do was to sleep until the summer was over. Or wake up to realize that everything that had happened had been just a terrible dream.

"You'll write us letters every day, all right?" the witch said, tying her hair into a bun to keep it out of her way. "And, take your time with what you're feeling, Harry. What happened was terrible, but it was not your fault. Really, it is not your fault, so please work on not blaming yourself."

"I'll be all right," Harry said, and going by the looks Harry got from his friends, it was clear that neither Ron nor Hermione were convinced.

"I don't think anyone's got the right to expect you to be all right," Ron said, "My mum's brothers died in the first war, and from what Bill and Charlie have told me, it took her nearly three years to start feeling all right again. Which is fine. I think it's part of loving someone a lot. To grieve when they're not there anymore."

"Ron's right," Hermione agreed, "Take your time, Harry. And please, don’t resent yourself for not being fine."

Harry didn't find words to reply with this time. Not with the mess of feelings and the ache in his head. So what he did was close his eyes and lean forward to press his face against Hermione's shoulder. Not a moment later Ron's arms were around them both and the three stood there, huddled together, for a few long moments.

That comfort made Harry feel better than anything said to him so far.

"I'm not travelling this summer," Hermione said as soon as they let go of each other and stepped back. "So we should definitely meet somewhere in London at some point."

"Good idea," Ron said, "Or, if I can steal dad's car again, we can come and get you from those awful muggles you live with."

"Not looking forward to going there again, honestly," Harry admitted. "Are you guys ready? Maybe we should get going." He reached once again for his trunk and headed towards the exit of the common room, only to stop as soon as he was out.

"Whoa," Ron said, behind him," Mum, dad. Hi. I didn't do anything. If something happened, it wasn't me."

"Oh, we were just about to come and get you." Mrs. Weasley said, beaming at Ron, Harry and Hermione. "Hermione, dear, have you seen Ginny anywhere?"

"I'm afraid she went ahead with her friends, Mrs. Weasley."

"Is there something wrong with the train?" Ron asked, "I mean, why are you here?"

"We had some business with the Headmaster," Mr. Weasley replied, "You see, Molly and I think that Harry should be staying with us this summer. In the Burrow. That is, if Harry is fine with that."

"He's fine with that," Ron said quickly, as if fearing that his parents would change their minds. "I mean, Harry, you're fine with that, right?"

"I am," said Harry, unsure and surprised, "But, really, I don't want to impose. I can go back to my, er, relatives."

"Oh, sweetheart, you will not be imposing in any way," Molly assured him, "Since we were here anyway, we decided to pick you up. If Ginny already went to the train, however..."

"She'll be fine," Ron said quickly, "Are we using the Floo? Or, don't tell me, side-along? I hope it's not a portkey, I hate those."

*

It wasn't sadness, not really. Not the same way he had been sad many times in the past. Not the way he had cried over some things as a child. Not when he realized that Aunt Petunia didn't like him and that nobody would be stopping Dudley. Not even when he went back home after his first year at Hogwarts and cried because he didn't have his mum and dad who would keep him safe. Or anyone who would want to keep him safe.

No, this was different.

It was like standing too close to a painting that extended far beyond the edges of his vision while trying to make sense of the whole picture, only to find that impossible and give up. It was the thought of standing up and walking that hardly ever became actual movement. Some days it was something heavy sitting on his chest, other days it was a hole from his heart all the way to his belly button.

"Hey," Ron said, looking down at Harry., "Want to go outside? We could play Quidditch?"

"No, thank you," Harry replied, feeling guilty for not saying yes. He wasn't tired, but he could barely muster up the energy to form a response, let alone stand up and follow Ron outside even if it meant flying. Ron's hand pressing against Harry's forehead was unexpected, but it felt nice. Harry didn't have a fever and Ron's hands were not cold, but the touch felt very soothing regardless.

"I'll be downstairs," Ron said after a few moments of silence. "If you feel up to it, come have something to eat. Not sure what mum will be making later for dinner, though. I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, and Ron closed the door quietly behind him as he left. He didn't blame Harry for being sad. He could only imagine what he would do if he lost someone in his family. Even Percy. No, what did annoy Ron was his own inability to help Harry with anything. The advice he was getting from Hermione through her letters was good, but how on earth was Ron supposed to just sit down and talk about feelings? He wouldn't know from where to even start!

