Harry wasn't entirely sure if he enjoyed de-gnoming the garden... To be honest, it felt less like work and more like a form of entertainment.
What Harry found harder to stomach, though, were the gnomes themselves. He couldn't quite reconcile these dim-witted little creatures, who knowingly ran toward the commotion of their own eviction just to gawk, with the cunning, obsessive, gold-grubbing goblins from his memories of Gringotts or even the goblins of Azeroth.
The world was a strange place indeed. But it was precisely this—exploring the similarities and differences between the two worlds, experiencing the wondrous magic of this one firsthand—that kept Harry hooked.
It was like an adventure, only with slightly less danger and an unmatched sense of novelty.
The group only stopped, reluctantly, when Mrs. Weasley's shout rang out from the house. By then, the garden was mostly clear of gnomes.
"Honestly, Harry, you're like some kind of stamina beast!" Fred said as they trudged back toward the house after their recreational labor. "Strong, fast—you can chuck out two or three gnomes in the time it takes us to manage one."
"Training, my friend. You need more training," Harry said with a shrug. "In my opinion, even wizards should have a strong—or at least agile—body and quick reflexes. Otherwise, in a fight, you'll struggle to dodge an enemy's spell."
"Aha, fight. I like that word," Fred said with a grin. "Maybe that's why you're so good at Quidditch, Harry. For you, it's not a game—it's a battle!"
"Er, I hate to burst your bubble, but Quidditch is really just a way for me to stretch my legs," Harry admitted, a bit conflicted.
"Well," Fred sighed, "that's probably just how it is in the world of geniuses. But seriously, I think we really need to start working on our fitness, not just talk about it."
"Yeah, Fred," George said, patting his stomach. "Don't forget, Harry's not allowed to play for Gryffindor this year. We've got to step up."
"Exactly, my brother," Fred nodded. "I don't want anyone from the other houses saying we only won the Quidditch Cup and House Cup last year because Harry carried us."
"Er, isn't that kind of true?" Ron said, struggling to keep his eyes open.
"You leave me speechless, dear little Ronnie," Fred said, rolling his eyes. "But watch your step. If you fall and get your clothes dirty, Mum will lose it."
"Anyway, we've got to make sure the Gryffindor team doesn't come in last. At the very least, we can't lose to Slytherin," George said, rubbing his arms. "I can't even imagine the smug looks on those stuck-up snakes' faces if we lost to them."
"They wouldn't just have their noses in the air—they'd have their soles pointed skyward," Fred said with a smirk. "Even if you can't play, Harry, would you mind giving us some pointers in your spare time? Share a bit of that professional pitch experience?"
"If I've got the time," Harry nodded.
"That already puts us miles ahead of the other three houses," George said with a shrug. "But forget that for now. Look at us—I can already feel how sore I'll be when I wake up tomorrow morning. And look at Ron—he looks half-dead."
"Shut it, Fred," Ron muttered, hunched over with his arms dangling limply in front of him. "I'm knackered, and I'm starving."
"You're the one who needs to shut it, my foolish little Ronnie," George snapped. "I'm George."
"Whatever. I just want food," Ron said, unbothered.
Chatting idly, the group crossed the pond and headed inside. Truth be told, Harry was feeling a bit peckish himself. He walked quickly, and before he'd even fully stepped into the Burrow, he caught a faint, tantalizing aroma.
"Oi!"
Harry opened the door and immediately heard a small, childish yelp of pain.
"Sorry, sorry! I didn't realize someone was right behind the door," Harry said quickly, looking at the small girl he'd accidentally bumped into. If he wasn't mistaken, this was Ginny, the youngest Weasley and their only daughter.
After that initial cry, she fell eerily silent. The redheaded girl stared at Harry with wide eyes, holding her breath, frozen as if she hadn't processed what had happened. Then, out of nowhere, she let out a piercing scream.
Without another word, she covered her face and bolted up the Burrow's staircase to the second floor, her footsteps thumping loudly—thud, thud, thud.
