The Gryffindor Chronicles: Year 1

It was Quirrell.

Harry found himself face-to-face with Quirrell, the professor he had always thought of as a harmless stuttering man, and a thought shot through his mind like lightning: Lavender and Dean had been right. For weeks, he had insisted that Snape was the culprit, convinced by his harsh demeanor and obvious resentment toward his father. But now, seeing Quirrell with that cold smile and none of his usual clumsiness, Harry had to admit his friends’ suspicions were correct. There was nothing more insidious than an enemy pretending to be harmless.

"You!" Harry exclaimed, his voice steady despite his racing heart. "It can’t be!"

Quirrell smiled. It wasn’t the nervous, trembling laugh he used in front of the students, but a cold, calculated grin. "Yes, Potter. Me. I wondered when you would figure it out."
Harry didn’t move a muscle, but inside he was already devising a plan. Lavender was right when she said Snape wasn’t the culprit, he thought bitterly. And Dean had been right to say Snape seemed too obvious as the guilty party...
"I thought it was Snape," he said, trying to maintain a neutral tone. "All the signs pointed to him."
Quirrell laughed heartily, a sinister sound that echoed in the room. "Oh yes, Severus is always the perfect suspect, isn’t he? With those manners and that bat-like demeanor, who would ever suspect poor stuttering Quirrell?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Snape was trying to protect me, then. And you were behind all of this."
Quirrell nodded with a satisfied expression. "Exactly. Your much-hated Potions professor tried to save you several times. Leaves you speechless, doesn’t it?"
"Not as much as you’d think," Harry shot back, crossing his arms. "Even my father would have saved him, despite hating him..."

Quirrell seemed surprised by the calmness with which Harry faced him. "Ah, your dear father. Yes, James Potter had a knack for making enemies. And you’re no different."
Harry smirked slightly. "It’s a family gift, I’d say."
Quirrell stiffened, his face betraying a flicker of anger. "Enough games, Potter. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with. The power I serve is beyond your imagination."
Harry wasn’t intimidated. "I don’t care about the power you serve. I know it’s not yours. And I know it won’t win."
Quirrell clenched his fists. "You have a sharp tongue, boy. Let’s see how long that lasts." With a swift gesture, he conjured ropes that wrapped around Harry, pinning him in place. "Now, look into the mirror and tell me what you see."
Harry writhed, trying to break free, but the ropes were too tight. As the Mirror of Erised stood in the center of the room, he realized it was the key to finding the Stone. "I don’t see anything useful for you," he said curtly, trying to buy time.
Quirrell stepped closer, frustration growing on his face. "Look closer, Potter! Don’t think you can play games with me."
"I’m not playing," Harry retorted, using the sharpest tone he could muster. "But if this great power you serve is so extraordinary, why does it need a mirror to find a stone?"

The jab seemed to hit the mark. Quirrell glared at him with hatred, but before he could respond, a cold, high-pitched voice filled the room.
"Use the boy."
Harry shivered. It wasn’t Quirrell speaking. The voice didn’t come from him but seemed to emanate from some dark corner of the room... or perhaps from within Quirrell himself.
"Who’s there?" Harry asked, his voice now less steady.
"Aren’t you curious to learn the truth, Potter?" the voice hissed. "I am the power Quirrell serves… I am the heir to what you cannot comprehend."
Harry lifted his chin, trying to hold on to his courage. "Ah, so it’s true. Dean was right: he’s not doing this for himself. He’s just following someone else’s orders."
Quirrell moved toward the mirror, but the voice stopped him. "Show me the boy."

With trembling hands, Quirrell began unwrapping his turban, and Harry felt his blood turn cold as a pale face emerged from the back of the professor’s head. It was white as chalk, with red eyes and nostrils as thin as slits, like those of a snake.
"Harry Potter…" the voice hissed, now coming directly from the face. "What a pleasure to meet you again."
Harry felt terror tighten around his heart, but he didn’t show it. Clenching his fists, he replied firmly, "The pleasure is not mutual."
The face twisted into a malicious smile. "You are brave, like your father… But don’t delude yourself. Give me the Stone, Potter. Don’t make this harder."
Harry felt the weight of the Stone in his pocket but didn’t move a muscle. "I will never bow to you."
A sinister grin spread across the face. "Then you will end up like your parents. Dead... pointlessly."
Harry clenched his fists, his face flushing with anger. "Don’t mention them! You know nothing about them. And I will never become like you."
The face on Quirrell’s head contorted into a grim smile. "We’ll see how proud you are when death is a step away."