On his way to the kitchen, Ron bumped into Ginny, who was glaring at Fred and George with her arms crossed and a thunderous expression on her face.

"What did they do?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Fred replied instantly. "We were just—"

"—on our way to cheer—"

"—Harry up, when his unexpected bodyguard—"

"—turned up and told us to not even—"

"—think about it!"

"Good job," Ron told Ginny, who nodded while keeping her eyes on the twins still. "The last thing Harry needs is whatever they're up to."

"I know," Ginny replied, "There's a time and place for jokes, but now is not the time and this is not the place. Besides, shouldn't you both go and work on that shop of yours? Get it up and running, I want a summer job next year."

"You tell 'em, Gin," Ron said, making his way past the three and heading towards the kitchen where he found his mother making a treacle tart. "That's for Harry, isn't it?"

"Technically, it's for all of us," Molly replied, "But well, yes. It's his favourite, isn't it? We even have some ice cream to go with it."

"What are you planning on making for dinner?"

"Roasted chicken and cauliflower cheese. If I have enough cheese, that is. Why?"

"Well, mum, I've been thinking," Ron started hesitantly, sitting down on one of the chairs surrounding the dinner table. "You're always happy when you cook, aren't you?"

"Well, I do find it a very enjoyable," Molly replied cheerfully., "It's fun and keeps me from getting bored. Works for me as a stress relief too. Some places even use cooking as therapy, did you know?"

"Do you think it'd help Harry?" Ron asked, looking down at his hands rather than his mother when he spoke. "I mean, if we could get him help you make something. Like the cauliflower cheese. Do you think that could make him feel better? Not, well, not the cauliflower cheese specifically even though it's bloody delicious, but making it."

"I don't know," Molly admitted after a few moments of silent contemplation. "But we can definitely give it a try. Even if it does make him feel better, it won't necessarily fix anything. Don't be disappointed if it doesn't work, is what I'm saying."

"That's fine," Ron said immediately, looking up at her with a hopeful grin. "Then we'll try something else. When are you starting? I'll make sure he comes down. Well, unless he really doesn't want to, in which case I don't know what to do."

"It will be all right, Ron," Molly assured him fondly, "Sometimes it's enough for you to just be there, even if you don't do anything. Oh, the support your father has given me through the years. At times it truly is enough for him to sit down next to me and not say a word, and somehow still manage to make everything better."

"But this is me, you know. So I'm not sure," Ron reluctantly confessed, "I mean, I'm not like Hermione. She always knows what to say to make things better, you know?"

"Is that why you like her so much?"

"What? I mean... sure?"

Molly gave him a long, searching look. Ron flushed red and hunched his shoulders, as if that would make him less visible. "You know that that is not what I meant, darling."

"I liked her," Ron admitted shyly, "I mean, last year I knew I liked her. But then so many things happened and by the time everything was over I just... I don't know. I wasn't feeling it anymore. Should I go get Harry?"

"In an hour," Molly said, accepting the change of subject easily. “Send him down in an hour or so.”

*

"Hey."

Harry opened his eyes and turned is head to see Ron again as he entered the bedroom the two shared. "Hey,." Harry replied, pushing himself to sit up and make space for the other boy to sit on the bed as well. "Did you fly? It looks sunny outside."

"It is sunny, but flying is no fun without you," Ron said, and something about that made Harry feel marginally better. "Still tired?"

"Somewhat," Harry admitted, "But I don't think it's fair of me to just hog your bed forever."

"It's fine, not like the mattress is worse," the other boy replied with a small grin on his freckled face. "Hey, mum was wondering if you'd like to learn how to make cauliflower cheese. Interested? It's good, I promise. You'll love it with chicken."

"I've never had that before," Harry said, liking the idea of learning how to cook something properly. "You're sure she won't mind?"

"Definitely sure," Ron quickly assured him, "She's been wanting to teach all of us the family recipes, but nobody's interested. If you say yes she'll be happy for the next fifty years. No, really, she will."

"Well," Harry said, undeniably pleased, "I really would like that as well." It would be nice to learn how to cook, and making breakfast in the mornings for the Dursleys was vastly different from cooking with someone else, surely. Not to mention that Molly Weasley's constant happiness whenever she saw him made Harry feel strangely fragile, but not in a bad way.

