On the outskirts of the village of Ottery St Catchpole, amid fields and clusters of trees, stood a peculiar house.

It leaned and twisted, like a pile of children’s blocks assembled at random.

Several rooms were awkwardly attached to the main structure, supported in places by beams that somehow kept the whole thing in a state of bizarre balance.

This was the Burrow.

The home of the Weasley family.

At that moment, in the distant sky, a car came wobbling toward it.

The vehicle dipped and swayed before finally crashing down into a ramshackle garage beside the Burrow.

Bang!

Dust billowed into the air.

Four boys climbed out of the car.

“Harry, this is our home!” Ron said as he introduced it to his best friend. Then he scratched his cheek, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry… it might not look like much.”

“No, Ron, it’s amazing!” Harry said sincerely.

He gazed at the wide-open countryside, a sense of freedom flooding his chest, like escaping from hell. Everything looked wonderful to him.

As long as it wasn’t the Dursleys’ house, it was perfect. There was nothing worse in the world than that place.

Harry breathed in the fresh air and couldn’t help recalling the thoroughly miserable holiday he’d just endured.

As usual, he’d been ordered around and shouted at.

Worse, after becoming a wizard, he’d been treated like a ticking bomb. They wouldn’t even allow his owl to leave its cage.

On top of that, a house-elf calling itself Dobby had suddenly appeared, insisting that something terrible would happen at Hogwarts next term and that Harry must not go back.

To stop him, the elf had deliberately caused chaos, ruining his uncle’s meeting with an important guest.

Harry was certain of one thing.

This had to be Malfoy’s doing.

And it had worked.

Because of Dobby’s actions, the furious Dursleys had locked him in the cupboard again, even nailing the window shut.

If Ron and his twin brothers hadn’t flown in last night in a magical car to rescue him, Harry would have spent the entire holiday trapped in darkness.

Coming back to himself, Harry looked at Ron and said once more, sincerely, “Your home is really wonderful.”

Seeing the honesty in his friend’s eyes, Ron finally smiled.

He led Harry out of the garage, ready to show him around properly.

But before they could even reach the Burrow, the door flew open and a thin, pale, middle-aged man with blond hair stepped out.

Harry assumed he was one of Ron’s relatives and whispered, “Who’s that?”

“Someone from the Avery family. Don’t bother with him. He’s a strange one,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose in obvious dislike.

“He’s been coming over all the time lately, asking about ways to have children. It’s been really awkward for Mum and Dad.

And he even wants to set up his Squib son with my sister. Hmph.”

“The Avery family?” Harry was surprised.

After everything that had happened last term, he was quite familiar with that name.

The twins locked the car doors and caught up from behind.

“We actually know a bit about that,” one of them said casually. “There aren’t any wizards left in the Avery family’s next generation. They’re at a critical point.”

“If they don’t find a way to produce wizard children, they’ll end up like the Gaunt family—gradually turning into Muggles and fading away.”

Harry froze.

He hadn’t expected the downfall of those proud pure-blood families Malfoy boasted about to be so… absurd.

“But isn’t there an Avery in Slytherin?” Harry asked. “The one who was in the papers.”

“He disappeared,” George shrugged. “From what we’ve heard, no one’s seen him since January twentieth.”

“Everyone says he was brutally killed by Dawn,” Fred added in a deliberately grim tone, making Ron jump.

Harry went pale. “But didn’t the papers say Richter was the one killed by Avery?”

“Maybe it’s Dawn’s ghost,” George said solemnly.

“You’ve seen ghosts, right?

I heard his ghost is hiding in the castle. Any student who runs into it during a night walk gets killed and buried.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, their fear deepening.

Then—

“Hah! You actually believed that?”

The twins clapped their hands together and burst out laughing.

Ron’s face stiffened. He instantly realized he’d been fooled again.

Turning away in a huff, he happened to see the blond man being led away by a house-elf, vanishing from sight.

Ron muttered, “I never thought having lots of siblings would be something other people envied.”

As the fifth child in the Weasley family, Ron had always felt overshadowed by his brothers.

Everything he owned was secondhand. Even his rat, Scabbers, had been passed along countless times.

Sometimes he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be an only child.

“Oh? Our dear little brother seems unhappy with us,” George said, slinging an arm around Ron’s neck.

“Fred, shouldn’t we do something to mend our brotherly relationship?”

“Yes, we really have done quite a few questionable things,” Fred said seriously. “I remember Ron’s always wanted a new pet. How about—”

He dragged out the words, then suddenly grinned when Ron looked over.

“How about we get him a spider?”

“Brilliant!” George praised. “A big, furry spider. Little Ronnie would be thrilled!”

Ron’s face went red. He wanted to argue, but worried the twins might actually do it. In the end, he just snapped, “Don’t call me that.”

The twins looked at each other and laughed even harder.

Embarrassed, Ron hurriedly grabbed Harry and changed the subject. “Harry, have you seen this year’s book list?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “They took all my things. They wouldn’t let me have anything magical.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, we’ve got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. I don’t think Snape will be filling in anymore.”

“Really? That’s great!” Harry lit up.

He remembered being tortured by Snape in both Potions and Defense last term, losing points until he was half-dazed.

Suddenly, even the idea of Dawn’s ghost didn’t seem so terrifying.

“And there’s an extra book for Defense this year,” Ron lowered his voice dramatically. “Guess what it’s called?”

He leaned in. “Tears and Blood: On Magical Injury.”

Harry blinked. “What’s wrong with that book?”

