just a little longer
Harry shuffled into the kitchen mid-morning, his feet dragging in Mr. Weasley’s oversized slippers and Ron’s borrowed jumper hanging loose around his shoulders. He still looked pale, but the wild fever-glow in his eyes had settled into something softer. Sleepy. Real.
“Morning, love,” Mrs. Weasley said, her wand already swishing over a bubbling kettle. “Hungry?”
Harry hesitated. “A bit. Head still… hurts.”
“Of course it does.” She poured him tea, already adding a pinch of pain-relief potion with practiced ease. “Here you are. Sip slowly.”
He obeyed, carefully wrapping his hands around the warm mug. His eyes tracked the room—the clink of cutlery, the patchwork afghan on the couch, the clock with all the Weasley hands pointing to “Home.”
Then, so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, he asked, “Can I… sit on the sofa? With the blanket?”
Her smile was instant. “You can sit wherever you like, darling.”
He hovered by the armrest, clutching his tea, until she followed him over. She adjusted the cushions with a flick of her wand, then gently draped the blanket over his lap. He startled when she tucked it around him. He wasn’t used to people doing that for him.
“Would you—” he started, cheeks flushed, “Would you sit with me?”
Her whole face softened. “Of course I will.”
He leaned into her side tentatively, like he was afraid he might break the rules just by existing. But she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in properly, settling him with a motherly huff like it was the most natural thing in the world.
After a few moments of quiet, Harry asked, “What do… what do normal kids do? When they’re sick, I mean?”
Mrs. Weasley blinked. “Well. They do what you’re doing now, mostly. Stay in pyjamas. Nap a lot. Drink tea. Sometimes we play a game or read aloud if someone feels up for it. Or just cuddle on the sofa until the worst passes.”
Harry stared into his tea. “Sounds nice.”
“It is nice,” she said gently. “You deserve that too, Harry.”
He nodded, but his throat was too tight to answer.