"She said to go down in about an hour," Ron told him, "Well, it's been a while since she said that so maybe half an hour? Or you could go now and help her with setting up, if you like."

"I would like," Harry admitted with a hesitant smile, "I'll go wash my face and get changed. Will you come?"

"I'd rather not, or she'll make me peel potatoes or something," Ron replied, "I'll turn up when it's time to eat."

"Sure," Harry said, finally managing to muster up a smile that didn't look like a grimace.

In all honesty, he still felt awful. He knew from unfortunate experience, however, that without something to do he would simply dwell on the darker thoughts for a long time, making himself feel worse and worse. No, despite the heaviness of his limbs and the ache in his heart, it was better to move and hopefully move on.

Harry washed his face in the closest bathroom, changed his shirt and pretended to comb his hair for a few seconds, before he headed downstairs and to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was washing the dishes and there was something in the oven when she noticed him.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said warmly, leaving the dishes to wash and dry themselves as she wiped her hands and stepped away from the sink. "Here for the cauliflower cheese?"

"If it's not too much trouble, Mrs. Weasley."

"No, no, absolutely not at all. Wash your hands, dear, and grab an apron while I fetch a saucepan."

The kitchen, as cluttered as it was, was also homely and wonderful and Harry didn't feel like an intruder when he worked in it. Not to mention that Mrs. Weasley's company was something Harry really enjoyed and appreciated.

"—and you see, up until then Muriel had thought that I didn't have twins, just one busybody called Fred George Weasley. Merlin, the moment she finally saw them at the same time was quite memorable. Arthur thought she'd have a heart attack, what with the way she went and collapsed."

"Knowing the twins, they must have done it on purpose."

"Oh, they most certainly did! Thought it was all in good fun. Merlin, those boys and their jokes— I grounded them for five weeks after that stunt. Now, see how the flour is disappearing? Keep whisking until we get some bubbles, all right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, and then, after a moment of hesitation, he asked: "If you don't mind telling me, Mrs. Weasley, who taught you how to cook?"

"After learning the basics it's mostly just trying out the fun recipes you get your hands on," Mrs. Weasley replied, "My brother Gideon – he died many years ago – was quite the chef back in the day. He and Fabian wanted to open a restaurant, but after the war began, well, not many dreams survived. But goodness, don't let me bring you down with this talk!"

"No, I," Harry said, unsure of how to continue. He hadn't felt like talking about Sirius before but now if he could just get out a word or two— Then again, Mrs. Weasley had lost her brothers. Two people she had grown up with. What if she thought that Harry was being stupid and—

"Is this about Sirius?" Mrs. Weasley said kindly. "Let's turn off the heat and then you can stir in most of the cheese, darling. You know, when I lost people I loved, it took me a long time before I even knew how to function again. There are many people who can just... Stand up and keep going despite their grief, but I wasn't like that. Arthur's sister died a week after my brothers did, and while I was in bed trying to just breathe from under my misery, he carried on for me and the kids. He didn't stop working - he took a day off for the funeral, but otherwise kept working every day. For a while he even did the cooking. And eventually with his help, I started feeling better."

"Mrs. Weasley..."

"My point is," the woman continued, "People are allowed to need each other. You don't have to need anyone to be a ‘real’ person, but if you do— needing other humans and the comfort they can offer is all right, you know. We're here for you, Harry. All of us."

Harry blinked his eyes, trying to get rid of the tears that had come despite the fact that he didn't want to cry all over the cheese sauce, and took in a deep breath. "Thank you," he said, hating how little of his gratitude the word really expressed. "I... I miss him a lot."

"He was a good man," Mrs. Weasley said, "I know he and I didn't see eye-to-eye in many things, but he was a good man."

"Thank you," Harry muttered, something inside him feeling slightly better at hearing her words. It meant a lot to him to hear good things about Sirius. Not many had known him, for a long time no one had had anything good to say about him, and even Remus had often been very dismissive of everything Sirius had said or done.

Harry knew what it felt like, living trapped in a house where nobody valued anything you said.