“Um… probably something,” Ron said uncertainly. “We haven’t bought the books yet, but Mum’s read it before.

She’s complained about the new professor hundreds of times these past few days.”

“I think it sounds like a great professor!” Fred chimed in. “Just look at that title. How cool is that?”

George nodded approvingly. “And if Mum hates it, that means it must be interesting. I’m looking forward to it!”

Fred poked Ron’s cheek. “Don’t you think so, Little Ronnie?”

“Or do you prefer garlic smells and listening to Professor Quirrell read aloud? Or maybe you enjoy Snape docking points?”

“I told you, don’t call me that!” Ron snapped. “And I don’t like either of those!”

Harry watched the three of them bickering, feeling a pang of envy.

But before the feeling could linger, a voice rang out from the Burrow’s doorway.

“How long are you three planning to stand there? Dragging Harry around chatting at the door—people will think this is how the Weasley family treats guests!”

A plump witch in a flowered apron stepped out, a wand tucked into her pocket.

She looked kind, but when she surveyed them sternly, even the twins shrank back.

“All right! Bring Harry inside, now!”

Molly Weasley put her hands on her hips, then turned back to the kitchen to prepare the day’s feast.

When she was out of earshot, Fred whispered, “Wow. Mum’s been scary lately.”

“Is it because I showed up uninvited?” Harry asked nervously. Years of living under someone else’s roof had made him sensitive to that.

Ron grabbed him. “Of course not. Mum’s wanted you to visit for ages. Like I said before, it’s probably because of the new professor.”

“And not just that,” George added quietly. “Ever since Lockhart was exposed, her mood’s been awful.”

“Lockhart?” Harry asked, confused.

“Oh, a bestselling author. Pretty famous,” Fred explained. “Mum used to admire him.”

“But back in May or June, it came out that all his books were stolen stories.”

“But I didn’t see anything about that in the papers,” Harry said.

“Ask Fudge,” George shrugged. “Dad says Lockhart had an Order of Merlin, Third Class. A scandal like that wasn’t something Fudge wanted public.”

Talking as they went, the four of them entered the Burrow.

Harry took in the wizarding home for the first time—the cupboards packed with cookbooks, the clanking kitchen tools, the radio by the sink singing cheerfully.

What fascinated him most was the clock. Instead of numbers, it read things like “Cleaning” and “Making Coffee.”

Just then, a tall, thin boy with glasses and neatly pressed clothes walked over.

“Minister Fudge is concerned about social stability,” he said primly to the twins. “Don’t make irresponsible comments. Spreading that sort of thing causes trouble for the Ministry.”

His name was Percy Weasley, Ron and the twins’ brother. He had clearly overheard the conversation.

He stopped in front of Harry and extended a hand. “Welcome, Harry.”

“H-hello,” Harry said quickly, shaking it.

Fred rolled his eyes and mimicked, “Causes trouble for the Ministry.”

He nudged George. “Oi, when did such an important Ministry official come to our house?”

“I think you’re mistaken, Fred,” George said solemnly after circling Percy. “I’ve never heard of anyone like that at the Ministry.”

Percy snorted and walked off to his room, while the twins pulled faces behind his back.

And so Harry settled into life at the Burrow, feeling as though he were living in a dream he never wanted to wake from.

There was no Dudley, no oppression, no dark cupboard, no scraps of leftovers.

Mrs. Weasley was warm and kind. The twins were lively and fun. Everyone cared about him.

Even if it meant squeezing onto a narrow bed with Ron at night, Harry thought this place was paradise.

Though his stay hadn’t been long, he truly loved it.

A week passed in the blink of an eye.

Today was August fifteenth.

Early in the morning, Mrs. Weasley dragged all the children out of bed, shoved five or six sandwiches into each of their hands, and urged them to hurry up.

They were going to Diagon Alley to shop.

“You must say the name clearly, and remember not to step out at the wrong fireplace,” she instructed, carefully explaining Floo Powder to Harry.

Her serious expression made him nervous.

He threw the powder into the fire, inhaled a lungful of smoke, and stammered, “Diagon Alley!”

Whoosh!

Flames surged.

After a dizzy spin, Harry felt himself slam onto stone.

He shook his head and scrambled up, covered in soot. Through his cracked glasses, he saw that he’d landed in a dark, sinister-looking shop.

Rusty tools hung from the ceiling. Human bones filled the display cases. Bloodstained playing cards lay scattered.

Harry swallowed, aware of glass eyes watching him. This was definitely not where he was supposed to be.

He crept toward the door, planning to escape as quickly as possible.

But before he reached it, he saw, through the grimy glass, Malfoy and another man outside.

Harry froze, glanced around, and spotted a large black cabinet to his left. He slipped inside.

Malfoy and his father had come to sell dark magical items.

Peering through a crack, Harry listened to their entire conversation and understood their purpose.

Once the Malfoys finished their business and left, Harry meant to sneak out.

But through the gap, he saw the shop owner still at the counter, fiddling with a mirror. With no choice, he shrank back into hiding.

In a guest room at the Leaky Cauldron, Dawn suddenly lowered his book.

Sensing something amiss, he reached into his robes and pulled out a mirror wrapped in cloth, vibrating faintly.

It was a two-way mirror, an alchemical device allowing communication between two people. Dawn had found it in Borgin and Burkes.

The other mirror was in Borgin’s hands.

They had agreed that whenever Malfoy came to sell dark magical objects, Borgin would notify Dawn through the mirror.

___________

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