Quirrell raised his wand and cast a spell. But Harry was already prepared. He dove to the side, rolling on the ground and dodging the scarlet beam of light that burst from the professor’s wand. The Stone in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton, but he wasn’t going to give it up.
"Foolish boy," Voldemort hissed, his shrill voice vibrating in the air. "Your resistance is futile. I have faced far greater wizards than you and crushed them."
Harry scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily but keeping his gaze steady. "Yeah, and now you’re reduced to hiding behind the head of a mediocrity."
Quirrell hissed with rage and launched another spell. Harry ducked behind the Mirror of Erised, which cracked slightly under the impact of the blast. He got up quickly, his breath short but his determination unwavering. I can’t let him get the Stone. No matter what happens to me.
"Give me the Stone, Potter!" Quirrell snarled, moving toward him swiftly.
"Never!" Harry shouted, clenching his fists.
Quirrell lunged at him, hands outstretched to grab him. Instinctively, Harry raised his arms to defend himself, and the moment Quirrell’s hands touched Harry’s skin, the professor let out an inhuman scream. He recoiled as if he’d touched fire, his hands blistering before Harry’s eyes.
Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. He can’t touch me!
"What’s happening?" Quirrell screamed, staring at his hands in horror. The face of Voldemort on the back of his head hissed furiously. "FOOL! The boy is protected by ancient magic. Kill him, use the wand!"
Quirrell raised his wand, but Harry, seized by sudden resolve, did the only thing he could think of: he lunged at him. With all his strength, he grabbed Quirrell’s arm, and the professor let out another scream of agony. The skin on his arms was burning under Harry’s touch, and he gripped with all the strength he could muster.
"No! Let me go!" Quirrell shouted, struggling to free himself.
Harry didn’t loosen his grip. "You’ll never get the Stone!" he shouted. Pain pulsed through his scar, a sharp stabbing sensation that almost blurred his vision, but he knew he had to hold on. If he let go of Quirrell, everything would be lost.
"KILL HIM!" Voldemort screeched in a shrill voice. "DO SOMETHING!"
Quirrell tried to lift himself, but Harry, with a superhuman effort, grabbed the professor’s head with both hands. The direct contact caused Quirrell’s body to convulse violently. Voldemort’s face contorted in an expression of pure hatred and terror.
"I… can’t… bear it…" Quirrell stammered before collapsing to the ground, his body motionless.
Harry staggered back, his heart pounding like a drum. Voldemort’s face turned to him one last time, his red eyes burning with pure hatred.
"This isn’t over, Potter," he hissed. "I will return..."
A cloud of black smoke rose from Quirrell’s body, which slumped entirely to the ground as Voldemort’s essence darted out of the room like a shadow. Harry tried to follow it with his eyes, but the pain in his scar overwhelmed him. He fell to his knees as his vision blurred and everything faded to black.
The Philosopher’s Stone was still in his pocket, but Harry couldn’t think about it any longer. Darkness enveloped him, and everything disappeared.

Harry opened his eyes, feeling strangely light. Daylight filtered through the white curtains of the infirmary, and the familiar scent of disinfectant surrounded him. He tried to orient himself, but a feeling of exhaustion kept him pressed against the pillows. His gaze fell on two figures by his side: Albus Dumbledore, with a serene expression, and Sirius Black, visibly tense.
“Good morning, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you awake.”
Harry shifted slightly, trying to sit up. “What happened? The Stone… Voldemort…”
“Calm yourself, my boy,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “You are safe, and so is the Stone. But I’m afraid your godfather here caused a bit of a stir in the meantime.”
Harry turned to Sirius, who huffed, crossing his arms. “You should have seen me, Harry,” Sirius began, his tone oscillating between remorse and indignation. “As soon as Hedwig reached me, I rushed here. When I found out you’d been sent into that damned Forbidden Forest and that no one had believed you and your friends... well, let’s just say I had a few words with McGonagall.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “‘Words’ is a generous term for your tirade, Sirius. Poor Minerva left the office in tears. And let’s not forget your near curse against Hagrid.”
“Don’t even get me started on Hagrid!” Sirius snapped. “What kind of idiot lets secrets slip for a dragon egg?”