"Oh, that smells right," Mrs. Weasley said, peering into the saucepan. "Now, let's pour it over the cauliflower and then scatter what we have left of the cheese and breadcrumbs. Goodness, Harry, please tell me you will want to do this again. Cooking is fun, but it's even more so when I have you here with me."

"I'd love to, Mrs. Weasley," the boy replied, wondering if it was normal to feel so happy. He wasn't used to this feeling, even before Sirius had died.

Later, when Harry looked at the meal he had helped prepare, watched the people enjoying it, he felt useful in a way that was... good. He was contributing without causing trouble, wasn't he? Nothing dangerous, nothing risky, nothing that could be twisted into a grossly inaccurate tale of bravery. Just cooking for people who appreciated it.

It was nice.

 *

After dinner it was strangely easy to breathe. It was easy to talk. He could justify smiling by the sense of accomplishment that he was feeling.

Later on in bed, Harry could close his eyes without reliving Sirius's death. He could fall asleep without nightmares shaking him awake moments later.

But in the morning, the weight at the pit of his stomach was back alongside the hole in his heart. And now there was also strange restlessness in his limbs, making it impossible to just stay still. Ron's heavy, steady breathing could calm his heart for a while, but eventually Harry had to sit up and make his way towards the door.

The morning sunlight swept into the hallway from the small windows above his head and the chirping of the early birds followed him all the way to the bathroom. A cold shower didn't make him feel any less restless, but it did make him feel somewhat more focused.

He could hear a quite murmur of voices coming from below, and after a moment of hesitation, Harry crept down the stairs until he reached the kitchen, where he found Mr. Weasley drinking tea while Mrs. Weasley was looking through the cabinets for something.

"Good morning, Harry," Mr. Weasley said as soon as he saw him. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, um, thanks. Good morning," Harry replied awkwardly, unsure if he should ask the man if he slept well. Would it sound silly? Luckily, Mrs. Weasley turned away from the cabinets then and smiled in his direction.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, "Come, have some tea! I was just thinking of making some cinnamon buns for everyone. Have you ever had any?"

"No, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, "Would you mind if I, um, helped?"

"Oh, I would love that, darling," the witch instantly replied. "Wash your hands and grab the apron. I'll get the ingredients. Arthur, aren't you running late already?"

"Goodness," Mr. Weasley said, jumping up, "Yes, I am. How on earth can time fly so fast? Perhaps to get to work on time I should use the car—"

"The Floo is faster, Arthur. And you're not late yet."

"Yes, but what if the fireplaces are all busy, Molly? I'll have to wait for hours!"

"Perhaps you should do what you do every morning," Mrs. Weasley replied, "And Floo directly into your office, Arthur. Now, Harry, we start with warming the milk in this saucepan for a few minutes."

"Morning," Ginny said, walking in just as Mr. Weasley walked out. "What are you guys making?"

"Cinnamon buns," Harry replied, keeping his eyes on the milk as if it would suddenly evaporate into nothing and leave him with a failed mess. "But there's tea."

"And if you can't wait for the buns, I can make some sandwiches in a minute," Mrs. Weasley told her, "Or better yet, Ginny, you can make sandwiches for everyone."

"Eh, I don't think anyone would want to eat triangles of my anger this early in the morning," said Ginny hastily, retreating once she had grabbed an apple. "I'll come down in an hour or so."

"This is how it is," Mrs. Weasley sighed, though she didn't sound angry when Ginny practically ran upstairs again. "No one else is interested in cooking or baking in this household."

"I'm sorry," Harry said hesitantly, "It would be, er, great if you could share the recipes with the rest of the family." He absently wondered what kind of chef his mother had been. Aunt Petunia liked plain and bland food, and had a handful of recipes she never strayed from.

"Well, I've got you now, haven't I?" Mrs. Weasley told him with a smile. "Now let's take that milk off the heat and add some yeast and a dash of sugar."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said while following her instructions, feeling both scared and hopeful at the same time. "It sounds like, um, well, I mean..."

"You're part of this family, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching to ruffle his hair with a fond expression on her face. "Next we whisk in the melted butter, the vanilla and the egg yolk."

