The Tenth Weasley - CH - 103

With a gust of enchanted wind and a shimmering pull of portkey magic, Harry landed—not with a thud or a stumble, but with the soft poise of a predator. His feet kissed the emerald grass of the rolling hill near Ottery St. Catchpole, and he stood upright, cloak billowing around him in the breeze.

The scent of spring hit him immediately—dewy leaves, blooming daffodils, and the distant hint of smoke from the chimney of The Burrow.

He exhaled.

The old, crooked house still stood proudly, its floors slightly tilted, its windows glowing with warm magic. But not far behind it now towered something newer, grander—Weasley Manor. A three-story estate built with the combined wealth and ambition of the ever-growing Weasley clan. The Manor had wide gardens, solar-heated glass roofs, broom garages, and even an owl tower.

Yet no matter how fine the bricks or how charmed the fireplaces, it never replaced The Burrow.

That rickety house… was home.

Harry smiled, a rare softness easing into his sharpened features. He could’ve walked right through the front door of the manor and been met with cheers and hugs. But instead, he turned to the left, towards an overgrown hedgerow nestled beside the orchard. There, hidden behind illusion spells and half-buried roots, stood the moss-covered entrance to the Weasley Caves.

He hadn’t walked these tunnels in years.

Clutching his enchanted trunk in one hand, he muttered a spell under his breath. “Aperio Secretum.” The vines slithered back, revealing a dark, yawning mouth of rock and shadow. He ducked inside.

The air changed instantly. Cool. Earthy. Still.

His footsteps echoed gently as he moved deeper, his wandtip lit with a dim golden glow. The walls were carved with initials from a younger time:

G.W. & F.W. RULE
Ron wuz here
Bill's Room, No Entry!
H + C + F + G = Room of Doom

He chuckled under his breath, running his fingers across a memory engraved in stone. He remembered nights when they sneaked down here with biscuits and lanterns, crafting secret forts and illusion spells. When the world was smaller, and the most important mission was who could charm a room to have the best ceiling stars.

But now…

The halls were dusty. Forgotten.

Cobwebs draped across ceiling beams like ghostly banners. Some stones had crumbled where no one had maintained the enchantments. With a flick of his wand, Harry whispered, “Reparo.”

The stones knit themselves back together.

Another tap of his wand: “Scourgify.” The cobwebs vanished in a gust of clean air.

He moved slowly, lovingly—clearing the old hallways, righting fallen chairs, repairing the long-forgotten runes his younger self had etched into the floor.

He passed the Room of Whispers, which George had once enchanted to carry every fart back to its owner’s ear. The Illusion Theater, where they used to re-enact Quidditch games with glowing figures. And then finally, after nearly twenty minutes of navigating the twists and curves…

He saw it.

The stone stairwell that led up to the heart of Weasley Manor.

Harry paused.

He straightened his robe, brushed his fingers through his messy hair, and shifted the trunk to his left hand. Then, one by one, he climbed the stairs—each footstep echoing a little more than the last.

At the top was a hidden trapdoor, cleverly disguised beneath a long rug in the second-floor library of the Manor. With a soft “Alohomora,” it opened.

And sunlight poured in.

Harry emerged into the room he’d last seen nearly a year ago. It was filled with books—tomes on magical creatures, Muggle novels, and family albums. He stepped inside fully, letting the rug fall back in place.

“Hello?” he called gently, not wanting to startle anyone.

From the hallway, he heard footsteps—a few quick, heavy thuds—and then the door burst open.

“Harry?!”

It was Ginny, her hair tied in a messy bun, a gardening apron still half-worn over her robes. Her eyes widened as she took him in—taller, leaner, his mismatched eyes glowing softly in the sun.

“You’re back,” she breathed, rushing to hug him.

Harry dropped the trunk and caught her mid-run, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Ginny pulled back, blinking. “Your eyes…” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He gave a crooked smile. “Long story. I’ll tell everyone at once.”

She stared a moment longer, then smiled, and it was full of warmth. “Mum’s going to cry when she sees you.”

“I hope not too much,” Harry laughed. “I’m starving.”

“You’re just in time. They’re making your birthday cake.”

