Pride

Ron woke up to two menaces bearing nets and leering at him.

“Get up!” Fred shouted. 

“It’s Pixie Day, lads!” George said, also shouting. 

Ron threw a pillow at them, which Fred caught in his net. 

“What’s happening?” Harry said, pushing himself up and reaching for his glasses.

“Boys!” their mum shrieked from downstairs. 

“Shut up!” Ginny yelled from her room. 

Their dad appeared behind Fred and George, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders. “Why don’t you two go downstairs and help your mother get ready?”

“Sure thing, dad.”

“Yeah, sure thing, dad.”

The twins trooped off, nets swinging through the air.

Their dad sighed, then smiled. He already looked wrung out. “Ron, Harry, good morning.”

“Good morning,” Harry said, befuddled. 

“Morning, dad.”

“Early start today, boys,” Ron’s dad said. “We’ve got some people from Magical Creature Regulation making the rounds. They’ve closed another tin mine somewhere in Cornwall, and the knockers have revolted.” He shuffled off, leaving the two boys to get ready.

Harry looked at Ron, silently asking what was going on. 

“It’s a long story,” Ron said as he looked for something relatively clean to wear. “But once a year the local pixies get out of hand. We have to round them up, keep them from messing with the muggles too much. They’ve got a festival in the village where the kids dress up as pixies and run around. It’s—”

“Pandemonium,” Percy said, looking in on them. “Hurry up, you two. I’m sure we’ll be collecting the Cornish pixies first.” Percy sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Best to get them out of the way and ship them back to Cornwall. The migration this year has set a record, I believe.”

Ron stuck his tongue out at Percy’s retreating back. “Haven’t been back a day and they’ve already got us working.”

“I’ve never seen a pixie before,” Harry said, standing up and ineffectively flattening his hair. 

“You’ll see loads today,” Ron said, reaching over to mess up Harry’s curls again. 

“Hey!”

Downstairs, Harry was still grumbling about his hair as breakfast was served. Ron accepted a tray of scrambled eggs, and shoveled some onto his plate. 

“Save some for the rest of us,” George said. Fred threw himself across the table, reaching desperately for a platter of bacon that was well within reach. Errol crashed in through the window, and Percy snatched him out of the air before the old owl could cause too much damage.

“Is that Errol with the Prophet?” their dad asked, reading what appeared to be a car owner’s manual while sipping coffee. 

“Toast?” Harry asked Ron, holding out a plate stacked with it. A net descended on it, stealing the toast away. 

“No nets at the table!” their mum shouted, spinning around angrily. “Fred, give Ron back his toast! Arthur, who are we expecting from Regulation?”

Their dad unrolled the Daily Prophet. 

“Arthur?”

“Hm?”

George kicked their dad under the table.

“What is it, love? Oh, right. Amos, of course. They’re also sending Lyall.”

Their mum sat down. “Lyall? Lyall Lupin? I thought he had retired!”

“Yes, well, with all the raids—”

Their mum loudly cleared her throat. 

“Raids?” Fred asked. “What raids?”

“Yeah dad, what raids?”

“Raids?” Ginny added, looking at their dad with wide, innocent eyes. 

Their dad hid behind his paper. “Raids? Who said anything about raids? Is that the time already?”

“Time for a raid?” Ron asked, grinning.

“Not you too,” their dad muttered.

“I thought you weren’t going to work today, father?”

“Alright!” their mum said over them. “Tuck in! We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

They met on a hill that overlooked Ottery St. Catchpole. The village below went about their day, ignorant of the plotting witches and wizards.

Ron and Harry stood together, holding poles with nets attached. Fred and George were busy netting each other. Percy stood upright, surveying the land, chatting with a Hufflepuff boy named Cedric Diggory. Ginny had gone to the Lovegoods to help them guide the nixies upriver. The only other children were Samantha Fawcett, who Ron and Harry recognized as an upper year Ravenclaw, and her little brother Davey, who was much too young for Hogwarts.

The adults were all huddled together, next to swaying stacks of cages. Ron recognized Samantha’s parents, Stephen and Laura, as well as Cedric’s, Amos and Maud. Amos Diggory was speaking urgently with the other person the Ministry had assigned to this part of Devon for Pixie Day.

He was an older man with graying hair. He had a world-weary look, a sort of wistfulness that Ron found both oddly comforting and familiar.

“I feel like I’ve seen him before,” Harry said. 

“Maybe,” Ron said, frowning in consideration.

“People used to come up to me on the street to talk to me. My aunt would scare them off, and when we got home—” Harry shook his head. “They must have been witches and wizards who knew my parents.”

“That’s pretty scary,” Ron said, “random strangers approaching a kid.”

