"No Answer"

There were no unexpected stops on the way to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, so Harry made his way to the bustling prank shop in Diagon Alley in about 15 minutes. Upon arriving, he stood outside for a moment, taking a deep breath, before knocking once and slowly pushing the door open. The familiar jingle of the bell chimed above him as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the vibrant displays filled with colorful and whimsical products, all designed to elicit laughter and chaos.

“George?” Harry called out, his voice slightly tentative as he navigated further into the shop, trying to discern where his friend might be hiding amidst the playful chaos.

“Are you still here?” he continued, the excitement of seeing his friend rising within him. As he moved deeper into the shop, something flickered at the edge of his vision. He quickly turned his head in that direction, but whatever it was had vanished. ‘Maybe I'm just being paranoid,’ he thought, slightly amused at himself. Just as he prepared to dismiss it, he caught a glimpse of movement again. Before he could react, however, something shot towards him from the corner of the shop. He instinctively reached for his wand, but instead, he was overwhelmed by a tight hug that lifted him off his feet.

“HARRIKINNS!” George’s voice boomed joyfully, his enthusiasm palpable.

“Hey, George! How’s it going? Are you holding up well? How’s the shop?” Harry gasped, finally able to catch his breath as he was released from the friendly embrace.

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The two friends settled into a cozy nook of the shop, where they engaged in lively conversation for nearly 30 minutes. They exchanged updates on their lives, with Harry eager to hear about the latest antics at the shop and George’s spirited recounting of their newest products. Harry learned that the Weasley family was planning a gathering at the Burrow, and the thought filled him with warmth. Set against the backdrop of colorful walls adorned with pranks and gags, their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and inside jokes.

Eventually, they made their way through the lively streets of Diagon Alley towards the Floo transport section, the sound of bustling shoppers and a blend of magical chatter surrounding them. Their discussion continued for another 30 minutes, touching on their respective jobs and what the week had entailed. Harry was careful about what he shared, mindful of his confidentiality, but he enjoyed bantering back and forth with George, who seemed to revel in every detail.

Upon reaching the Floo, they each tossed a handful of green powder into the shimmering flames. The fire crackled enthusiastically as they declared their destination and stepped into the swirling vortex, anticipation bubbling within Harry as he emerged into the familiar atmosphere.

As Harry stepped through the Floo Network, he stumbled slightly, his foot catching on the threshold, but he quickly regained his balance with a sheepish smile. “Why can’t I seem to master that?” he thought, a blend of amusement and mild embarrassment bubbling within him. He surveyed the room, taking in the cozy, rustic charm of the Burrow. The walls were adorned with an array of family photos, and the faint scent of baked goods wafted through the air, evoking a wave of nostalgia.

Determined to brighten Mrs. Weasley’s home, Harry made his way into the spacious kitchen, where he resolved to find the vases she always kept on the counter, brimming with vibrant, fresh flowers. He racked his brain, trying to recall where she typically stored them. After a minute filled with jumbled memories of past visits that left him puzzled, he decided to abandon his recollections and instead embark on a little exploration of the cupboards. The prospect of a mini-adventure ignited a thrill within him.

After diligently rummaging through several shelves, Harry's efforts bore fruit as he finally spotted the vases perched high on the top shelf of the oak cabinet to the left of the stove. With a flick of his wand, he cast a spell to levitate one gracefully down to him. The vase shimmered slightly in the air before landing gently in his hands. He then carried it over to the sink, filling it with clean, cool water, watching as it splashed lightly against the ceramic.

Next, he retrieved a packet of enchanted flower food from one of the drawers, carefully mixing it into the water to ensure the blooms would remain vibrant and lively. After placing the freshly picked flowers into the vase and arranging them thoughtfully, he set it on the counter in a prominent spot where Mrs. Weasley would surely notice it upon entering the room.

With a sense of accomplishment warming his heart, Harry made his way to the plush couch in the living room. He sank into the cushions, feeling the weight of the day ease from his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a few moments of rest, drifting into a peaceful state. However, amidst his serene stillness, he remained oblivious to the sound of footsteps approaching softly,

“Harry? Would you be a dear and come outside with me?” George said, using the sweetest tone possible. This instantly filled Harry with dread because he knew that whenever George spoke like that, it usually led to one of his extravagant pranks or, at the very least, a few bruises. So, no matter what, he would end up black and blue in the end.