"Is it because of what happened with Sirius?" Harry asked, "I really appreciate everything you all have done, especially getting me away from the Dursleys and letting me stay here. And all the time and energy you're wasting while teaching me how to cook and bake. And I know I should be more, do more, to show how thankful I am. And I owe you—"

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, pulled the mixing spoon away from Harry and then hugging the boy tightly. "Time spent with you is never a waste of time. Can't you see how much fun I'm having, cooking and baking with you?" When she let him go, she was kind enough to ignore how wet his eyes were.

"This is not about Sirius," she continued, "You don't need to compensate for anything, Harry. The only thing you should do is stop blaming yourself for what happened. Sirius loved you from the bottom of his heart, and knowing that he died fighting Death Eaters is something he would have wanted. He did take two down with him, didn't he? I heard Nott and Goyle wouldn't have been arrested had he not knocked them out first."

"He wouldn't have gone there had I not been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick!" Harry burst out, "I should have tried harder to keep him out of my head!"

"Albus told me about that connection the two of you have," Mrs. Weasley said, handing him the self-cleaning mixing spoon back. "Let's mix flour, the sugar, the salt and nutmeg now. Anyway, Harry, You-Know-Who is a powerful Dark wizard in his seventies. He spent decades learning the kinds of magic not even Albus has ever heard of. And you, you are a fifth year Hogwarts student. Would you blame anyone else in that kind of situation? Aren't you being unfair to yourself?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to feel," Harry admitted, hoping that he could find an answer in the nutmeg he was mixing into the dough. No such luck.

"There are no set rules for how to function when grieving," Mrs. Weasley said, "But it helps to know where you want to be, and just keep going until you get there.”

*

A few hours later found Harry and Ron in Ron's room, trying to deal with the heat by moving as little as possible. Fred and George had tried to sell them a RoomCooler for two galleons, but Mrs. Weasley had caught them and confiscated it under the guise of it being a very unreliable invention that could set curtains on fire.

"Your mum is awesome," Harry said suddenly, "I'm jealous."

Ron rolled to lie on his side, and stared at Harry for a few moments, thinking of what to say. "Life won't be shit forever," he finally said. Harry snorted.

"We hope."

"Mate," Ron said, and rolled once more on the floor to be close enough to poke Harry's side with his finger. "Think about the future. You'll buy a really nice apartment after you get out of Hogwarts. You'll have a job and make some decent money. You can eat ice cream every morning if you want to and now since mum is teaching you how to cook, you'll have delicious food all the time. Treacle Tart Tuesdays, Harry! Think about those!"

"I think I'd rather have dinners here," Harry admitted with a laugh, and smiled when his words made Ron grin happily.

"Yeah, well. Mum would prefer that, too."

"Just your mum?"

"Don't be dense," Ron said., "Or I'll kick you as soon as I feel like moving again."

"Nobody's kicking anybody," Ginny said, peeking in through the doorway. "But you two will be moving pretty soon. Mum wants you guys to go with Fred and George to the market to buy some groceries."

"I thought you'd be spending the whole day with Luna," said Ron with a sour look on his face, "Why are you here?"

"I live here, would you believe it?" Ginny replied, "Hi Harry. You look better."

"I'm feeling better," Harry said, realizing how true that was. He still didn't like thinking of what happened and he most definitely couldn't stop blaming himself for everything - because no matter what the others said, Harry knew that he was the reason why Sirius had died. He did, however, feel better than he had a few days ago. Cooking kept him focused and made him feel accomplished, like he wasn't an entirely useless human being. And while Mrs. Weasley's presence was always comforting, it was spending time with Ron that made Harry look forward to the rest of the summer.

"Why can't the twins go by themselves?" Ron wanted to know, pushing himself to sit up. "Merlin, it's like we're being sent to babysit them. And why aren't you coming? Don't pretend that you have anything important to do."

"I have a lot of important things to do," Ginny claimed instantly, "Harry, have you ever been to the market here? It's a pretty nice place."

"It's a nice place if you're not hunting for the cheapest vegetables," Ron said, sighing heavily, "Tell mum we'll be downstairs in a minute."

"Aunt Petunia never let me buy the groceries," Harry said, standing up and looking for a clean shirt. "She didn't trust me with money. Thought I'd steal it."

"She doesn't know you, mate," Ron said, stomping down the rising anger he could feel. How Harry could still call that woman his aunt, Ron couldn't guess. "Else she'd know better than to think that. Here, I've got two clean shirts, you can take this one."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, feeling suddenly strangely embarrassed at the thought of wearing Ron's clothes. "How close is it?"