“Yeah, I thought I was being kidnapped. Hoped I was, sometimes…”

“Alright, everyone!” Amos called out, getting their attention. “We’ll split up four ways. Molly and Arthur, take the twins, I doubt anyone else can handle them! You’ll have the eastern side. Laura, your family can go west, there’s a small herd of colt pixies that need rounding up. Lyall, you and the two youngest boys will deal with the spriggan and piskeys to the north. You should be able to handle them without much magic. That leaves me, Maud, Cedric, and Percy starting south. Remember to cast muggle repellent charms, especially as we begin to sweep the village. And remember the three Ds! Distract, disable, and detain!”

“He’s just making that up,” Fred muttered. 

“You two are lucky,” George said, slinging an arm around Harry. “Piskeys are easier to lure than the knockers.”

“Are they?” Harry asked, but the twins ambled off to join their parents, who were levitating a stack of crates to take with.

The older man approached them with a kind smile. “Good morning, boys. My name’s Lyall Lupin.”

Ron shook his outstretched hand. “Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said next, shaking Lyall’s hand.

Lyall’s eyes widened slightly. “It’s wonderful to meet you both. Now, we’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us. I’ll go over the plan.”

They began to walk downhill, skirting the town so as not to be noticed.

“Harry’s never seen any pixies before,” Ron said.

“I’ve heard about them,” Harry said, a little embarrassed.

“Well,” Lyall said, smiling, “we’ll just go over the different kinds. Cornish pixies, as you may have heard…”

Many hours, and many crates of enraged blue pixies later, Ron and Harry sprawled in the Burrow’s garden. A hen came over to inspect them, but tottered away when a few gnomes popped out of the ground. 

“That was amazing!” Harry said. “I didn’t know there were so many magical creatures around!”

“Not usually, they just gather for the summer solstice. All the muggles draw them in. Still, Morag’s going to be dead jealous when we tell her we wrestled a spriggan,” Ron said.

They had a lot of fun collecting the various pixies. Lyall was a well of knowledge about them, though he specialized in non-corporeal creatures like poltergeists and boggarts. Pixies were common enough that most people knew a thing or two about how to deal with them.

Spriggan had in the past guarded treasures buried with people in barrows and under cairns, but as not many people had been buried those ways for centuries, the Ministry provided small amounts of treasure for the spriggan and set up specific areas for them to dwell in. A few had got into the local cemetery and had to be dragged out. The oldest ones were nearly the size of babies, though much thinner, and they looked like wizened old people. Harry had got into a tussle with one over a battered antique bracelet.

The piskeys were much easier to manage. They looked like how Harry had described pixies from muggle fairy tales, tiny people wearing dresses and tunics made from leaves, their skin the various colors of flower petals. They had glimmering, diaphanous wings which allowed them to dart around like hummingbirds. Lyall conjured pretty ribbons for Ron and Harry to entice them with, and they ended up running circles around a meadow while the piskeys danced and made tinkling music with acorn caps and their high voices. Lyall had to pull the two boys out before they collapsed, pixie-led.

The worst by far were the Cornish pixies. They were invasive in Devon, having come from Cornwall to find new victims. Lyall immobilized them, and Ron and Harry netted them by the dozen. A few had got behind Ron and dropped him in a tree, cackling the whole time. But in the end they were all crated up to be sent back to woodlands in Cornwall.

The twins told them their mum had tried a spell out of one of Gilderoy Lockhart’s books. It didn’t work, and she ended up whacking the Cornish pixies out of the air with the book itself.

“And this happens every year?” Harry asked, holding up his net. A few Cornish pixies had stolen it and snapped it in half, but Lyall had repaired it for him. 

Ron grabbed an opportunistic gnome and tossed him over the fence. “Yeah. You might think it’s fun now, but…”

He trailed off, nodding to the three people walking up the garden path. It was Ginny, Luna, and Luna’s father Xenophilius. All three were soaking wet, and only Luna and Xenophilius looked happy about it. 

“Have a nice swim?” Ron asked, smirking at his sister. 

“Wonderful,” Ginny said, looking as thrilled as a drowned cat. 

“Nothing like a bracing river bath on a summer day,” Xenophilius said with a pleased smile. 

“The nixies tried to drown me,” Luna said happily. 

“A blessing,” Xenophilius said. 

“Luna,” Ginny said, exasperated, “that was a river-hag.”

“And gorgeous she was!” Xenophilius said. “Hair the color of algae, eyes like deep, limpid pools…”

“I’m pretty sure that was algae,” Ginny said, stomping the rest of the way to the house. 

“Now that we’ve seen Ginny home safely, Luna and I shall depart.”