Harry sat in silence for a while, pondering what to do. *It would be good to get my mind off things,* he thought. After weighing his options, he decided there wasn’t much harm in going along with George—aside from the bruises—so he agreed and went outside.

Once outside, Harry looked at George, confusion evident as he asked, “What are we doing?”

“We're going to play Quidditch,” George replied happily, a smile spreading across his face. “I wanted to throw the Quaffle at something, but stationary objects are so boring. So, I thought you could help, being a Seeker and all.”

Harry didn’t see any harm in playing Quidditch or even being thrown the Quaffle. He thought it was a brilliant idea; after all, it was kind of normal for a Seeker. He quickly agreed and went to get a broom to play with.

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“Thanks, Harry!” George energetically called out. “I'll put the brooms away; everyone else is here.” Harry nodded and handed his broom to George.

As Harry walked to the back door and opened it slightly, a smile crept onto his face when he heard Mrs. Weasley reprimanding Ron. He was about to greet them and step through the door when he paused, when he heard Ron say something.
"... but it's remarkably easy to keep him close. After all, he sees only a friend. He’s too oblivious to even realize… realize what we’re truly aiming for."

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he stood frozen in the shadows of the kitchen door frame. He had simply come to check on the Weasleys, but the words drifting from the adjoining room made him wish he’d chosen a different time for his visit. The voices of the Weasleys—the family he had trusted above all else—were woven with a palpable tension that suggested something sinister lurked beneath their familiar banter.

Molly's tone was sharp, carrying an unsettling mix of irritation and triumph. "You're right, Ron. We've waited long enough. It's time we seize what is rightfully ours. All this time, Harry has had everything handed to him on a silver platter, while we have only stood by and watched. But now, finally, we're going to claim it for ourselves."

Ron interjected, his voice low but insistent, a hint of urgency threading through his words. “Yeah, it’s about bloody time. It always should’ve been us, hasn’t it? This whole charade about Harry being the ‘hero’—that’s over now. We’ll take what we’ve always deserved.”

Harry’s heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing in disbelief. How could the Weasleys be discussing him in this way? He had always adored them—loved them like family—but this… this wasn’t the warmth and loyalty he had come to expect.

Molly’s voice became even colder. “You see, Ron, we don’t need Harry for his friendship or loyalty. We need him for what he has. The fame, the fortune, all of it. And Ginny... she’s always been the one to get close to him, right? I told you she was perfect for this.”

Ron grunted, as if he was finally starting to understand. “Yeah yeah, I get it now, you were right. Ginny’s the only one who’s gotten close enough to him. She’s already got him all wrapped up in her little ‘love story.’ He trusts her completely. He thinks she’s the one.” There was a pause, then a chuckle, almost too casual. “And when the time comes... well, he won’t see it coming. She’ll finish him off, no problem.”

Molly’s voice, though, was far more confident, too calm for comfort. “Exactly. Ginny will marry him, and she’ll play the role of the perfect wife. He’ll think they have a whole future ahead of them. Then, when he’s weak—when he’s vulnerable—she’ll make sure it’s all over. A little potion in his food, a slip-up here and there, and no one will be the wiser. He won’t suspect a thing.”

Harry felt his chest tighten. Ginny? His mind screamed in disbelief. The woman he loved—the woman he planned to marry—was part of this? Have they been planning his death all along?

Ron’s voice was smug, almost pleased. “And then we’ll get it all. Harry’s wealth, his fortune, his fame. We’ll get everything. It’s just a matter of time now. Ginny will inherit it, and we’ll make sure she shares it with us.”

Molly’s laugh was short and sharp, a little too gleeful. “She’ll play the grieving widow, and no one will ever know the truth. They’ll mourn him for a bit, of course, but when it’s all over, we’ll be the ones in charge. Ginny will have everything, and we’ll be right behind her.”

Ron snorted. “No one will ever figure it out. They’ll think it was some kind of tragic accident. The bloody hero gets taken out by his fate, and the world just moves on.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. The betrayal was so much deeper than he could have ever imagined. Ginny, the woman he had trusted with his heart, was part of this twisted plan. The Weasleys—the family he had fought beside, the people who had been there for him in his darkest moments—had been planning to steal his life from him, using Ginny to do it.