He blinked. “Already?”

“Of course,” Ginny said, grinning. “We never forget.”

And with that, she grabbed his hand and pulled him from the library toward the scent of cinnamon and warmth and family.

The Weasley Caves lay silent once more. But they had served their purpose.

Harry was home.


The kitchen of the Weasley Manor was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling sausages, buttered toast, and Molly’s famous apple-cinnamon pancakes. Laughter and excited chatter filled the air as red-haired heads popped out from corners and staircases at the announcement:

“Harry’s home!”

In moments, the house was full. Chairs scraped back. Plates were conjured out of nowhere. Even Percy, usually buried in some Ministry file, had arrived with his tie half-undone and spectacles askew.

“Harry!” Molly Weasley pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, her plump arms wrapping tightly around him as she buried her face into his shoulder. “Oh, my dear boy—look at you! Taller, stronger… and oh!—what’s this?”

She leaned back, her eyes narrowing as they settled on his eyes.

One hazel—familiar, warm.

The other, however… shimmered like a polished silver coin under torchlight, with a faint, ethereal glow that pulsed when Harry blinked.

The kitchen quieted for just a second. Everyone had noticed.

Ginny was the first to recover. “Don’t ask him all at once,” she scolded with a playful eye-roll. “He just got in.”

Arthur approached next, adjusting his glasses as he took Harry’s face gently in his palms. “It doesn’t hurt, does it? Any headaches? Blurry vision? Sudden urge to speak Parseltongue?” he added with a teasing chuckle.

Harry grinned. “Nothing like that. Just… had a bit of an accident with a magical object back at school. A very old one. Caused some… changes.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed with concern, but before Molly could panic, Harry raised his hand gently.

“I already saw a healer. I’ve been on potions for weeks. They’ve stabilized everything. It’s permanent, yes—but not dangerous. At least… not to me.”

Molly reached forward again and cradled his cheeks. “As long as you’re healthy, dear. That’s all we care about.”

Arthur exhaled deeply and patted Harry’s shoulder. “You gave me a fright there for a moment.”

Just then—

“Mate!” Fred grinned as he and George entered, both wearing matching looks of mischief.

“That eye is wicked cool,” George declared. “Makes you look like an action hero.”

“Or a brooding anti-hero,” Fred added, wagging his eyebrows.

Harry laughed. “Well, I do brood occasionally.”

“You’ll be swimming in admirers at Hogwarts next year,” George said with mock seriousness. “Or… Durmstrang, if they let you back.”

“Did it give you any special powers?” Fred asked eagerly. “Like, can you see through walls? X-ray vision? Laser beams?”

“I can now see which one of you always steals the last treacle tart,” Harry replied with a smirk, pointing at Fred.

“Oi! That’s classified!”

Amid the laughter, Bill entered from the hallway, his dragonhide boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. He gave Harry a once-over, nodding slowly.

“You’ve changed, little brother.”

Harry offered a small shrug. “I guess I grew up a little.”

Bill crossed the kitchen and gave him a brief, strong hug before pulling back. “Your eyes… they remind me of something I saw in a tomb in Tunisia once. Magic that lingers long after a spell is cast.”

Then, his tone gentled. “Listen, if you’d like, I can take you to St. Mungo’s. I know a few curse-breakers there—old friends. They’ll take a second look, run some diagnostics.”

Harry smiled genuinely, but shook his head. “Thanks, Bill. But I already had my checkups. I’m good.”

Bill looked into his eyes—both of them—and saw no fear. Just a quiet, steeled confidence. The kind of growth that comes from more than books and brooms.

“All right,” he said softly. “But if anything changes—anything—you tell me. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Molly clapped her hands then. “Enough of the heavy talk! It’s Harry’s birthday breakfast—sit, everyone, sit!”

The table groaned under the weight of the feast as everyone gathered, passing around plates and swapping stories. Charlie talked about dragons in Romania, Ron retold a Quidditch match in exaggerated detail, Ginny kept stealing bites from Harry’s plate, and even Percy managed to relax.

And through it all, Harry felt something warm settle inside him. Something deeper than food, than laughter, than even magical eyes and strange rituals.