“Bye Harry,” Luna said, smiling vaguely. Ron could see some pinpricks in her hand where the nixies likely stabbed her with their tiny spears. Luna probably thought it was good luck. “Bye Ronald.”

The Lovegoods walked away, dripping as they went. 

Harry looked at Ron. “So, what’s a nixie?”

Harry came back from his first appointment at St. Mungo’s carrying a silver thurible that emitted pale pink smoke and smelled like lavender. It hung from Harry’s neck on a chain, and he looked miserable about it.

“I’ve got to keep it on for a month,” he said sourly, prodding the ornate silver ball. Tiny carvings flashed on it before settling down. “They explained it all to your mum, I didn’t understand much.”

“And you’ll be fixed then?” Ron asked. They were in his room, which was slowly filling with fragrant smoke. Harry scowled at it, and pushed the window all the way open.

“The healers hope so,” Harry said. “They think…some kinds of magic leave a mark, you know? They think it might be the…ambient, that’s what they called it. The ambient magic affected me somehow.”

“What about your headaches?”

Harry frowned. “I haven’t had any since school ended. They think it was stress or something.”

Ron frowned. That didn’t sound quite right. Harry had been under stress plenty of times. And he hadn’t seemed all that concerned about exams. They’d studied enough so they wouldn’t have to worry about it. He decided to drop it, and to be glad Harry wasn’t getting migraines anymore.

“How was your mum?” he asked.

Harry shrugged and looked out of the window. Ron’s room—their room—was on the top floor, just below the attic. It was a small, cramped, extremely orange room. Ron has considered de-Chudley-fying it for Harry’s sake, but Harry didn’t seem to mind the evidence of Ron’s obsession. And the view was spectacular. They could see across the fields of tall grasses and wildflowers and woods that surrounded Ottery St. Catchpole. The Burrow was set far apart from the village and the other wizarding households, so no other buildings were in sight. 

“No change,” Harry finally said. “There isn’t much they can do for her, other than keep her alive. But she was walking around today. That’s always a good sign, they told me.”

Ron joined him at the window, putting an arm across Harry’s shoulders. “Let’s go flying. Need to practice for tryouts this year.”

Ron and Harry excavated a map of Great Britain from the glove compartment of the Ford Anglia. They had it spread out in the living room and hovered over it.

“They could live anywhere,” Harry said. “If it’s Unplottable, it won’t even show on a map.”

“Unplottable?”

“Can’t plot it, can you?” Harry said, sitting back on his heels. “I doubt any muggles would know. We know he’s famous in the muggle world too, since we’ve looked up books in the Ottery library…”

“What’re you two doing?”

Ron looked up and saw Fred coming in from the kitchen, carrying a mixing bowl.

“What’re you doing?” Ron asked. “Is that flour?”

Fred looked inside the bowl. “Maybe. You planning a holiday? Stealing dad’s car?”

“No,” Harry said. “Just wondering where someone might live.”

“I see,” Fred said. “You fancy someone?”

Harry gaped at him, and Ron could feel himself blushing. He had no idea why.

“No!” Harry said. “He’s ancient!”

“So it’s just the age that’s the problem.” Fred grinned, approaching them with his bowl of flour. “Why don’t you just send Hedwig? Owls always know where to find people. Have fun!”

He skipped out of the room, leaving a trail of flour in his wake.

“Mum’s going to blame me for that,” Ron muttered, looking around and pulling out his wand. “What was that vanishing spell?”

“Evanesco, but it’s not for—”

“Evanesco!”

The flour vanished, along with part of the rug.

“There are other spells for cleaning!” Harry hissed. “How are we going to explain that?”

Ron hastily put his wand away. “Blame Fred?”

Harry folded up the map. “He did have a good idea. I’m going to write a letter.”

Perenelle Flamel was busy packing a suitcase when a snowy owl landed on her windowsill.

“Hello,” she said, taking the proffered letter. “Who is this from? Harry Potter?”

She glanced at the owl, who seemed like she was waiting for a response. Amused, Perenelle left her bedroom and went in search of her husband.

“Nico?”

She unfolded the letter, smiling as she read it. “Interesting question…”

“What is?”

Nicolas Flamel emerged from one of his laboratories, slightly steaming and reeking of iron.

“We’ve received an owl from a Hogwarts student,” Perenelle said. “He says he was involved in the incident this year.”

Nicolas sighed. “Albus did mention some students were harmed. Is it one of them? That Neville Longbottom boy?”

“No,” Perenelle said, passing him the letter. “Another young boy named Harry Potter, and his friend Ronald Weasley.”

Nicolas read it over and cracked a smile. “He says he has a gift for us? And it seems he knows what to ask. Not many people question our old work these days.”

“It has been several centuries, love.”