"With brooms at a decent speed it's less than ten minutes upstream," Ron replied, "With groceries it can be a bit slower, but since Fred and George can do magic outside of school now, they can just charm the bags to fly in front of us. It'll look stupid, but it's better than carrying them all the way home any other way."

A few minutes later found Harry standing outside with his Firebolt in hand while Ron, Fred and George were on the receiving end of a strict talk from Mrs. Weasley about behaving properly in public, and shouldn’t you be old enough to know that without a regularly scheduled lecture by now, all three of you? Looking at the Firebolt, the thought of Sirius surfaced again, and Harry almost asked Ron to switch brooms. He didn't, knowing that nobody would appreciate the extra trouble. Besides, he didn't want to explain why he'd want to switch.

"Let's go," Ron said once Mrs. Weasley had finished. "We've got quite a few things to get. Mum wants to teach you how to make a beef wellington and we're missing most of the things needed for it."

"Oh, Harry, you'll make a fine bride one day," Fred said, sniffing loudly, "How time flies!"

"It feels like yesterday, when we first saw you," George continued, pretending to wipe tears off his eyes. "So tiny, you were. Still tiny, you are."

"Ignore them," Ron advised and got on his broom while Harry couldn't stop blushing with embarrassment. "They're wankers. I can't wait until the renovations are done at their store so they can go and spend most of their time there. Come on, let's go."

The farmers' market was easy to find, and packed with people. There were stalls everywhere, some selling food ingredients, some potion ingredients, and some were even makeshift restaurants. There were witches and wizards of all ages milling around, talking, buying, eating - some were even dancing!

"This is brilliant," Harry said, turning his head to look at all the interesting things around him. "I love it. This looks so much fun. Are those pies? People sell food here too, not just ingredients? Merlin, this is so brilliant."

"Yeah, I guess it's awesome," Ron admitted with a shrug, trying to not sound too proud of his hometown's farmers' market. "Fred, you know where the butchers are, right? We need beef fillet. You know what kind. Enough for eight people."

"I knew it," Fred sighed, "The handsome redhead in the group was brought along just to do the heavy lifting."

"George, grab the basket and walk with us," Ron continued, not bothering to pay attention to his other brother. "We'll start with the vegetables and fruits. Let's grab the good ones before they're all gone. First, we need tomatoes."

Shopping at the farmers' market was fairly enjoyable despite the crowds, and Harry was wholeheartedly impressed by how used to this the Weasleys seemed to be. Harry knew that he wasn't particularly useful, but tried to help out whenever he could. Fred joined them again with a wrapped package of beef by the time Ron had advanced to selecting mushrooms.

All went well until right after they had bought the herbs that Mrs. Weasley had listed. A woman who bumped into Harry recognized his face instantly, and let out a loud shriek of delight. "Marie," she screamed, reaching to grab Harry's arm while calling for her friend. "This is Harry Potter!"

"Bollocks," Ron hissed, yanking Harry out of her reach and pushing him away. It was of little use, however, as more witches and wizards seemed to notice what was going on.

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"Mum, look! It's Harry Potter!"

"No, that can't be him. I think he's too short to be—"

"Hello! You! Excuse me! Are you Harry Potter?"

"Merlin." Harry frowned, trying to nervously smooth his fringe over the scar. "Ron, what do we—"

"We need a distraction," Ron said, "We're only missing the butter and milk, which we can grab on our way back to where our brooms are. For now, though, we need a distraction."

"We've got this," Fred said, pulling something small, round and grey from his pocket. "Time to test some new products, eh?"

"Finally!" George cheered, levitating the bags of groceries towards Harry and Ron. "Off you go, these will follow you."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Fred hollered, climbing to stand on top of a table. "Despite the fine weather we've been having, something is still missing, isn't it? Something like laughter and fun!"

"Let's get going," Ron whispered, and led Harry away through the crowd that had its attention captured by Fred and George. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Let's hope your mum won't be angry," Harry said, practically running to keep up. "Hey, the milk stand is there! They have butter too, don't they?"

