Chapter 4
Summer had arrived, but Harry found no relief in the changing seasons. Instead of enjoying the freedom that usually came with summer break, he was trapped in the oppressive atmosphere of Number Four, Privet Drive. The Dursleys were as demanding as ever, burdening him with endless chores that left him exhausted and drained.
Harry was up before the sun each morning, scrubbing floors, mowing the lawn, and repainting the fence. The work was gruelling, and every part of his body ached from the relentless tasks. Despite his best efforts, there was always something Vernon found fault with—something that resulted in harsh words or, worse, the sting of punishment.
Harry bore it all silently, but it was getting harder. His mind drifted back to another world—a world of magic where he could have healed himself with a simple spell, where bruises and pain didn't linger for days. The memories felt distant now like fragments of a dream slowly slipping away. But the longing remained, a constant ache in his chest.
One afternoon, after a particularly harsh round of chores, Harry struggled to clean the gutters when he heard a familiar voice call from the front yard.
"Harry!"
He looked down, his heart lifting as Ron stood by the gate, waving enthusiastically. Beside him were Bill and Charlie, both of whom looked concerned as they took in Harry's dishevelled appearance.
"Ron! Bill! Charlie!" Harry called back, forcing a smile despite the pain that radiated through his body. He carefully climbed the ladder, each movement sending a jolt of discomfort through his bruised side.
Ron was at his side as soon as his feet touched the ground, his eyes wide with worry. "Harry, they've got you working like a slave! This is madness!"
Charlie's expression was dark as he saw Harry, who looked thinner and paler than usual. "Harry, what's going on here? You look like you've been through hell."
Harry tried to brush it off with a shrug, though the movement made him wince. "It's just chores. The Dursleys like to keep me busy during the summer."
Bill's sharp eyes didn't miss how Harry moved gingerly as if trying to avoid aggravating some unseen injury. "This isn't just about chores, Harry. You're hurting. What happened?"
Before Harry could respond, Ron suddenly gasped. "Harry—your eye! What happened to your eye?"
Harry stiffened, instinctively touching the area around his black eye. He'd tried to hide it, hoping it wouldn't be too noticeable by the time anyone saw him, but clearly, it hadn't worked. "Oh, this? It's nothing," he said quickly, forcing a casual tone. "I just… tripped while carrying some stuff down from the attic."
Ron's frown deepened. "You tripped and got a black eye? That doesn't make any sense, Harry."
Charlie stepped closer, his voice gentle but insistent. "Harry, you don't have to lie to us. If something happened—if someone hurt you—you can tell us. We'll help."
For a moment, Harry hesitated. His friends' concern was palpable, and part of him desperately wanted to tell them the truth. He wanted to scream that it wasn't just the chores, that Vernon's punishments had gone too far. But another part of him—the part that had learned to survive under the Dursleys' rule—held him back. What could they do? What could anyone do? The Dursleys were his guardians and trapped him in their home.
"I'm fine," Harry insisted, dropping his gaze. "Really. It's not a big deal."
Bill didn't look convinced. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, careful not to touch the bruised area. "Harry, we're here for you, no matter what. You can count on us if you need anything—anything at all."
Harry nodded, though he couldn't quite meet Bill's eyes. "Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it."
But as he said the words, frustration and hopelessness washed over him. If only he had his magic—he could wave a wand and heal himself, erase the bruises, and make the pain disappear. But that world, where magic existed, seemed so far away now, like a dream he could barely remember. And it left him powerless in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.
The mood had shifted, and the unspoken tension in the air dampened the earlier excitement. Ron, Bill, and Charlie knew there was more to Harry's story than he was letting on, but they also understood that pushing him too hard might only drive him further into his shell.
"Why don't we go for a walk?" Ron suggested, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Get you out of here for a bit. You could use a break."
Harry hesitated, glancing back at the house. He knew the Dursleys would be furious if they learned he'd taken a break from his chores, but he didn't care. He needed to escape, even if just for a little while.
"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly. "A walk sounds good."
Harry tried to push away the worry gnawing at him as they set off down the street. For now, he would focus on the comfort of his friends' presence and the rare moment of freedom they offered. But deep inside, the longing for magic remained—a silent, desperate wish that refused to fade, no matter how much he tried to bury it.