Nicolas handed the letter back to her, checking the time. “I’ve got to get to my flight soon. Perhaps next summer?”

“You’re taking a plane into a warzone?” Perenelle asked drolly.

“I’m flying a plane into one,” Nicolas said with a devilish smile.

Perenelle shook her head, looking over the letter again. “I don’t know if I’ll have time between conferences to meet these two boys. Harry in particular seems interested in alchemy. He doesn’t say why.”

Nicolas waved his hand dismissively. “We’ve all had the same reasons. Fortune, fame, youth, glory, prestige…”

Perenelle shook her head. “No, there’s something else going on here. I’m going to write them back, their owl is waiting for a reply.”

Nicolas chuckled. “The presumption of youth.”

“Says the man I helped achieve eternal youth.”

Nicolas seized her hand in a dramatic gesture and kissed it lightly. “Maybe we can send them an invitation for next year?”

Perenelle pulled herself free and walked back to her room. “I’ll add them to the guest list. We do need permission from their parents.”

“Then invite the whole family!”

Ron and Harry were in the garden sowing carrots and radishes when a shadow passed over them. It was Hedwig, hooting in greeting. Ron watched as Harry eagerly held an arm out for her and took a small scroll from her beak.

“That was fast,” Ron said. “They must live nearby.”

Hedwig flew off again, and Harry broke open the seal. His face fell.

“They’re both busy all summer. She says there’s a muggle war going on and her husband is going to help some humanitarian groups.”

“What’s that?”

Harry had a thoughtful look. “They’ll give food to people, and rebuild things, or send doctors. Basically helping people for free. Perenelle says she’s going to some science conferences in America. Those are when experts get together to talk about whatever they study.”

“So they can't meet us?” Ron asked. That explained why Harry was so disappointed.

Harry shook his head. “She says maybe next summer. They have an event planned they can invite us and our families to. Well, your family. It’s not safe for mum to go outside without a healer.”

“There are a ton of Weasleys. I don’t mind sharing,” Ron said. “Actually, you can have Percy for free.”

Harry laughed a little, and picked up a packet of seeds to finish sowing.

“I’ll have to show you the family tree so you can start memorizing it. I start getting lost around second cousins.”

“How many cousins do you have?” Harry asked, looking concerned. 

“A few dozen,” Ron said lightly. “It’s easier to start with my mum’s side. Her family is the Prewetts, and it’s just her and my great-aunt Muriel. Mum had two brothers, but they died during the war. They were twins, Fabian and Gideon, that’s why Fred and George’s middle names are Gideon and Fabian.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“...Bilius.”

Harry started wheezing with laughter, and Ron smiled. 

Harry’s twelfth birthday started off with a literal bang. Ron’s dad had to work the overnight shift and he had apparated directly into the kitchen, crashing into their great-grandmother’s credenza. 

“Arthur!”

Their mum ran over to help him into a chair. He took his dusty glasses off and tried to wipe them clean on his robes, only making it worse. 

“What a night,” he said, blindly groping for the tea pot. Ron pushed it over to him. “Nine raids. Nine! Black’s pushing us hard. And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned!” He took a sip of his tea, sighing in relief. 

“Find anything, dad?” Fred asked. 

“All I got were a few shrinking door-keys and a biting kettle,” he said through a yawn. “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness. Amos stopped me on the way to the floo. Said something about a rogue house-elf, can you believe it? I pretended I needed the loo, apparated straight home…”

Ron nudged Harry, pointing to Percy, who had barely touched his food, his own glasses sliding off of his nose. “He’s been out of sorts lately. He won’t tell anyone why.”

Ginny leaned over and whispered, “I caught him polishing his prefect badge and sighing. He’s been writing to someone, but Hermes always comes back empty-clawed.”

After breakfast, Ron’s mum took him and Harry to St. Mungo’s to visit. It never got easier, seeing Lily Potter wander the Janus Thickey Ward like a ghost. Less than a ghost; a ghost at least had their memories, and could make new ones. Lily’s mind had been trapped the night she was attacked. They avoided visiting her during meal times. It was hard for Harry to watch his mother being carefully fed, having to be physically made to swallow. Harry had told him in the muggle world people in similar states were fed through tubes that went into their stomachs. 

There wasn’t much of a choice. Harry wasn’t old enough to make decisions for her, and his aunt Petunia had left her sister alone for years. Ron loathed the woman for what she had put Harry through. He couldn’t imagine hating any of his siblings that much, to lie to their children, to let them waste away alone in a hospital.

“Hi, mum,” Harry said, taking one of her hands. Lily was in bed today, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes she reacted to Harry’s voice, blinking or flexing her fingers. But this time, she didn’t respond.

“Do you want us to give you two some time alone?” Ron’s mum asked.