He was home.

No matter how far he went, no matter how much he changed…


Streamers of crimson and gold curled around the beams overhead, charmed balloons drifted lazily under the ceiling, and the soft hum of Celestina Warbeck's greatest hits played from an old wireless, keeping time with the clatter of plates and cups.

Harry stood in the middle of it all, wearing a lopsided grin and a jumper that screamed Mum-made, arms full of gift boxes and sweets. A simple cake floated in front of him, triple-layered, chocolate-frosted, and topped with flickering candles that refused to melt even a bit.

“Go on, Harry!” Fred called from the side.

“Make a wish and don’t tell us or it won’t come true,” George added dramatically, holding his glass of pumpkin fizz like a toast.

Harry looked around.

There was Rose and Hermione standing shoulder to shoulder, bickering about a forgotten gift that Rose swore she packed. There was Ginny, grinning brightly, holding a plate already stacked with cake. Sirius Black lounged in a high-backed chair, swirling a goblet of elf wine with a proud smirk on his face. Remus Lupin sat beside him, calm and soft-spoken as ever, his eyes watching Harry with quiet warmth. And of course, James and Lily Potter sat nearby, side by side, both beaming.

It wasn’t a massive party, but it was his kind of party.

Family. Laughter. Magic.

He closed his eyes, made a wish—a silent hope for many more birthdays like this one—and blew out the candles. The room erupted in cheers as the cake sliced itself and passed pieces to everyone.

As plates were passed and drinks refreshed, Bill Weasley stood up and cleared his throat.

“Oi!” he called over the low chatter. “Can I steal everyone’s attention for just a moment?”

All heads turned. Lily, who had been sitting quietly beside Ginny, cocked her head curiously. Sirius raised his brow.

Bill rubbed the back of his neck. “You all know I’m not usually one for big speeches…”

“Except when talking about dragon dungs or goblin rebellions,” Charlie teased, earning a chuckle.

Bill rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. But this time it’s a little different. You see, for a while now, someone’s been very important to me. And we’ve kept things quiet. Not because we were unsure, but because… well, because Mum would get too involved—”

“Oi!” Molly exclaimed indignantly, though she flushed red.

Bill grinned. “And also because it was still new. But we’re not hiding it anymore.” He reached out a hand.

From beside the fireplace, Nymphadora Tonks stood and stepped into the light with an awkward smile, her hair a soft pink tonight, bobbed just above the shoulders.

“I’m dating Tonks,” Bill said simply, slipping an arm around her waist. “And have been for months. Officially.”

There was a long pause—then the room exploded with cheers, claps, whistles, and joyful shouts.

Fred wolf-whistled. “No wonder you’ve been sneaking off during holidays!”

George elbowed him. “And here I thought it was another ancient tomb.”

Tonks laughed, her cheeks turning a shade darker. “You lot are absolutely mental.”

Molly sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “I knew it. I knew it! I told Arthur, didn’t I, dear? I said those two were perfect for each other.”

Arthur chuckled and gave her a kiss on the temple. “Yes, Molly. You win again.”

Harry stood, dumbfounded for a second, then broke into a wide grin as Tonks came over and ruffled his hair like she used to when he was younger.

“Well, happy birthday, kiddo,” she said, handing him a neatly wrapped present. “Sorry I’m stealing your thunder a bit.”

“Not at all,” Harry said warmly. “This might be the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“Better be,” Sirius said, raising his glass. “You’ve only got one thirteenth birthday with a magical eye.”

“Here, here!” Remus laughed.

The party continued late into the night. There was dancing—even Arthur and Molly joined in—and rounds of magical charades. Potters pulled Harry aside to show him an enchanted map of magical Europe, and Tonks entertained the kids with her hilarious face-morphing impressions.

As the stars glimmered above and lanterns floated lazily in the air, Harry sat near the burrow’s back porch, watching the flickering lights reflect off the trees.

Bill and Tonks had joined the dance inside, spinning clumsily to the music.

And Harry, for all the power he had gained, for all the changes he had undergone… felt something grounded in that moment. Something quiet and full.

This—this was still home.

Still his family.

And for tonight, that was all that mattered.