As they walked away from Number Four, Privet Drive, the tension in the air was palpable. Though grateful for the company, Harry couldn't shake the heaviness that had settled in his chest. The murmur of conversation between Bill, Charlie, and Ron barely registered in his mind, drowned out by his swirling thoughts.
After a while, Bill broke the silence, his tone casual but laced with underlying concern. "So, Harry, what do they have you doing around here? Sounds like they're keeping you pretty busy."
Harry shrugged, trying to keep his tone light. "Oh, you know… just the usual. Cleaning, gardening, fixing things around the house. They always find something for me to do."
Ron frowned, clearly unhappy with that answer. "And what happens if you can't get everything done? What if you… I don't know… miss something or mess up?"
Harry cringed slightly at the question, a reaction that didn't go unnoticed by his friends. The idea of not completing his tasks—or worse, making a mistake—was a thought that filled him with dread. He knew all too well what the consequences would be. The memory of Vernon's belt flashed through his mind, and his shoulders tensed involuntarily.
The brief silence that followed was thick with unspoken understanding. Harry's reaction had said more than his words ever could. Charlie had been watching Harry closely and noticed how his demeanour changed—the way he hunched his shoulders slightly and his eyes darted to the ground, avoiding their gazes.
Charlie's expression hardened, but his voice remained gentle. "Harry, you shouldn't have to live like this. No one should. If they're treating you like this… It's not right."
Harry forced a weak smile, trying to brush off the concern. "It's okay, Charlie. I've gotten used to it. It's just… how things are."
But even as he said it, he could feel the weight of their worry bearing down on him. The truth was, he wasn't okay. He was tired, both physically and mentally, and the thought of returning to the Dursleys' house—back to the endless chores and the looming threat of punishment—filled him with a deep sense of hopelessness.
Charlie seemed to sense this. Without saying a word, he suddenly scooped Harry up, lifting him onto his shoulders like a small child. Harry gasped in surprise, his heart skipping a beat as he was hoisted into the air.
"Charlie! What are you doing?" Harry exclaimed, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice. It was the first time he had felt even a glimmer of joy in weeks.
Charlie grinned up at him, his grip steady as he walked toward the car parked a little down the street. "I'm giving you a break, Harry. You've earned it."
Ron chuckled, jogging alongside them. "Yeah, Harry, just let Charlie do his thing. He's pretty strong for an old guy."
Charlie scoffed playfully. "Old? I'm in my prime, thank you very much."
Bill, who had been walking behind them, smiled at the sight. "And where exactly are we taking Harry, Charlie?"
"To the Burrow, of course," Charlie casually replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You need a proper break. And maybe some decent food, too."
Harry's heart swelled with a mix of emotions. The Burrow was a place he remembered fondly, filled with warmth and laughter. But when they finally arrived, something was different. The Burrow still had its charm, but it looked more like a Muggle house than the magical home Harry remembered from his other life. The vibrant, quirky chaos had been replaced by a more orderly, subdued atmosphere.
As Charlie lowered Harry from his shoulders and set him on the ground, Harry couldn't help but stare at the house in wonder. It was familiar, yet strange at the same time. The mismatched, leaning structure of the house was now a neat, two-story home with a tidy garden and a freshly painted door. No enchanted items were whizzing about, no gnomes hiding in the flowerbeds—just a quiet, peaceful home.
Ron noticed Harry's expression and nudged him gently. "It's different, isn't it? Not quite what you were expecting?"
Harry nodded slowly, his mind racing. "Yeah… It's different. But it's nice."
Charlie watched Harry closely, his gaze softening. "It may not be exactly what you remember, but it's still home. And you're always welcome here, Harry. No matter what."
Harry looked up at Charlie, feeling a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. "Thanks, Charlie," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "That means a lot."
As they made their way inside, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was caught between two worlds—the life he remembered and the one he was living now. But he didn't feel completely alone for the first time in what felt like forever. The Burrow might have changed, but the people who cared about him hadn't. And that gave him a tiny spark of hope, even if everything else felt uncertain.
The door to the Burrow opened, and a wave of warmth and the scent of something delicious cooking wafted out, welcoming Harry into the cosy home. Though more orderly and Muggle-like than Harry remembered, the inside of the house still radiated a sense of comfort and belonging that he had missed so much.
Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up with a warm, motherly smile as she saw Harry. Her eyes flicked from him to her sons, and her expression softened with gratitude. "Oh, thank you, boys, for bringing him here," she said, her voice full of affection. "I've been worried sick about you, Harry."