Harry nodded mutely, and Ron’s mum took him up to the cafeteria. He laid his head on the table while she got them drinks.

“Did you know them?” Ron asked when she slid him a hot chocolate.

“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t,” his mom said, sighing. “I wish your father and I could share stories with Harry about them. I’m not even sure who their friends were. Professor McGonagall was their head of house, she might know.”

She added cream to her coffee, looking into the distance. “My brothers may have known them. In fact, I’m almost certain they did.”

Ron sipped his hot chocolate. It was sweet.

“There isn’t a way to make this better for him, is there?” Ron asked, staring at the table.

“No, sweetheart, I’m afraid there isn’t. But, we can be there for Harry when he needs us.”

Ron felt sick to his stomach, took another fortifying sip of hot chocolate. “I will be. No matter what.”

After some time had passed, and Lily’s lunch time approached, they returned to her room in the ward. They were shocked to find Lily sitting up, cupping Harry’s hands between hers, staring into his palms.

Ron’s mum put a hand over her heart, gripping Ron’s hand with her other.

They watched in amazement as light began to form, spiraling into shape. A stem appeared, then long, bell-shaped flowers in fuchsia with spotted throats.

“Foxglove,” his mum whispered. “Oh, my word. But how?”

Harry’s face was aglow with his mother’s magic. He held the spray of foxglove in his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered, choking up.

Lily silently laid back down, staring at the ceiling once again.

A healer bustled in with Lily’s meal, and Harry stood up to give them room.

Ron’s mum hastily conjured a glass and some water. “Here you are, dear. We can find something nicer when we get home. Isn’t that lovely?”

“She made me a present,” Harry said, eyes wide with awe.

“She’s amazing,” Ron said, smiling at Harry. Harry looked up at him, tears welling in his eyes. Ron pushed his glasses up and brushed them away. “I bet we can enchant it to last for a long time.”

Harry nodded, looking at the flowers again.

It was an odd choice, foxglove, something so toxic. Ron knew they were used in potions, and some stories said foxes wore them on their paws to silence their steps. It was also called witches’ glove. A beautiful flower, but deadly. Dead man’s bells, flowers that bowed when spirits walked past.

Maybe it didn't mean anything. Maybe foxgloves were simply Lily’s favorite flower.

Back home, Ron’s mum found a prettier vase for the foxglove, and Harry carefully carried it up to their room to keep it safe, well out of Scabbers’ nibbling range.

Then they had dinner, and a cake decorated with wildflowers that were actually edible, flowers Harry gave to his mother. Five-petaled blackthorn, daisies, dandelions, honeysuckle, elderflower, dog rose, meadowsweet, gorse...

It was a bit ridiculous, the cake was practically a bouquet. But by watching Harry’s expression, Ron could tell he loved it.

“Psst! Ron! Harry!”

Ron groaned and hid his head under his pillow. His blanket was yanked away.

“No…”

“Is Ronnie still ticklish?”

“Not sure, let’s find out.”

Ron kicked his legs out, fending his brothers off.

“What time is it?” Harry asked tiredly. Something fell onto the floor. “Shit, my glasses.”

“We had a late birthday present for you,” one of the twins said. Ron sat up, blinking owlishly at them.

“We had to wait until everyone was asleep,” George said.

“Are we committing a crime?” Ron asked, half joking.

The twins had matching blank faces.

“We are committing a crime,” Ron said, yawning.

“Is it breaking the law when one of your parents is the one writing the laws?” Fred asked.

“Yes,” George said bluntly.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“What are we doing?” Harry asked, having recovered his glasses.

Fred grinned at him. “We’re going for a ride!”

They all four snuck into the hall, creeping downstairs. They tiptoed past Percy’s room and heard some crooning, mournful music that he must have fallen asleep to. On their way past her room, Ginny popped her head out, so they brought her along to buy her silence. 

They made it through the dark kitchen and into the garage, where the Ford Anglia was parked beneath an old bedsheet.

“None of us are old enough to drive,” Harry whispered. “Does anyone even know how?”

“I’ll do it,” Ginny said, already climbing in.

“You’re ten!” Ron said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Not for long.”

“Who said anything about driving?” Fred asked, pushing Ginny out of the driver’s seat. George was opening the garage door.

“We need to roll it out,” he said, “otherwise we’ll wake up mum.”

Fred slapped Ginny’s hand away and put the car in neutral. Ron and Harry helped George push it out.

“Get in, we’re about to go downhill,” Fred said.

Ron and Harry clambered into the back while Ginny wrestled George for the front seat. George won. Barely.

“Alright, everyone buckled in?” Fred asked. “Time to fly.”

