The Tenth Weasley - CH - 110

Harry stood frozen at the edge of the quiet Muggle neighborhood, staring at the modest brick house with a perfectly trimmed hedge and blooming flower pots hanging on the porch rail. The late afternoon sun bathed the house in a soft golden light, but it offered little warmth to the storm swirling inside his stomach.

This was it.

He had faced trolls, dark wizards, poachers, and cursed vaults—yet no encounter had felt quite as terrifying as this.

Meeting Hermione’s parents.

For the hundredth time, he considered turning around. Maybe say he forgot something at home. Maybe tell her he was sick. Maybe get bitten by a doxy.

But none of those options would stop Hermione Granger from marching over to the Weasley Manor and dragging him back here by the ear.

He exhaled slowly and stepped forward, climbing the three porch steps with the quiet dread of a man walking to the gallows.

The doorbell looked innocent enough.

Ding dong.

The door opened almost immediately.

Hermione.

Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him, her smile wide and genuine.

“You’re early,” she said, stepping aside and beckoning him in. “Mum and Dad are in the living room.”

Harry forced a crooked smile, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he walked in. The house smelled like freshly brewed tea and lemon polish, the walls lined with framed family photos. Hermione as a child, missing two front teeth. Hermione on her first day of primary school. Hermione with her bushy hair holding a first place spelling bee ribbon.

The warmth of it made his chest ache.

He followed her into the living room, where two people stood up to greet him. Mr. Granger was tall and lanky, with a balding head and kind, inquisitive eyes behind square-rimmed glasses. Mrs. Granger wore a floral blouse and a welcoming smile, her hair curled neatly at her shoulders.

“You must be Harry,” Mr. Granger said, extending a hand. “I’m Daniel, and this is my wife, Emma.”

“Lovely to finally meet you,” Mrs. Granger added.

Harry shook both their hands, trying not to squeeze too hard. “Thank you for having me over.”

“Please, sit,” Daniel said, gesturing to the couch. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Harry sat, stiff and far too aware of every muscle in his body. Hermione perched beside him, her hand resting on his back in quiet reassurance.

“We know you’re… involved in quite a few extraordinary things,” Emma began. “Hermione has told us stories.”

Harry smiled nervously. “I promise they’re only half as dramatic as they sound.”

“So, Harry,” Daniel leaned forward, “tell us about your family. What do your parents do?”

Harry relaxed a little. He’d prepared for this one.

“My dad works at the Ministry of Magic,” he began, “in a department called the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

Emma tilted her head. “Misuse of… Muggle artifacts?”

“Basically,” Harry explained, “some wizards like to enchant everyday Muggle objects—like toasters or lawnmowers—to do dangerous things. Sometimes as a joke, sometimes to harm people. My dad’s job is to find and stop them before Muggles get hurt.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “That actually sounds… useful.”

“And my mum,” Harry said, smiling fondly, “runs a bakery brand called Molly’s Kitchen. It’s very popular, even in the Muggle world.”

Emma blinked. “Wait. The Molly’s Kitchen? The one with the owl logo and the fudge cakes?”

Harry nodded. “That’s the one.”

Daniel gave a surprised laugh. “We’ve been buying those for years. Hermione loves the lemon tarts!”

Hermione blushed. “I had no idea it was your mum’s.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, she’s quite proud of it. It started as a magical bakery, but she wanted to branch out into the Muggle world too. She says Muggle ovens are more temperamental but more fun to challenge.”

Daniel chuckled. “She sounds like quite the entrepreneur.”

Harry nodded. “And my eldest brother, Bill, works for a wizarding bank called Gringotts. He’s a curse breaker—basically, he removes magical traps from ancient tombs and vaults around the world.”

“Indiana Jones,” Emma said with a smile.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Harry laughed.

“And Charlie, my second oldest brother, works with dragons in Romania. He’s a handler and researcher. Very passionate about magical creatures.”

“Dragons?” Daniel repeated. “Real dragons?”

Harry nodded. “Very real. Very fiery.”

Emma exchanged a glance with her husband. “And the rest of your siblings?”

“They’re all still at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “We’re a large family, so there’s always someone in school.”

“That’s lovely,” Emma said. “Must be quite the noisy house.”

Harry smiled. “It is. But a fun kind of noisy.”

The Grangers nodded along, clearly impressed. Harry could tell they were pleased with his answers, even if they were a bit surprised by how maturely he presented himself.

Still, something lingered beneath their polite expressions—an unspoken understanding that this was likely a teenage romance, something sweet and temporary. They were friendly, maybe because they didn’t think this would last.

And that thought sat oddly with Harry.

Because when he looked at Hermione—laughing as she told her mum how Ron had accidentally grown donkey ears during Potions class—he didn’t feel temporary.


Hermione helped her mum prepare some tea and biscuits while Harry stood at the doorway with Mr. Granger, chatting.

“You’re a good young man,” Daniel said suddenly, his voice low and serious. “I know Hermione’s young. I know you both are. But she’s our only daughter.”