"…What just happened?" Harry turned, bewildered, glancing at the three brothers snickering behind him, then at the redheaded boy sitting at the table, barely containing his laughter. That was Percy.
"Oh, she's just a bit nervous," Percy said, composing himself and adopting a serious tone. "Mum sent her to call you lot for dinner, but clearly, she wasn't expecting you to be here, Harry. When did you arrive? I hope you're not feeling out of place."
Even on holiday at home, Percy spoke with the same prim formality he used as a prefect at Hogwarts.
"This afternoon. Fred and the others picked me up," Harry said with a sigh. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine, Harry," Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder and urging him inside. "She's just shy—you know what shy means, don't you?"
"Like I told you before, Harry," George said with a grin, "Ginny's your biggest fan… kind of like how Mum is with Lockhart."
"I'm warning you, Fred," Mrs. Weasley's voice boomed from the kitchen, her ears surprisingly sharp. "Don't you dare speak ill of Gilderoy Lockhart!"
"Hey, Mum, I'm Fred," the real Fred protested.
"Oh, sorry, Fred," Mrs. Weasley said, faltering. "But you're no exception. Don't think I don't know what you boys say about him behind his back."
Mrs. Weasley grumbled as she cooked, while Ron led Harry to wash up before they quietly took their seats at the table.
"…You know, Harry," Ron whispered, "if we said anything bad about you at home, Ginny would act just like Mum does now… you get me."
"I get you," Harry whispered back.
A devoted fan, then.
Life at the Weasleys' was far livelier than Harry had imagined. Maybe that was just the natural atmosphere of a house full of kids—it never seemed to quiet down.
By the time Mrs. Weasley had finished cooking, Arthur Weasley, the head of the household, finally returned home from work. Eight people crowded around the wooden square table, including Ginny, who'd been coaxed down from the attic despite her earlier embarrassment.
"Welcome, Harry. I know I'm a bit late saying this, but welcome to the Weasley home," Arthur said, holding his knife and fork as he looked at Harry earnestly. "Molly's been worried sick about you, especially after hearing you'd left your Muggle relatives. She was afraid you wouldn't be eating properly or, er—might be lonely?"
He seemed to stumble over his words.
"Of course, Mr. Weasley," Harry said with a smile. "Thank you for your concern, and I'm grateful you invited me to stay. But I can't exactly say I've been suffering at the Potter estate. It'd break my butler's heart if I said I wasn't eating well."
"Ah, Alfred, isn't it?" Mr. Weasley nodded. "A fine house-elf. Ron's mentioned him a few times. A truly excellent house-elf."
"A few times?" Fred snorted. "Try every day."
"Shut it!" Ron snapped.
The Weasley children bickered and laughed through dinner as usual.
"I hope Molly and I haven't made you uncomfortable," Mr. Weasley said with an apologetic smile.
"Not at all," Harry said, smiling back. "Ron's one of my best friends in the world."
"Couldn't ask for better," Mr. Weasley said, nodding.
"So where's this butler of yours?" Mrs. Weasley asked curiously. "If he's here, I won't let him go hungry."
"Alfred's got some work to finish up. According to Ron, I'll probably be staying until term starts, so I'll have him come by to help out then," Harry said with a smile, careful not to mention the suitcase world.
"No trouble at all, Harry," Mr. Weasley said with a shrug. "Stay as long as you like. I've got plenty of Muggle-related questions to ask you—kettles, appliances, that sort of thing."
"No problem, if it's something I know about," Harry agreed.
"By the way, Harry, has Lucius Malfoy made any unreasonable demands of you?" Mr. Weasley asked suddenly, as if just remembering. "I mean, after… well, you know."
With so many kids at the table, Mr. Weasley avoided saying the word outright, but Harry knew he meant Azkaban.
Harry's trip to Azkaban was a secret, unknown even to Ron and the others. Lucius and the Ministry officials involved certainly wouldn't broadcast their deal.