The engine roared to life, and Fred slammed on the throttle. The Ford Anglia hit the bottom of the hill, and raced up the side of another. George pressed a switch and they were in the air, skimming the treetops.

“Get above the clouds!” Ron shouted over the noisy engine.

“Hit the invisibility booster!” Harry yelled.

“Turn on the radio!” Ginny screamed, bouncing in her seat. Ron found a loose seat belt and buckled her in.

“Duck!” George shouted.

“Where?” Fred shouted back, swerving. They were all thrown sideways.

They flew past a lone duck who quacked in fright.

“What the…” Harry turned to look at the duck. “It’s got a package with it!”

“Who uses a duck for delivery?” Ron asked, craning his neck to see. “Cheaper than an owl, I reckon.”

“Think mum will get me a duck for Hogwarts?” Ginny asked.

“We can just take one out of the pond,” George said. “Hedwig can give it lessons.”

“Hedwig would probably eat it,” Harry muttered, making Ron laugh. 

It was a little scary, flying when everything was invisible, so they kept talking and making jokes. Eventually George got the radio to work, and Ron taught Harry the lyrics to all the songs he knew, until they were all singing together in a horrible cacophony, the quiet countryside passing far below, the moon half full and bright above.

Fred killed the engine and they sailed into the garage just as the sun started to come up. George carefully picked a sleeping Ginny up, and Ron and Harry supported each other as they crept into the kitchen.

“Good morning, dears.”

Everyone froze. 

Their mum was at the stove, aggressively poaching the remaining life out of kippers. The sound of eggs cracking followed.

“Morning,” the children said, in varying degrees of horror.

“Have you any idea how worried I‘ve been?” she asked. Another egg cracked.

Fred stepped forward with a brave smile. “We were just out for a little—”

Their mum spun around, wielding a spatula like she would curse them with it. Her face was a portrait of fury.

“Beds empty! No note! Car gone! You could have crashed! You could have died! Out of my mind with worry! Did you care? Never, as long as I‘ve lived—”

“Good morning, everyone,” their dad said as he walked in, oblivious to the standoff. Ginny slunk out of the room. Their mum didn’t notice. Ron attempted to shield Harry, keep him out of the line of fire. Harry looked absolutely devastated.

“The twins will take the fall,” Ron whispered. “She isn’t really mad. Well, okay, she is mad. But she’s mostly scared for us.”

“I know,” Harry whispered back. “I didn’t…I didn’t think anyone would ever worry about me.”

Ron’s mum zeroed in on them. “Harry, dear, are you alright?”

Harry gave her a weak smile. “Yeah. It was fun. We were careful.”

“What’s going on?” their dad asked. Ron could see he’d had another long night, and felt guilty for adding trouble on top of that.

“Your sons,” their mum declared, “just took that enchanted car of yours for a joyride!”

“Did they really? How did it go?”

A pot of tea slammed down in front of him, steaming ominously.

“What I mean to say is, that was very wrong of you, boys! Very wrong indeed…”

They all sat down, Percy and a returning Ginny joining them. Plates of kippers and poached eggs landed in front of them all. Their mum sat down with them.

“You two will be de-gnoming the garden after breakfast,” she said to Fred and George. “And no experiments for three days!”

The twins accepted their fates with bowed heads. Ron peppered his egg, passing Harry the toast.

“I can help,” Harry whispered to Fred, glancing at their mum.

“This is part of your gift,” Fred replied with a wink. “We accepted the risk of getting bitten by gnomes when we came up with the idea.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, smiling at his plate. “It really was fun.”

When breakfast was over, and all the dishes were floated to the sink, Ron’s mum pulled Harry aside to show him something in the living room. Ron followed them, and they stopped in front of the family clock. Unlike a typical clock, nine golden hands showed everyone’s name. Charlie and Bill’s were pointed at work, everyone else was at home. 

There was a new addition. 

“I wanted to show you yesterday, but it took longer than expected to calibrate it,” his mum said.

She had added a hand for Harry, and it showed him at home with everyone else. Harry stared at it, speechless. She hugged him and planted a kiss in his hair. 

“You’ll always have someone worrying about you, sweetheart.”

For Ginny’s birthday there was the traditional passing down of books. Harry gave her his first year books since they were newer than the others, and said he could borrow Ron’s if needed. Luna and Xenophilius joined them for lunch, and they made plans to visit Diagon Alley together as Luna was also starting Hogwarts.

The twins tried to start a game of shuntbumps, but after Luna fell into the pond they were shouted down. Luna was delighted by the experience, and Ginny threw herself into the pond in protest.

In light of this event, and shuntbumps being a game for much smaller children, flying much closer to the ground, the Weasley household took to quidditch practice with a vengeance. Even Percy was dragged onto the pitch where he moped and threw rocks for Harry and Ginny to dive at. He seemed unaware that his youngest sibling was performing death defying stunts.