Harry couldn’t help but smile weakly. Despite everything, it was comforting to see Sirius so protective. But there was a question that worried him more than anything else. “The Stone… is it safe?”
Dumbledore nodded calmly. “The Stone has been destroyed. Nicolas Flamel and his wife accepted the decision wisely. For them, death is simply a new adventure. As for Voldemort, your courage repelled him, and for that, you should be proud.”
Harry watched as Dumbledore and Sirius exchanged intense looks, sensing there was something enormous hidden behind their words. His confusion grew. “But… what is it I can’t know? What are you hiding?”
Dumbledore took a moment, looking at Harry with affection and wisdom. “It’s not a matter of hiding, Harry, but of letting time make the truth clearer and more bearable. There are moments when knowing too much can become an unbearable burden.”
“An unbearable burden?” Harry repeated, feeling irritation rising. “I’ve faced Voldemort! I watched Quirrell destroyed before my eyes. I have the right to know why all of this is happening to me.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, glaring at Dumbledore. “You can’t keep treating him like a child, Albus. He’s already faced more than many adult wizards could bear.”

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then he spoke in a grave but calm voice. “Your mother protected you, Harry, with the most powerful enchantment there is: love. Lily sacrificed herself for you, willingly giving her life to save yours. That type of magic leaves a mark. Not a visible one, but a protection so deep that it lives within you. Voldemort and his followers, who thrive on hatred and hunger for power, cannot endure that kind of purity. For Quirrell, touching you was unbearable because Voldemort lived within him.”
Harry looked down, thoughtful. “So… my mother’s sacrifice still protects me.”
“Exactly,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “It is a type of magic that Voldemort cannot understand, nor could he ever comprehend. And that is why, as unfair as it may seem to you, you must return to the Dursleys for the summer. As long as you return home each year, even for a short time, your mother’s protection remains intact. Though I understand that with Sirius in the house next door, the situation won’t be so terrible.”
Harry grimaced at the thought of returning to Privet Drive but nodded. “I understand. But… there’s something I still don’t get. Voldemort… why is he obsessed with me? Why did he want to kill me that night?”
Dumbledore took a moment to respond, his gaze lost in the patterns of light streaming through the windows. “That is a complex question, Harry. It is tied to events that occurred before you were born and to a prophecy that was made. But it is not yet time to tell you everything. Not because you don’t deserve to know, but because some truths are a heavy burden, and I want you to be ready when the time comes to learn them.”
Harry gripped the bed sheets tightly. “But when will I be ready? When will it be the right time? Wasn’t it this time? And if—”
Sirius interrupted his rising frustration by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, listen to me. I know it’s frustrating, but you don’t have to face everything alone. Whatever Albus is waiting to tell you, it won’t change one thing: I’ll always be here to help you.”
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Your courage, Harry, is extraordinary. And I know you will continue to show it, even when you face the truth. But for now, you deserve some peace.”
With a slight smile, he rose, ready to leave the room. “Sirius, I leave it to you to answer any other questions Harry may have… within reason.”

Sirius huffed but let a wry smile play on his lips. “Don’t worry, Albus. I won’t tell him anything he’s not ready to hear… though I still think he deserves to know everything.”
Dumbledore bade them farewell with a nod and left the infirmary. The silence that followed was heavy with tension. Sirius turned to Harry, his face more serious than the boy had ever seen. “Harry, listen to me carefully. I know you want to know everything, but for now, let me tell you this: there is a reason Voldemort is obsessed with you, a reason bigger than you can imagine. And one day, you will know it. Until then, I promise we’ll do everything we can to prepare you. You have potential, Harry, enormous potential, and I want you to be ready to use it.”
Harry nodded slowly, feeling a weight on his chest but also a strange determination. “Will you really prepare me?”
Sirius smiled. “Count on it. And not just that. This is just the beginning, Harry. You’ll be ready to face anything. That’s a promise.”
After chatting a bit longer, Sirius stood, adjusting his cloak. “Now I have to go. Dumbledore wants me to make sure everything is set for this summer.”
Harry felt a small lump in his throat. “When will I see you again?”
Sirius smiled warmly. “Don’t worry. I’ll pick you up at the station at the end of the school year. And from there, we’ll start our adventure. I promise.”
Harry nodded, feeling oddly reassured. “Alright. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Sirius bent slightly, gripping his shoulder. “And remember, Harry: you’re never alone. You have me, and you have your friends. Together, we can face anything.”
With one last affectionate look, Sirius walked away, leaving Harry to reflect on everything that had happened.