“I understand,” Harry said softly.

“I don’t expect you to make promises, but… if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Harry cut in. His voice was firmer than even he expected. “I couldn’t.”

Daniel looked at him for a long moment before offering a small smile. “Good. That’s all I need to hear.”


As Harry Left

They all walked him to the door. Mrs. Granger hugged him lightly, Daniel gave him a firmer handshake than before, and Hermione walked him out to the front gate.

“You survived,” she teased.

Harry exhaled. “Barely.”

“They like you.”

“Do they?” he asked hopefully.

She smiled. “They’re dentists, Harry. They smile at everyone. But yes. They like you.”

“I hope they don’t think this is just… temporary.”

Hermione looked up at him. “Does it feel temporary to you?”

“No,” Harry said, without hesitation. “Not even a little.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Then don’t worry.”

As he walked down the lane, Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks. The hardest battle had been fought—and won.



Harry returned from the Grangers’ home feeling light on his feet and strangely relieved, as though he had disarmed an ancient curse rather than met his girlfriend’s parents. But the moment he stepped into the Weasley Manor, he was met with cheers and teasing from every corner of the house.

“There he is!” Fred shouted from the staircase, pointing dramatically like Harry was a returning war hero. “He survived the dentists!”

George came running from the kitchen, waving a wooden spoon like a wand. “Let me see your teeth! Are they still intact?”

“Maybe the Grangers knocked one out and replaced it with a Muggle filling!” Fred added, feigning horror.

Harry laughed, holding up his hands. “No extra teeth, no drills, no fillings. I’m all intact.”

“But are you emotionally intact?” Ginny teased from the armchair, flipping a page in Witch Weekly. “Mum said Hermione’s dad gave you the talk.”

“He did,” Harry admitted. “And I gave him one back.”

That got a chorus of impressed oohs and exaggerated clapping.

Molly came bustling in from the garden, her apron smeared with flour and flower petals. “Stop teasing him, all of you! Honestly, you’d think we’d raised a pack of wolves, not children.”

“Well, wolves also live in packs, Mum,” George said innocently.

“And sometimes they get married too!” Fred grinned.

That was when Bill stepped into the room with Nymphadora at his side, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

“Speaking of marriage,” he said, raising his voice just enough to command the room, “I have something to share.”

Everyone turned. The teasing stopped immediately.

Bill took Nymphadora’s hand and gently lifted it, showing off the glinting engagement ring on her finger. “We’ve decided—we don’t want to wait. We’re thinking of getting married this summer, here, at the Weasley Manor.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then Molly gasped and rushed forward. “Oh, my darling boy!” She pulled Bill into a fierce hug before turning to kiss Nymphadora on both cheeks. “You two have made me the happiest mother alive! Oh, we have so much to do—so much to prepare!”

Ron blinked. “This summer?”

“As in… this summer summer?” Ginny asked.

“Well,” Bill said, chuckling, “we didn’t want to wait until the school year started again. And during term, it’d be hard to get everyone here.”

“And we’re already living together,” Nymphadora added. “We’re both working full-time. We’re ready.”

Arthur Weasley clapped his hands together and beamed. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. We’ll make it the wedding of the year.”

The next few days at the Weasley Manor turned into a flurry of activity.

Molly took charge like a general, clipboard in hand, barking orders about table placements, flower arrangements, and food options. “No, no, the tables go there—not near the barn! The goat still hasn’t been trained to behave!”

Hermione started visiting almost every other day, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back, scrubbing windows, polishing old silverware, and charming broomsticks to sweep the upper rafters.

“I can’t believe how much stuff your mum’s saved,” she muttered to Harry one afternoon, digging through a box of old potion bottles.

“She says everything has a purpose eventually,” Harry replied, holding up a goblet that looked suspiciously like it had once been used in a prank.

Ron’s group of friends—Neville Longbottom, Charlie Potter, and even Rose Potter—came over frequently, helping to repair the greenhouse and repaint the garden fence. Neville, naturally, took over the flower arrangements with an enthusiastic gleam in his eyes.

“These delphiniums will look amazing in a midnight-themed wedding!” he said.

“We’re not doing a midnight theme,” Molly muttered, but she let him carry on anyway.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived one weekend, led by Angelina Johnson, and they helped raise enchanted lanterns over the orchard and charmed floating petals for the ceremony path. Fred and George worked closely with Lee Jordan to create magical fireworks that wouldn’t singe eyebrows—“hopefully,” as Fred put it.

Luna Lovegood wandered through the preparations wearing a crown of buttercup petals and claiming to see wedding pixies floating in the hedges. “They’re blessing the bride already,” she whispered to Hermione, who just smiled and nodded.

Harry found himself fixing broken benches, re-painting signs, and even charming a pond to reflect the night sky no matter the hour. He was happy to be useful—but more than that, he was happy to be part of something joyful, something whole.

“Your family’s mad,” Hermione said one afternoon as they collapsed onto the grass under a tall oak tree.