“You’ll need your own broom to try out,” Ron told Harry after practice one day. “Especially for seeker. The school brooms won’t cut it.”

“What about you?” Harry asked. 

“I could borrow Fred or George’s Cleansweep. I think Charlie took his Comet with him.”

Harry hesitated, then said, “I didn’t get you a Christmas present—”

“Neither did I.”

“—nor a birthday present. I could get you one. A broom, I mean.”

They were sitting on the grass, the Wealeys’ old brooms next to then. Harry was looking away from Ron. Ron wondered how much it had cost him to make that offer, knowing it might not be well received. 

An old bitterness threatened to rise up and choke Ron. At being poor, at his dad working himself to death, at his mum saving every knut she could. Homemade presents, hand-me-down clothes, school books passed down year after year, the stress of making ends meet, refusing charity, his brothers and sister pushing themselves to succeed, to lift themselves up. Percy’s obsessive studying, Ginny staying out all night flying, Fred and George’s constant experiments, Charlie desperately applying to every magical animal reserve, even though he only wanted to work with dragons, Bill’s odd jobs while training at Gringotts, as bone-weary as their father.

Ron wanted to succeed too. He wanted to be able to stand on his own. To not be a burden. To help his parents, his siblings. To be there for Harry.

It was overwhelming at twelve-years-old, to think all of these things. To have his best friend silently sitting next to him, waiting to be yelled at for simply being a kind and generous person. 

Ron swallowed his pride.

“You would?”

Harry turned back to him, surprised. Then he smiled radiantly.

“Of course!”

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I’d…I’d really appreciate it.”

Harry ducked his head. “It’s not a big deal.”

Ron watched him for a moment with a faint smile, ears turning pink. “No, I reckon it’s not.”

Ron glared at his booklist. The school owl had arrived that morning with their letters. 

“I’m not buying any Lockhart books,” Harry declared. “The man is a fraud.”

Ron nodded emphatically. “Remember mum? How you used his book? Actually used it? To clobber a pixie?”

“Yes, Ronald,” his mum said tartly, blushing as much as any of her children. “You’ve all only reminded me every day this entire summer!”

“Told you we knew how to de-gnome a garden,” George mumbled into his porridge. 

“I heard that!”

“I refuse,” Harry said, setting his list down. “I’ll just borrow someone’s notes.”

“Excellent idea, Harry,” Fred effused. 

“Top notch,” George added. “Let’s not buy any books at all.”

“I can share with Luna, mum,” Ginny said, having got on the anti-Lockhart bandwagon. 

Their mum looked worried. “That may be for the best. These books are rather…seven books for one class, honestly, what is that man thinking? I have a mind to owl the Board of Governors about this!”

“Do it, mum,” Ron said. “These are novels, yeah? How are we supposed to learn defense from Holidays with Hags?”

“Sounds like a romance my aunt would buy at the shops,” Harry said. 

“What about Voyages with Vampires?” Ron asked, grinning. 

“I’ve definitely seen that one on the coffee table.”

Ron’s dad stumbled into the kitchen and fell into his chair. “I’ve got the tickets.”

Ron jumped up. “No way.”

“They’re ninth in the league,” his dad said. “Has anyone seen my glasses?”

“You’re wearing them, dad,” Ginny said. 

“Right, of course...”

“It’s near the end of the season,” Ron said excitedly, turning to grin at Harry. “The Cannons will be at the top of their game!”

“There’s nowhere to go but up,” Harry said, smiling back.

The Chudley Cannons were slaughtered by the Montrose Magpies. 

At one point a Cannons beater mistook the snitch for a bludger and punted it into the stands, where it was caught by none other than Harry. He tried to give it to Ron as a souvenir but the referee demanded it back.

Overall, it was a great game.

When their dad finally got a day off they made their way to Diagon Alley. Armed with his own key, Harry went to his vault alone, while the Weasleys visited their near empty vault, and the Lovegoods had conversations with different goblins.

“Good thing we’re boycotting Defense this year,” Fred muttered, watching their mum check all of the corners.

Ron stood awkwardly next to their goblin banker, who sneered at the beggared Weasley vault. 

He and Harry had agreed to keep the broom a secret. They’d look at models then owl order them while at school. Ron knew if Harry saw this he’d want to offer them his entire fortune. It was the only thing his parents had left him, that they knew of. Harry didn’t even have pictures of them.

Outside of Gringotts, they all split up, needing different things for the next year. Percy was allowed to go off on his own, while Fred and George found their friend Lee, having abandoned his own father somewhere. Their mum and Ginny went robe shopping with Luna and Xenophilius, and their dad wandered off, staring daggers at Knockturn Alley. Ron and Harry went directly to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Ron spent some time ogling the full set of Chudley Cannons robes in the window display, before Harry pulled him into the store. 