The infirmary vibrated with energy as the Gryffindors entered in groups, one after another, filling the air with animated stories and overlapping voices. Madam Pomfrey watched them with a stern expression, but Harry could tell that beneath her strict exterior lay a thread of tolerance. It was clear that even she didn’t want to deny him this moment of joy with his friends.
“Harry, you have no idea what we went through!” Hermione began, casting him a look of mixed concern and relief.
Dean and Seamus were next to Ron, who still looked a bit tired but had managed to walk, albeit with visible difficulty. “This one’s heavier than he looks,” Dean joked, patting him on the shoulder. “We practically dragged him out of the trapdoor. Seamus and I are now official Gryffindor movers out of necessity.”
Ron grimaced, but Harry laughed. “Well, at least you’re here, safe and sound,” Harry said. "Sirius watched over you all three days," Ron said reflectively. "I found him by your bed when I woke up…"
"Really? And how did he get here so quickly?" Harry asked, amazed.
“Thanks to Lavender and Parvati,” Hermione chimed in, stepping forward with Lavender beside her, looking satisfied.
“Lavender and I took Hedwig and sent an owl to Sirius. We knew he needed to be informed. Harry, he had the right to know what was happening!” Parvati exclaimed.
Lavender crossed her arms, raising her chin. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you, Harry. Next time, listen to my instincts. I was right about Quirrell.”
Harry smiled. “You’re right, Lavender. I promise next time I’ll take all your hunches into account.”
Neville stepped forward hesitantly but with determined eyes. “And Hermione and I alerted Professor McGonagall. It wasn’t easy to convince her at first, but when Snape appeared beside her and said he knew who the culprit was... well, we discovered it wasn’t him.”
“It was almost surreal,” Hermione added, shaking her head. “Snape didn’t seem surprised at all when he mentioned Quirrell. In fact, he seemed… annoyed that we hadn’t figured it out sooner.”
“Well, at least this time he wasn’t the bad guy,” Harry said with a wry smile, “though it doesn’t make much difference with how he usually acts.”
Ron, who had managed to sit down next to Harry’s bed, snorted. “I don’t know how they keep him as a teacher. But hey, Harry, we want to know everything. What happened down there?”
Harry adjusted himself on the pillows, his face lighting up in the company of his friends. “Alright, get ready, because it’s a long story,” he began. Then, with the tone of someone recounting a legend, he took them through his battle with Quirrell, the mirror, the Stone, and finally his encounter with Voldemort. As he spoke, his friends’ faces changed with every revelation: Hermione’s eyes widened with every twist, Parvati held her breath, and Neville seemed to waver between disbelief and fear.
“Wait, wait,” Ron interrupted. “You actually saw You-know-who’s face… on the back of Quirrell’s head?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, and it was… horrible. But the thing I’ll never forget is how cold it was. It didn’t even feel human.”
When he finished, there was a moment of reverent silence.
“And now the Stone is gone?” Seamus asked.
“Yes, it’s been destroyed. Dumbledore and Flamel decided it was too dangerous to keep. And yes,” he added, looking at Hermione, “Dumbledore told me that Flamel and his wife accepted death.”
“That’s incredible,” Neville murmured. “You faced Voldemort, Harry. And you’re still here.”
“Thanks to all of you,” Harry replied with a smile. “I never would have made it without you.”
Before they could respond, Madam Pomfrey returned to the room, her hands on her hips. “That’s enough! You’ve had more than enough time. Out, all of you, or I’ll turn you into my next patients!”
The friends reluctantly got up, bidding Harry goodbye with hugs and pats on the back. As Lavender left last, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and threw him a triumphant smile. “Don’t forget, Harry. I’m always right.”
Harry laughed as the door closed. With his friends by his side, he knew he could face anything.

After a good night’s sleep, Harry felt almost back to normal.
“I want to go to the feast,” he told Madam Pomfrey, who was arranging the many boxes of sweets on the table next to his bed. “I’m allowed to, right?”
“The headmaster says you are to be allowed, yes,” she replied in a slightly scornful tone, as if doubting Dumbledore’s ability to assess the risks of a feast. “Anyway, you have more visitors.”
“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed. “Who is it?”
As he spoke, Hagrid slipped into the room. He looked out of place among the white walls and orderly beds of the infirmary, but his presence was as comforting as ever. He sat down next to Harry, looked at him for a moment, and then burst into tears.
“It was… all… my… fault… cursed me!” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. “I was the one who told that scoundrel how to get past Fluffy! It was me who told him! It was the only thing he didn’t know, and I told him! You could’ve died! And all for a dragon’s egg—Sirius was right to want to hex me!”
Harry hurried to calm him, assuring him that Voldemort would have found another way past Fluffy anyway. Despite everything, Hagrid gave him a gift—an album full of photographs of his parents, which Harry found extraordinary.