"Hide your face behind the bags," Ron told him, "Pretend to, I don't know, hold one? Just keep your face hidden. I'll take care of the rest."

Ron was quick, and soon the milk and butter were added into their purchases. Not a moment later the two boys hurried towards the place where they had left their brooms, and waited for the twins to catch up. The witch keeping an eye on all the parked brooms was leaning against her booth with her eyes closed, snoring heavily.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "I didn't know anyone would still react to me like that."

"It's not your fault," Ron replied, "Bloody hell, did you see that first one? She was ready to sink her claws into your arm!" Right then a loud boom rocked the whole market, and the boys could see a dragon made of fire rise in the distance - incidentally, from where they had left the twins. The sound of screams reached their ears alongside with loud curses.

"Merlin, no," Ron whimpered., "Harry, tell me that's not a dragon."

"That's not a dragon," Harry said, "That's fire in the shape of a dragon. And Fred and George are running this way, fast."

"Get on the brooms!" one of the twins screamed. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"What on earth have you done?" Ron howled, staring wide-eyed at the fire behind them. "I asked for a simple distraction!"

"Oh, sorry," Fred said, sounding far too pleased with himself. "We heard destruction."

"But they are distracted, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mum will kill us," Ron wailed, "She'll kill us and then I'll kill you!"

"Nonsense," George said, "She doesn't need to find out about this."

*

"Did you think that I wouldn't find out!?"

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the tomatoes he was washing, while Ron was pretending to be deaf and blind to anything but the cinnamon bun in front of him. Fred and George were standing not a few feet away from them, looking highly amused despite the verbal lashing they were receiving from Mrs. Weasley.

"I'll reply to Mr. Buttermere's letter and the two of you will head back, right now, to help fix the damage you've caused."

"Why is he even blaming us?" Fred asked, but a look from his mother made him shrug and grin. "All right, had to give that a try."

"Go!" Mrs. Weasley ordered, and stayed at the doorway glaring after the twins. "Merlin, how the neighbours must think I'm raisin my children."

"Calm down, mum," Ron finally said, finishing his cinnamon bun. "Everyone knows what they're like."

"They're still trying to outdo the stunt you two pulled with Arthur's car a few years ago," Mrs. Weasley said, and shook her head. "Oh well, moving on. We'll start with the beef wellington right away, Harry. It takes more time than I often like to spend on one dish. First, let's get the roasting tray and the beef fillet."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, happy to get back to cooking. Ron sat down by the table, pulled the remaining cinnamon buns closer and watched silently his mother and his best friend cooking together. He wasn't sure what kind of joy could be found in brushing a beef fillet with olive oil, but Ron wasn't about tojudge Harry for it.

"We add the pepper and then roast it for twenty minutes," Mrs. Weasley instructed, "Goodness, I can't wait until we get to make Christmas snacks together. It will be so much fun!"

"I want pinwheel sandwiches," Ron said. "And potato salad. And—"

"We'll get back to your suggestions in December, darling," Mrs. Weasley said, making Ron sigh sadly. "After we're done with the roasting, we'll let the beef cool for a few minutes while we chop the chestnuts and mushrooms. Chop them as finely as you can, Harry."

"What's the weather going to be like, tomorrow?" Ron asked then, leaning forward to watch Harry put more care into chopping now than he had ever done in Snape's class. "Is it going to be this hot and sunny?"

"Probably."

"Well then, Harry, we should have a picnic tomorrow!"

"You're ready to spend a whole day outside in this heat for the sake of pinwheel sandwiches?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "Goodness."

"Not sure why you're surprised," Ron replied. "So, Harry, what say you?"

"Sure," Harry said, shooting Ron a smile, "You have a specific place in mind?"

"Place and menu," Ron told him, "We can take our brooms and get there in less than an hour. There's a lake nearby too, if you fancy a swim."

"Sounds great," Harry said, heating butter in a large pan before dumping the mushrooms into it. "Should we go in the morning? We'll need to prepare the snacks first, though."

"Go as early as possible," Mrs. Weasley advised, "Or else someone is bound to follow you. Now, Harry, we add the thyme and stir for a few minutes before we season the duxelle."