“We’ve only got an hour before we have to meet them at Flourish and Blotts,” Harry said as he marched to the brooms on display. “Looks like they’ve already released the Nimbus 2001.” 

Harry reached out to touch the handle of the display model. It was snatched away before he made contact. 

“What are you two doing in here?” 

Ron and Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy, who had come into the store with his father. 

“Looking at brooms,” Harry said. “Thought that was obvious.”

“As if you could afford this,” Draco said, brandishing the Nimbus. 

“He could,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I’d want to,” Harry said, eyeing the broom doubtfully. “It’s not that much of an improvement over the 2000.”

“I doubt anyone will be switching over midseason,” Ron said. “It hasn’t been put to the test in the leagues.”

“Draco,” the elder Malfoy interrupted. “You haven’t introduced me to your…friends.”

“Forgive me, father,” Draco said. “Potter, Weasley, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry beamed at him and stuck out his hand. “Harry Potter, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mr. Malfoy took his hand lightly, as if unwilling to sully himself. “And?”

“Ronald Weasley.” Since Harry had done it, he also offered up his own hand for Mr. Malfoy to fret over.

“Your father wouldn’t happen to be Arthur Weasley?”

Ron smiled. “Yeah, that’s my dad.”

“I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you two boys from…shopping.”

The Malfoys walked away, carrying the Nimbus 2001 display model with them. 

“That was odd,” Harry said. “They’ve released a new Cleansweep too, yeah?”

“The Cleansweep 8,” Ron said, leading Harry over to the display. “It’s got a top speed of sixty miles per hour…”

An hour later the two boys left for Flourish and Blotts, thoughts of different broom models flying through their heads. They were so immersed in their discussion that they walked into a group of people.

“Watch where you’re going, young man!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, taking a few steps back.

Ron goggled at the crowd amassed in front of Flourish and Blotts. 

“What’s going on?”

Harry pointed to a banner hung above the entrance.

“Lockhart’s signing books,” Harry said unhappily. “Maybe we should come back another day.”

“We can actually meet him!” a nearby girl said.

Ron finally noticed who they had run into. It was Neville with his gran, Hermione and her parents, Dean with his mother and younger sisters, and Seamus with his mother.

“I mean, he‘s written almost the whole booklist!” Hermione said, vibrating with excitement.

“He’s a fraud,” Harry said. 

Hermione turned on him. “What did you say, Potter?”

“Ron’s mum chucked one of his books at a pixie because the advice he gave was completely useless,” Harry said, grabbing Ron’s wrist. “Let’s just get the books we need and go. Whatever he’s signing isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.”

They left behind a fuming Hermione, and Seamus’ mother seemed terribly offended as well. Neville’s gran had missed the brief exchange, focused on hovering over her grandson, who stood rigidly next to her.

Ron and Harry shoved their way into the store, and spent some time gathering the books Harry would need. Ron was getting Fred’s old ones. His mum had relapsed and was waiting in line for an autograph. There was a commotion when Lockhart spotted Neville, and after a hushed conversation with his gran pictures were taken of the two of them.

From there, things spiraled out of control.

Ron and Harry watched as Malfoy approached Neville. His gran was preoccupied with the Daily Prophet reporter, leaving him with his friends and their parents.

“Leave him alone!” they heard Ginny say. Fred and George started struggling towards her; somehow she had got separated from their mum. 

Ron’s dad spotted Mr. Malfoy, who sounded upset by the recent raids—though what was being raided was unclear. Mr. Malfoy made several insulting remarks about the Grangers and Mrs. Thomas, all muggles, and Ron’s dad launched himself at him.

Cauldrons and books went flying. People started screaming. The twins egged their dad on. Their mum was shouting for him to stop, and Hagrid of all people waded through the crowd to pull the two brawling middle aged men apart.

“Wow,” Harry said. 

“I’ve never seen him like that before,” Ron said. “Did he forget he was a wizard?”

Harry snorted. “It’s not like they can have a full on duel in a bookshop.”

“They’ve already knocked half the shelves down,” Ron said. “Pity they didn’t take out Lockhart’s display as well.”

They followed the rest of the family out of the store, while the assistant struggled over what to do. Their mum marched towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry stopped in the middle of the street. 

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“We spent too long at the quidditch shop,” Harry said. “We didn't get anything for school at all."

Ron looked over to his mum, who was busy berating his dad. He looked at Harry, who hadn't even managed to buy his books, and who was anxiously watching his parents argue.

“Come on, we’ll tell her together.”