“The plan is foolproof,” Ron smirked confidently.

Molly’s voice softened, almost too sweetly. “Of course it's foolproof. We had Dumbledore helping us, and we’ve been laying the groundwork for years. He knew, we knew, from the start, it was all just... an opportunity. We just needed to be patient, and we have. So now it's time to take back what was owed”

Ron’s voice was quieter now, but there was a sickening satisfaction in it. “Yeah, Dumbledore might’ve helped us make sure we had the right people in place. He got Ginny in the right position. He knew what he was doing. And now, it’s our turn to take control. Once Harry’s gone, it’ll all fall into place. Ginny will have everything. And we’ll be right there with her.”

Molly gave a soft, sinister laugh. “Exactly. Once Harry’s out of the picture, we’ll take everything. We’ve waited long enough. All of it will be ours. No one will question it. No one will know the truth.”

Harry felt as if he were suffocating. His mind was racing, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess. The Weasleys—his family—had been plotting against him all along. Ginny had been a part of it, using him to get what she wanted. And Dumbledore—his beloved mentor—had been involved as well. He had never seen it coming, never suspected a thing.

Everything he had ever known and believed was a lie. The weight of the betrayal was unbearable. He backed away from the door, his hands shaking and the ground beneath him feeling unsteady. His family—the people he had fought alongside, the ones who had stood by him—had been planning his destruction, and he had been completely unaware of it.
Harry felt as if he were suffocating. His mind was racing, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess. The Weasleys—his family—had been plotting against him all along. Ginny had been a part of it, using him to get what she wanted. And Dumbledore—his beloved mentor—had been involved as well. He had never seen it coming, never suspected a thing.

Everything he had ever known and believed was a lie. The weight of the betrayal was unbearable. He backed away from the door, his hands shaking and the ground beneath him feeling unsteady. His family—the people he had fought alongside, the ones who had stood by him—had been planning his destruction, and he had been completely unaware of it.

After he listened, a heavy dread settled in his stomach. ‘Was all of this happening when he first met Ron?’ Despite sensing that it might have originated long before, he resisted accepting that uncomfortable truth. Ultimately, what he wanted was to confront them, to unleash his frustration. Yet, he chose silence instead. Harry felt as if he were suffocating. His mind was racing, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess. The Weasleys—his family—had been plotting against him all along. Ginny had been a part of it, using him to get what she wanted. And Dumbledore—his beloved mentor—had been involved as well. He had never seen it coming, never suspected a thing.

Everything he had ever known and believed was a lie. The weight of the betrayal was unbearable. He backed away from the door, his hands shaking and the ground beneath him feeling unsteady. His family—the people he had fought alongside, the ones who had stood by him—had been planning his destruction, and he had been completely unaware of it.
Even though Hermione often joked about him being an idiot, Harry knew he wasn't clueless. If they discovered he had uncovered their secret, they could easily change their plans—or even worse, find a way to kill him before he could escape marrying Ginny.

Positioned behind the door, he craned his neck to peer through the narrow opening, fervently hoping they might catch his eye and announce it was all just a prank, that their intentions were harmless. But deep down, he understood that if they responded, it would likely be a lie. His mind raced, formulating strategies to thwart their schemes, searching for a way to ensure they had no power over him.

“-arry?”

He stiffened, caught off guard, and cautiously turned to see George standing there. “Yeah?” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” George remarked, amusement flickering in his expression, though concern etched a furrow on his forehead.

“Oh, I’m fine! I was just lost in thought,” Harry replied, forcing a smile as he looked at George, who stood there with a furrowed brow. Harry hoped George remained oblivious to the escalating tension that had begun to cloud their surroundings like a thick fog. Deep down, he wanted to believe that George was not involved in the troubling situation that weighed on his mind, but the uncertainty gnawed at him.

The worry etched in George's eyes, however, made him pause and reconsider his thoughts. For the moment, Harry decided to extend his trust—until he had solid evidence to think otherwise. Trying to shake off the heaviness of the moment, he cleared his throat and suggested, “Let’s go inside.” He felt a sense of urgency to retreat to the safety of the familiar warmth of the house, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that lingered outside.

“Yeah, sure,” George replied, though his tone hinted he wasn't entirely convinced about Harry's well-being.