Before Harry could respond, Molly stepped forward, enveloping him in a gentle and firm hug. Harry stood stiffly for a moment, unused to such tenderness, but eventually, he relaxed into the embrace. Molly's presence had always brought him a sense of security, and now, it was as if the weight of the world had been momentarily lifted from his shoulders.
As she pulled back, Molly's gaze turned sharp and assessing. Her eyes roved over Harry, taking in the signs of exhaustion and the faint bruise that marred his cheek. Without a word, she took his hand and led him to the kitchen table, gesturing for him to sit.
"Let's have a look at you, dear," Molly said softly, her concern evident. She opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a first aid kit, placing it on the table with a practised efficiency that made Harry's stomach twist with anxiety.
Harry's heart began to race as Molly approached him with the kit. He could feel the panic rising, the fear that she would see the bruises and know what had been happening at the Dursleys. The thought of anyone knowing the full extent of his situation—especially Molly, who had always been so kind to him—filled him with dread.
Ron placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before he could protest or pull away. "It's okay, Harry," Ron said, his voice calm and steady. "Mum just wants to make sure you're alright. You don't have to worry."
Harry looked up at Ron, meeting his friend's eyes. Ron's sincerity and understanding in his gaze softened something inside Harry. The tension in his chest eased if only a little, and he allowed Molly to gently tilt his face to get a better look at the bruise.
Molly's touch was light, and her expression remained calm, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sadness. "You poor thing," she murmured, more to herself than to Harry. She began to apply a soothing ointment to the bruise, her movements careful and precise. "This should help with the swelling. You'll be feeling better in no time."
Harry swallowed, the knot in his throat loosening as the cool balm eased the throbbing pain in his cheek. He hadn't realized how much he'd been holding his breath, fearing Molly's reaction, but now he felt a strange relief.
Outside, laughter and playful shouts drifted through the open window. Harry glanced outside and saw Fred, George, and Ginny kicking a ball around the garden. Their faces were flushed with exertion, and their laughter echoed through the air, filling the evening with a lighthearted joy that was infectious.
Molly followed Harry's gaze and smiled. "They've been out there for hours," she said with a fond chuckle. "Always finding ways to keep themselves entertained. You should join them, Harry, once we've taken care of you."
Harry managed a small smile, the idea of joining in on such simple fun tugging at his heart. It was something so normal, so different from the heavy burdens he'd been carrying. He could almost forget the darkness that hung over him for a moment and enjoy the evening like any other teenager.
As Molly finished tending to his bruise, she touched his shoulder gently. "You're always welcome here, Harry. Don't ever forget that. We're your family and always look out for you."
Harry's eyes stung with emotion but blinked away, nodding gratefully. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I—I really appreciate it."
Molly patted his shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "Now, why don't you go outside and have some fun? You deserve it."
Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded again, feeling a tiny spark of excitement. As he stood and made his way toward the back door, Ron stepped beside him, his expression a mix of relief and encouragement.
"You'll be alright, Harry," Ron said quietly. "We're here for you, no matter what."
Harry looked at Ron, a genuine smile finally breaking through the lingering shadows. "Thanks, Ron. That means a lot."
As they stepped outside, the cool evening air greeted them, and the sound of the twins and Ginny's laughter grew louder. The garden, though more orderly than Harry remembered, still held a sense of magic, as if the joy and love of the Weasley family had seeped into the very soil.
Fred spotted them first and waved enthusiastically. "Oi, Harry! Fancy a game? We could use another player!"
George grinned, kicking the ball in their direction. "Come on, Harry, show us what you've got!"
Ginny smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'll go easy on you, I promise."
Harry laughed, the sound surprising even himself. The pain in his body, the worry in his mind—everything seemed to fade in the presence of his friends. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself just to be a teenager, forget about his burdens, and enjoy the moment.
As he joined the game, his heart felt lighter, the world's weight momentarily lifted. And though the Burrow was different, and though magic was just a distant memory, Harry knew that here, with the Weasleys, he had found something just as powerful—a sense of belonging, a place where he was genuinely cared for.
And that, he realized, was its own kind of magic.
Dinner at the Burrow was lively, filled with laughter, clattering dishes, and the comforting hum of family chatter. The meal had been simple but hearty, and by the time everyone had finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with deep purples and blues.