Ron wasn't sure why watching Harry made him smile. Why seeing Harry happy made Ron happy too. Why this moment with Harry in the Burrow felt like a thing that should last forever. He didn't know, but wished from the bottom of his heart for a way to somehow take the happiness that welled up inside him now and share it with his best friend to keep him happy for every day of his life.

*

The morning sun peeking through the leaves of the trees above them made Harry squint as he followed with his eyes the flight of a bird in the distance. Soft breezes of wind would reach them every now and then, making the heat far more tolerable than it had been the day before. Ron was lying on his back with a sandwich in each hand, talking about Chudley Cannons.

"I'm telling you, Harry, the players are not to blame. Tugwood is just lousy at coming up with strategies for the game. They haven't had a decent attack plan for years!"

"Who was Tugwood again?" Harry asked, reaching for a cupcake. They were on a colourful blanket, the basketful of food between them, while their brooms were lying on the grass a few feet away. "The captain?"

"What?" Ron yelped, sitting up to stare at Harry with a scandalized expression. "No! He's the coach! Harry!"

"Oh, sorry," laughed Harry, "I forgot."

"You arse," Ron groaned, then promptly stuffed his mouth with the sandwiches he had been holding before reaching for the pitcher of lemonade. Harry, his grin fading into a small smile, sighed heavily and leaned back against the tree trunk.

"I miss Sirius," he suddenly said, "And I feel so angry at myself."

"Don't blame yourself," Ron managed to get out through the food in his mouth. "Blame You-Know-Who. And that wretched house-elf. A worse git than Malfoy. But you can blame Malfoy too, I’m bloody sure he did something to deserve it."

"But not worse than Snape," Harry said, thinking of the Potions Master, "Merlin, now there's a bastard. I just... I know he'll have something to say about Sirius. Again. Because nothing is too low for him."

"We can hex him if he says anything. Seriously. We can be discreet about it, too."

"Dumbledore would be able to guess."

"Would he care enough to interfere?" Ron asked, finishing his sandwiches. "If we keep it harmless. Who knows, he might find it even funny." Harry shrugged and looked at his best friend fondly. He had felt gratitude in his life before, and this feeling he had right now was not just that. It filled him on the inside, curled around his heart and made him blush for reasons that had nothing to do with heat and sweat. Harry didn't know what had changed during the past few days, or if this was something that had been coming a long time now, but he really wanted to run his hands across Ron's shoulders, touch the red curls at the back of his head and make him laugh.

"Just imagine," Ron continued, leaning closer to Harry over the picnic basket. "We can hex his chair or his robes. We can look up timed hexes too and have his hair turning into snakes hours after curfew. It's going to be brilliant!"

"Careful or you'll tip this over and we lose all the food," Harry said with a laugh, and moved the picnic basket to a safer place. "And you think he won't blame us anyway? Snape has never needed proof to punish us, you know?"

"It's fine," said Ron suddenly reaching forward to take a hold of Harry's hand, and Merlin if that didn't feel like the most natural thing to do. "We'll get it done anyway. We'll make them look like accidents. Harmless things that can happen to anybody. Come on, Harry, give me a cheer for this brilliant plan."

"That's not a plan," Harry said, trying to make a serious face but unable to stop smiling. For once, it was that way. "Seriously, Ron? Are you a, what was his name? Are you a Tugwood, Ron?"

"Arse," Ron replied, suddenly moving to lie down again, pulling Harry along with him. It wasn't the impact that made him breathless while they laid there, sprawled together under the tree, surrounded by sunlight and colours and everything delight could be made of.

"I feel happy." Harry said, pressing his face against the soft fabric of Ron's shirt and hearing his heartbeat. "I don't know if I can keep it up, this feeling, but right now I'm feeling happy."

"I think staying happy is going to need a lot of good things," Ron replied, "Not just delicious food or fantastic weather. I mean, if there's a recipe for happy smiles, I think it's going to have more than just one thing. Think of all the good things in our lives."

"Hogwarts," Harry said immediately, "Quidditch. You."

"You, too," Ron said, tugging at Harry's hair a little bit, "Definitely you."

"Your whole family," Harry added, "And Hermione, too."

"Hermione too," Ron agreed, closing his eyes and relaxing under the warm rays of sunlight, his fingers still entangled in Harry's hair. Eventually they'd need to stand up and go back to the Burrow.

Not yet, though. Not yet.