“They are,” Harry agreed, lying beside her. “Mad. Loud. Completely unpredictable.”

He turned his head and smiled at her.

“But they’re mine.”



Charlie hadn’t arrived yet from Romania, but everyone expected him to come a week before the wedding—plenty of time to help with the final preparations, though not nearly enough, according to Molly Weasley, who had already made a list titled “What Charlie Will Do (Whether He Likes It or Not).”

But for Bill, his younger brother Harry’s presence mattered more than anyone else's. Harry might’ve been adopted into the family, but for William Weasley, there was no difference. Harry was his brother—closest to him in spirit, heart, and quiet understanding. Over the years, it had been Bill who’d taken Harry to places, to broom shops, to wizarding museums. He was the one who made sure Harry had the best robes, the right wand holsters, and access to the his own pocket money when needed.

And now, as the sun warmed the Weasley Manor and the garden bloomed in full color for the coming wedding, it was Bill who walked over to Harry one morning, brushing dust off his dragonhide jacket.

“You up for a trip to Diagon Alley?” Bill asked, tone casual but eyes glinting with purpose.

Harry looked up from the broom he was enchanting. “Now?”

“I need to pick out the wedding ring. And Dora's dress robes came in. She wants my opinion on the trim.”

Harry grinned and tossed the broom aside. “Then let's go.”

They used the Floo network from the fireplace. Green flames licked around them as they arrived in the familiar cobbled heart of Diagon Alley. The place was bustling, as usual—students with parents buying supplies, shopkeepers calling out offers, owls swooping overhead.

Bill slowed his pace and turned to Harry as they walked past Quality Quidditch Supplies. “You know, I always imagined doing this with Charlie. But he’s buried under dragon hide and flame most of the year. And Percy would probably suggest a seventeen-page budget proposal before stepping into a ring shop.”

Harry chuckled. “Glad I made the cut.”

Bill threw an arm over Harry’s shoulder. “You’re more than enough, little brother.”

They first stopped at a boutique Nymphadora had chosen earlier—the sign above read Silken Sorcery. Inside, Nymphadora was already standing on a levitating platform, her robes hovering around her as enchanted pins flicked into place.

“Well?” she asked, arms akimbo as she turned slightly.

The robes were a soft blend of moonlight silver and lavender, simple but elegant, with thin magical thread that shimmered faintly like starlight when she moved. A single clasp in the shape of a wolf held the robes near her shoulder.

“You look stunning,” Harry said honestly.

“Dangerously stunning,” Bill added, stepping forward and kissing her temple. “My heart might not survive the ceremony.”

Nymphadora rolled her eyes but beamed all the same. “Alright, I’m convinced.”

After the final fittings were done, the trio made their way to Gornak & Sons, one of the few Goblin-run smithing and jewelry shops that had a long-standing history of making magical wedding bands.

Inside, the shop was dim and glowing with ambient green light. Rows of rings floated behind glass cases. A Goblin with a narrow face and thin-rimmed spectacles approached them with a nod.

“Mr. Weasley,” he said. “We have what you requested—silver infused with basilisk scale. Subtle enchantments to bind two magical signatures. Very rare. Very permanent.”

Bill looked hesitant, brushing a hand through his ponytail. “They’re perfect. But expensive.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said firmly.

Bill frowned. “Harry—”

“No.” Harry took a deep breath and smiled. “You’ve done everything for me. Let me do this one thing for you.”

“But—”

“I want to. And I can. So don’t rob me of this chance.”

For a moment, Bill just looked at him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright. But I’m paying for your wedding someday. No arguments.”

Harry laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

The Goblin behind the counter gave a toothy smile and floated the rings over to them—delicate bands of Goblin silver, smooth but dense with magic, inscribed with runes only visible in moonlight.

Back at the manor, Molly immediately took the rings and hid them away in the secure lockbox in her room. “Not even a love spell will get these before the ceremony,” she promised.

With two weeks left until the wedding, everything else was nearly ready.

Invitations had gone out—not just to family and close friends, but also to colleagues from Gringotts, Nymphadora’s fellow Aurors, and old Hogwarts friends of Bill. Even Professors had written back saying they’d attend if they had time.

Each day was filled with joyful chaos: clearing weeds from the meadow behind the orchard where the ceremony would be, hanging silk canopies from tree branches, or testing enchantments to keep the summer sun from scalding guests.

The younger Weasleys polished chairs, practiced music charms, and helped Molly bake and freeze cakes. Fred and George tested magical confetti that exploded into scented petals—though one test resulted in Ron being chased by sentient poppies for half an hour.

Harry, when not helping with decorations or picking cake samples with Bill, often sat on the porch in the evening, watching the light turn golden across the field, thinking quietly to himself.

“Big things are coming,” he whispered once, mostly to himself.

Behind him, Hermione’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Harry! You’re not getting out of folding napkins!”

He smiled and got up, heading back into the warmth and noise of the house that had always felt like home.