That evening, Harry walked alone to the Great Hall. Madam Pomfrey’s insistent care had delayed him, and when he arrived, the Hall was already decked out in Slytherin colors. Green and silver glittered everywhere, and a massive banner with the serpent emblem hung behind the High Table. The Slytherin table was in full celebration but fell silent as Harry crossed the threshold. He sat down between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, trying to ignore the whispers.
Thankfully, Dumbledore stood up, and the murmurs subsided.
“Another year has passed!” Dumbledore began in a cheerful tone. “And before we enjoy the feast, it is my duty to announce the results of the House Cup. In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in second, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six points; and in first place, Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy-two points.”
A roar of applause erupted from the Slytherin table, but Dumbledore raised a hand and continued. “However,” he said with a sly smile, “there have been recent events that must be taken into account. This year, some students have shown extraordinary courage, ingenuity, and unity. Therefore, it is necessary to award some additional points.”
The silence in the hall was palpable.
“To Miss Lavender Brown, for her outstanding musical talent and her ability to calm a magical creature, I award twenty points.”
Lavender lit up like a firework as the Gryffindors cheered.
“To Miss Parvati Patil, for her quick thinking and insight in solving an astral challenge, I award twenty points.”
Parvati beamed, her face glowing with joy.
“To Mr. Dean Thomas, for his cool-headedness and ingenuity in facing a troll, I award twenty points.”
Dean raised his fist in the air as Seamus playfully nudged him.
“To Mr. Seamus Finnigan, for his tactical use of magic in simplifying the group’s path, I award twenty points.”
Seamus received pats on the back from all directions.
“To Mr. Ronald Weasley, for his brilliant strategy during a game of wizard chess, I award twenty points.”
Ron turned as red as a tomato while Fred and George teased him proudly.
“To Miss Hermione Granger, for her cleverness and ability to solve complex problems under pressure, I award twenty points.”
Hermione hid her face in her hands, moved by the applause.
“To Mr. Neville Longbottom, for his courage and determination in protecting his friends, I award twenty points.”
Neville turned pale with shock, but a moment later he was overwhelmed by Gryffindor hugs.
Dumbledore paused dramatically, smiling toward Harry.
“And finally, to Mr. Harry Potter, for his extraordinary courage, leadership, and determination in confronting the forces of darkness, I award sixty points.”
The Hall erupted into a roar of applause and cheers. Gryffindor had surpassed Slytherin and won the House Cup. Dumbledore raised his hands, and with a wave, the decorations changed: green and silver transformed into red and gold, while the Gryffindor lion replaced the Slytherin serpent.
“What matters,” Dumbledore concluded, “is not only individual achievements, but what a group can achieve when united. And that, dear students, is the greatest lesson of all.”
Harry joined in the applause, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. That evening was more than a victory; it was proof of what could be accomplished with courage, trust, and friendship.

Harry had almost forgotten that exam results had not yet been released, but when they finally arrived, they were a pleasant surprise. Thanks to their effort and the support of the study group, Harry and Ron had passed all their subjects with respectable grades, a result that seemed almost unbelievable considering the chaos of the past weeks. Hermione, unsurprisingly, was the top student of the year, achieving perfection in every subject. Even Neville, who had panicked multiple times during the exams, managed to scrape through, thanks to a brilliant grade in Herbology that compensated for his struggles in Potions.
“Our study group worked brilliantly!” Hermione said, satisfied, as she reviewed the results. “We should continue it next year.”
“Oh, sure,” Ron replied sarcastically. “I can’t wait to spend more evenings getting grilled by your quizzes.”
At the end of the year, trunks were packed, clothes disappeared from wardrobes, and Neville’s toad, Trevor, was found crouched in a corner of the boys’ bathroom. Fred and George loudly lamented the annual reminder not to use magic during the summer. “We always hope they forget to give us that,” Fred said, shaking his head, while George suggested plans to circumvent the rule.
Hagrid escorted the students to the boathouse, where the boats awaited to ferry them across the lake. On the Hogwarts Express, the atmosphere was lively and cheerful. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors had claimed a compartment for themselves and were planning the summer.
“This year, I want to do something different,” Harry announced decisively. “I’ve never properly celebrated my birthday, and this time I want to. You’re all invited.”
“A birthday party?” Neville asked excitedly. “I’ve never been to a real one.”
“Count us in,” Ron said. “Maybe we can have it at the Burrow. Mum would never say no.”
Hermione nodded with a smile. “That would be wonderful. We could organize everything together.”
Harry felt a new warmth in his heart. He had friends who considered it natural to share the important moments of his life, and for the first time, he felt his birthday could rival Dudley’s.
When the train slowed, signaling their arrival at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry gathered his things, knowing that this time, a different kind of surprise awaited him. Sirius had promised.
On the platform, Harry didn’t have to search for long. Among the crowd, he spotted Sirius leaning casually against a pillar with his arms crossed and a mischievous smile on his face. When their eyes met, Sirius moved toward him, opening his arms in welcome.