Harry had eaten more than he'd expected to, the warmth of the Weasleys' company loosening the tight knot in his stomach. Now, with the night settling in, he needed a moment of quiet, a chance to process everything that had happened since he arrived.
He slipped outside to the porch, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The stars began peering out, tiny pinpricks of light in the darkening sky. Harry leaned against the wooden railing, taking in the moment's serenity. The gentle chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves were the only sounds, starkly contrasting the chaos that usually filled his mind.
A short distance away, Harry could see Arthur and Charlie working on a motorbike, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern. The motorbike was an old, sturdy machine Charlie had received from Bill for his 20th birthday. Harry watched as they tinkered with it, the quiet bond between father and son evident in how they moved, communicating with little more than a nod or a gesture.
After a while, Arthur wiped his hands on a rag and stretched, clearly satisfied with their progress. He glanced over at Harry and gave him a warm smile. "You boys enjoy the evening," Arthur said as he approached the house. "I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late."
Charlie waved his father off, still crouched by the motorbike as he made a few final adjustments. When Arthur disappeared inside, Charlie stood up, dusting off his hands. He then wandered over to the porch and leaned against the railing beside Harry, letting out a contented sigh.
"Feels good to work on something with my hands," Charlie said, his voice relaxed. "Takes my mind off things."
Harry nodded, understanding the sentiment. The quiet after dinner, the stillness of the night—these were the moments when thoughts could become overwhelming. He glanced at Charlie, noticing how the older man's gaze drifted toward the sky as if lost in thought.
After a moment, Charlie spoke again, his tone more thoughtful. "You ever feel like… there's something out there, Harry? Something that's calling to you, even if you can't explain it?"
Harry looked at him, sensing there was more behind Charlie's words. "What do you mean?"
Charlie smiled faintly, his eyes still on the stars. "Ever since I was a kid, I've had these dreams-dreams about dragons. At first, I thought it was just because I loved them—who wouldn't? They're powerful, majestic creatures. But these dreams… they felt different. Almost like memories, like something inside me just knew."
He paused, searching for the right words. "When I'm around them, everything clicks into place. It's like I belong with them. Like, this connection goes beyond anything else. But I can't explain why. It's just… there."
Harry listened, something stirring deep within him. He understood what Charlie was describing all too well—the sense of belonging, the feeling that there was something more to his existence—he'd felt it too, ever since he could remember. But in this world, where magic was a distant memory, it felt like a part of him was missing.
"I know what you mean," Harry said quietly. "It's like… I have these dreams, too. About another life, another world. A world where magic is real, where I'm not just… ordinary. But here, in this world, it's like all that is just a dream, something I can't quite reach."
Charlie turned to look at Harry, his expression thoughtful. "It doesn't have to be just a dream, Harry. Sometimes, what we feel—what we know deep down—is real, even if the world around us doesn't see it. You've got something special inside you, I can tell. Maybe it's not magic in the way you remember, but it's something."
Harry met Charlie's gaze, feeling a deep understanding between them. He didn't feel so alone in his confusion, in the strange disconnect between his world and the one he felt he belonged to. For the first time, he felt like someone truly understood what he was going through.
As they sat in silence, the sky above them began to shimmer with light. Shooting stars streaked across the night, their tails leaving trails of silver in their wake. Charlie nudged Harry gently, nodding toward the sky.
"Make a wish, Harry," Charlie said with a small smile. "Who knows? Maybe tonight's the night it'll come true."
Harry looked up, watching the stars dance across the sky. He closed his eyes, letting the cool night air fill his lungs. And then, with all the hope he could muster, he made a wish for the world Harry remembered, the magic he missed, and the strength to find his way back to it.
When he opened his eyes, the stars were still falling, each a small, fleeting beacon of hope. Charlie was watching the sky, too, a quiet smile on his lips.
"Whatever you wished for," Charlie said softly, "I hope it brings you peace."
Harry nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. "Thanks, Charlie. I hope your wish comes true, too."
Charlie gave him a sidelong glance, his smile widening slightly. "I think it might, Harry. I think it just might."
And so, under the canopy of stars, with the gentle sound of crickets filling the air, Harry and Charlie sat together, their wishes intertwined with the night sky, each finding a small measure of comfort in the presence of the other.