The Tenth Weasley - CH - 109

The great enchanted ship of Durmstrang swayed gently on the silver waters of the northern fjord. Towering sails shimmered with ancient runes, and the gangplank was lowered for the final time that year. The students gathered on the frosted dock, their trunks lined up beside them, their robes fluttering in the northern breeze. For most, it was a time of excitement—of going home, of seeing family again.

But for Harry, it felt like the end of an era.

He stood by the rail, watching the older students laugh, hug, and exchange farewells. His hand clutched the strap of his enchanted trunk, but his thoughts were with the group of students that had shaped his Durmstrang year—Sonja, Victor, Eryk, Louis, Ingrid, Marek, even the grumpy but brilliant Antonin. All of them had made this strange, icy school feel like home.

Now they were leaving.

“You’re being dramatic,” Sonja said beside him, elbowing his side. Her black coat was buttoned tightly, and her wand was tucked into her thick belt. “You’re not dying, you know. We’ll write.”

“You say that now,” Harry replied, his voice barely hiding the sadness. “But you’ll all be busy—training, new jobs, traveling. I’ll be lucky to get an owl a month.”

Antonin gave a half-snort, half-sigh behind him. “I’ve written more essays for Professor Van der Linde this year than I have letters in my entire life. But… maybe I’ll write one. Just for you, Weasley.”

Harry chuckled. “I'll frame it.”

Ingrid came forward and hugged Harry tightly. “Don’t forget, you promised to visit Koldovstoretz someday.”

“And you promised to teach me how to track blindfolded,” Harry reminded her with a grin.

“Next Christmas,” she nodded. “You better still be terrifying by then.”

Eryk clapped Harry on the shoulder with a hand that could have belonged to a mountain troll. “You’ll be fine, Harry. You’ve got your own path now. And friends your age. Took you long enough.”

“I’m not replacing any of you,” Harry said. “Ever.”

Louis handed Harry a small envelope. “I enchanted this. You can speak into it once a day, and I’ll hear it wherever I am. Might take a day to reply, but I’ll get it.”

“Really?” Harry asked, touched. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t use it to prank me.”

“No promises.”

They all laughed.

Then the final bell rang—a deep, haunting chime from the ship’s masthead that signaled departure.

Sonja looked at Harry one last time. “You’ve got greatness in you. I saw it the first day you threw me across the dueling floor.”

They embraced, and Harry felt the weight of every memory—cold nights studying, heated duels, laughter echoing through stone corridors—settle like snow in his chest.

One by one, they boarded.

Only Viktor remained behind, leaning lazily against a crate. “That was very sentimental,” he drawled. “Should I cry too?”

“You’ll be next year,” Harry said with a grin.

“Not likely. I plan to be immortal by then.”

Harry smirked, then turned and walked down to the lower deck. There, near the portkey room, a small side chamber with ancient marble floors and flickering candles, awaited the portal to Paris.

A robed official from the French Department of Magical Transport stood beside a spinning brass globe.

“Name?” the wizard asked curtly.

“Harry Weasley,” Harry replied.

“Destination?”

“Weasley Manor, Ottery St. Catchpole.”

The wizard nodded, tapping the portkey. It transformed into a golden horseshoe, glowing faintly with magic.

“Activate in five seconds,” the man said. “Safe travels.”

Harry took a deep breath and touched it.

He was yanked forward by his navel, air roaring in his ears, colors flashing past his eyes. Wind whistled and tugged at his clothes until, with a sudden CRACK, he landed gracefully on a gravel path—legs bent, wand out by instinct.

He blinked.

The red-and-gold banners of Weasley Manor fluttered in the breeze. The orchard to his right was in full bloom. A group of chickens ran past, chased by a small magical creature with wings too large for its body.

The front door of the manor opened, and Molly Weasley’s warm voice rang out, “He’s back! Harry’s home!”

Harry grinned and ran toward the house, the weight of his trunk forgotten for now.



The summer air at the Weasley Manor was calm, a rare stillness that only settled when the house was momentarily quiet. With all his siblings still away at Hogwarts, Harry found the manor unusually silent. No prank explosions from Fred and George, no Ginny stomping up the stairs with Rose in tow, no Ron yelling about chess pieces or snacks gone missing.

Just him, and his parents.

Harry didn’t mind. In fact, after the chaos of Durmstrang, the enchanted vault, the tournament scandal in Spain—he welcomed the peace. Arthur took the week off from the Ministry to spend more time at home, tinkering with the enchanted plumbing in the eastern wing and discussing magical battery systems with Harry at length.

“Did you know,” Arthur said one afternoon over tea, “that your brother Bill's new house is fully powered by a Muggle battery enchanted to store magical energy? Brilliant, isn’t it? I’ve half a mind to fit one in our kitchen!”

Molly frowned, stirring sugar into her tea. “As long as it doesn’t make the stove explode. Again.”

Arthur gave a sheepish grin. “Well… we’ll reinforce the runes this time.”

Harry chuckled softly, eyes glancing out the tall bay windows. In three days, everything would change again. His siblings would return. The house would fill up with noise and chaos and smells of burning toast. But for now, he let himself enjoy the quiet.


Bill arrived in grand style.

He apparated into the front yard with a flourish, his dragonhide boots crunching against the gravel, and beside him stood Nymphadora Tonks—currently sporting bubblegum pink hair and a grin that reached her eyes.

“Oi!” Bill called. “Anyone home, or is this place a museum now?”

The door burst open and Molly came running, apron flapping. She nearly tackled her eldest son in a hug. “You’re early!”