As Harry navigated the chaos of the platform, Sirius intercepted him with his unmistakable grin and an air of laid-back confidence. “Hey, Harry,” he said, pulling him into a warm hug. “Ready to head back to the Dursleys?”
Harry laughed, feeling lighter than he’d ever felt at seeing him there. “You’re here, aren’t you? They can’t do anything to me.”
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder in a conspiratorial way. “Exactly. I’ll be around to make sure they don’t pull any stunts. And you’re only going there to sleep—the rest of the day, you’ll be at my place, except for the one night a month when I have to be with Remus. We’re finally going to do things right.”
Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley twins approached, loaded with trunks, while Mrs. Weasley followed with her usual motherly fussing.
Sirius leaned nonchalantly against one of the station columns, his usual smile plastered across his face. Molly Weasley shot him a fond look, though it was tinged with a slight hint of embarrassment.
“Sirius, really, I must thank you again for hosting the kids over Christmas. You were so generous, but… those gifts were over the top!” she exclaimed, waving her hands.
“Oh, Molly,” Sirius chuckled, “it was nothing. The kids deserve to be spoiled every now and then, especially after a year like this.”
Molly blushed slightly. “Yes, but it was all too much, really. I’m still stunned by that Chudley Cannons uniform for Ron and those Beater bats for the twins. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Molly, there’s nothing to repay,” Sirius reassured her. “The important thing was seeing their happy faces.”
“Oh, but I still feel indebted,” Molly insisted. “And that’s why I’ve decided: you and Harry must come to dinner at our place this summer. No excuses.”
Sirius smiled in amusement, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But we don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Weasley retorted firmly. “It’s the least we can do. And I won’t take no for an answer.”
Ron seized the opportunity to chime in. “Mum, since we’re at it, Harry wanted to throw a birthday party this summer. Maybe we could have it at our place?”
Molly lit up, turning to Harry. “Oh, that would be wonderful! Harry, the Burrow is your home, you know that. Invite whoever you like.”
Harry hesitated, embarrassed, then said, “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. But… I was thinking of inviting all the Gryffindors in our year and my Quidditch teammates. It’d be too much to ask to host it at your house. It’d be an invasion.”
“Not at all!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed enthusiastically. Her smile grew wider as she added, “And we’ll do it outdoors! The Burrow has all the space we need. A lovely garden party, with tables, magical garlands, and floating lanterns. It’ll be perfect.”
“Molly, really, we don’t want to turn the house upside down,” Sirius interjected, though with a playful smile.
“Oh, Sirius, stop it. It’s decided, and there’s no more to discuss. We’ll have an unforgettable birthday for Harry.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile, swept up by Molly’s warm determination. “Thank you so much. I’ll start writing the invitations, then.”
At that moment, Ginny approached timidly, looking at Harry with wide eyes. “Hi, Harry,” she said softly.
Harry turned to her, smiling sincerely. “Hi, Ginny. You know, of course, you have to come to my party too. It’ll be great to have everyone together.”
Ginny immediately blushed, lowering her gaze. Harry, noticing her embarrassment, added in a reassuring tone, “Hey, no need to be shy. Just think of me as one of Ron’s friends, alright?”
Ginny nodded, giving a small, shy smile. “Alright. Thanks, Harry.”
Molly watched them with misty eyes, clearly pleased by the scene. Then she turned to Sirius. “Well, it’s settled then. It’ll be a grand party, and you’ll all be our guests.”
“No one can say no to Mrs. Weasley,” Sirius said, winking at Harry. As they walked toward the station exit, Harry turned to wave at his friends. “See you soon,” he said, waving. “And get ready—this is going to be an unforgettable summer.”
He knew the Dursleys no longer had any power over him—not with Sirius by his side. Harry finally felt free, not just for the holidays, but for everything life had in store for him.