Bill chuckled. “We couldn’t wait. And we’ve got news.”

Tonks lifted her left hand with a wide grin. There, glittering in the morning sun, was a sleek engagement ring with a purple gemstone—amethyst, Harry guessed.

Molly gasped. “Oh, Bill! You finally did it!”

Arthur looked up from the hedge where he’d been examining a nest of garden gnomes. “Did what?”

“We’re engaged!” Tonks beamed, throwing an arm around Bill’s shoulder.

“Just yesterday,” Bill added, his smile soft as he glanced down at her. “She said yes.”

Harry clapped instantly. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

Molly wiped at her eyes with her apron. “You’ll make a beautiful bride, Nymphadora—”

“Tonks, please,” she groaned good-naturedly.

“—and Bill, I always knew you’d come to your senses,” Molly finished proudly.

“Oi,” Bill muttered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”


Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was packed as always, steam rising from the front of the scarlet engine as the Hogwarts Express approached the station. The familiar whistle blew loud and long, and Harry inhaled deeply, remembering his own early days at Hogwarts. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, he stood taller, a little broader in the shoulder, wand holstered neatly at his side, his red hair tamed (somewhat), and most notably—those sharp, storm-grey eyes now set deep in his face.

People noticed him.

Parents. Students. Professors even, who were seeing off children for the summer. Many turned and did a double take. A few whispered.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” a witch murmured behind a newspaper. “The one from the dueling tournament.”

“Thought he was Grindelwald reincarnated,” said another.

“Did you see that photograph? Four spells at once—madness.”

Harry ignored it. He was used to whispers now. He stood with Bill, Tonks, Arthur, and Molly by the platform barrier as the train slowed to a stop.

Steam hissed.

Then came the noise. Laughter. Trunks thudding. Owls hooting in cages. And finally the wave of children and teenagers pouring onto the platform.

“There they are!” Molly cried, waving both hands.

Harry stepped forward. He spotted Ginny immediately, a smile blooming on her face the moment she saw him.

“Harry!”

She barreled toward him, flinging her arms around his waist. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“Missed you too, Gin,” Harry laughed, hugging her tightly.

Rose arrived just behind, her perfectly styled hair bouncing as she walked. “You look different.”

“Better or worse?”

“Hotter,” she said with a wink, then turned to greet her parents.

Fred and George were next—dragging a trunk that smelled vaguely of fireworks and mischief.

“You’re famous now,” Fred said, grinning.

“Proper dark and mysterious,” George added. “How does it feel?”

“Exhausting,” Harry replied, ruffling their hair as they passed.

Then came Ron, awkward as ever, blinking at Harry like he’d grown a second head. “Blimey. You look like you’ve eaten Viktor Krum.”

Harry smirked. “Good to see you too.”

“I’m not saying you’re bulky,” Ron added, “but your shoulders could crush a Bludger.”

Behind them all was Hermione, last off the train, her satchel over her shoulder and a pink flush on her cheeks as she caught sight of him.

She walked straight to him, smiled softly, and gave him a warm hug.

“You're early,” she whispered.

“You told me to be.”

“I also told you to be careful. I read the Daily Prophet.”

“Only broke five ribs and a broomstick,” he teased. “Nothing too serious.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

Bill and Tonks helped collect the trunks while Arthur gave Ginny a bear hug and Molly fussed over Ron’s hair. But through it all, Harry stood still for a moment, drinking in the noise, the family chaos, the smell of steam and summer.

He was home.

And even with all the darkness he had touched this year—blood magic, dueling, forbidden vaults—this was the light he needed.

Family. Friends. Laughter.

And the eyes of a girl who looked at him like he was something more than just a boy with dangerous eyes.



The Weasley Manor had come alive again.

There were loud crashes from upstairs—Fred and George testing a new line of joke products in the attic. There were shrieks of laughter from the backyard—Ginny and Ron chasing enchanted garden gnomes with exploding hats. There was the delicious smell of Molly’s cooking wafting through the house, chased by her constant shouting:

“RONALD WEASLEY! IF YOU BREAK ANOTHER DOOR—”

“MUM! It was Fred’s idea!”

Amidst all of it, Harry sat on the living room couch, attempting to read a book. A pointless endeavor, really. He’d reread the same paragraph seven times.

His thoughts were on something else entirely.

Something terrifying.

Hermione’s parents.

He had faced dragon poachers. He had dueled professional wizards. He had broken into vault warded by Grindelwald. But now, he was going to Hermione Granger’s house—to meet her parents—as her boyfriend.

Merlin help him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry muttered, tossing the book aside.

From the chair across from him, Bill Weasley—currently sipping tea and looking annoyingly smug—smirked.

“So you’ve finally decided to panic?”

“I’m not panicking,” Harry lied instantly.

“Of course not. You’re just sweating through your robes for fun.”

Harry looked down. He was, in fact, sweating.

Bill leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Look, you’ve survived worse. Just be polite, honest, and don’t mention any dangerous stunts you did in the past. Stick to safe topics: books, classes, how wonderful their daughter is.”

Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to mess this up.”

Bill’s tone softened. “Mate, you’re not some reckless idiot. Ted Tonks tried to hex me when I asked permission to marry Nymphadora. And look at us now.”

“That’s not helping.”

“He also made me scrub his dragon scale collection for two days before giving us his blessing. Now that’s a bonding experience.”

Harry looked up. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” Bill admitted. “But seriously, just be yourself. The real problem with Muggle parents is that they think all wizards are mental. You? You’re only slightly mental.”

Harry gave a weak laugh.