"I understand, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, nodding. "Nothing too unreasonable. Maybe because Draco's my shaman apprentice now, Mr. Malfoy's terms were more lenient than I expected."
"What terms?" Percy asked.
"Eat your dinner, dear," Molly said, ruffling her third son's hair. "This isn't something for you to worry about yet."
"I'm grown up, Mum," Percy grumbled, brushing her hand away, though he didn't press further.
"Ah, right, shaman. I almost forgot. Ron's mentioned it a lot," Mr. Weasley muttered.
"Dad, even you?" Ron, mid-bite of a noodle, turned and gaped.
"Oh, sorry, sorry, not like that," Mr. Weasley said, chuckling. "Anyway, I'm just glad you're okay, Harry. When we heard about it, we were furious. I got a search warrant and went with some Aurors to raid Malfoy Manor."
"Here we go again," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "He's told this story a hundred times."
"Hey, Molly, don't ruin the fun," Mr. Weasley said, then turned back to Harry with enthusiasm. "The Aurors were livid too. You wouldn't believe how many banned items we found at Malfoy Manor. Ha! Even on our third search, we were still turning up contraband!"
Harry's hand froze mid-air, holding his soup spoon.
Wait, what?
So, the reason Lucius had been having such a rough time lately was because of the excuse he'd used to cover up taking Harry to Azkaban?
The excuse about the thirty percent of the Potter family vault's treasures?
And Mr. Weasley's relentless investigations into the Malfoys, beyond his own sense of justice and hatred of dark magic, were largely to vent his anger on Harry's behalf?
And from the sound of it, there were plenty of people in the Ministry, especially the Auror Office, who felt the same way?
"…I don't know what to say, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "But—thank you. I mean, thank you, and everyone at the Ministry who… cares about me, supports me."
It was a bit absurd, but Harry was genuinely touched. He hadn't even met most of these Ministry people.
He just hoped Lucius never found out Mr. Weasley's true motives… or he'd have a hard time keeping his composure.
"No need to thank us, Harry," Mr. Weasley said with a wink. "I can tell you, responsibly, that you've got more supporters in the Ministry than you might think."
"Thank you, again," Harry said earnestly.
Whether it was because of his parents' sacrifice or the things he'd done since entering the wizarding world, it was a good thing.
Harry suddenly felt that the obstacles to his plans might be fewer than he'd anticipated.
"So, you really sued the Ministry?" Unlike his brothers, who were busy joking and chatting, Percy had been listening closely and couldn't help but ask.
"Of course," Harry said firmly. "I should probably explain everything clearly at the hearing, but thanks to the Daily Prophet, everyone already knows the full story."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Weasley said gleefully. "Clearly, it was the Ministry's mistake—a serious one, and they got caught."
"But it's the Ministry, Dad!" Percy's brows knitted together as he looked at Harry. "Doing this will embarrass them."
"Hey, hey, what's that, Prefect Percy?" Fred said, suddenly grabbing Percy's shoulder. "Did I hear wrong, or are you actually siding with the Ministry on this?"
"Don't talk about your brother like that, George," Mrs. Weasley warned, ignoring George's protests.
"Of course not," Percy said, swatting Fred's hand off his shoulder, looking even more serious. "I'm thinking about your future, Harry. If you cross the Ministry, it'll be hard to get a respectable, high-status job there after you graduate from Hogwarts."
Harry met Percy's gaze, observing, thinking. He could tell Percy was genuinely concerned and meant well.
"It's fine, Percy," Harry said with a smile. "I don't plan on working for the Ministry."
"But even if you don't, crossing them will make it hard to succeed in other fields," Percy insisted. "I think you should drop the lawsuit and maybe write an apology to the Minister. He'd probably forgive you."
Harry glanced at Mr. Weasley, who didn't interrupt his son but watched the exchange with interest.
"First, I want to thank you for your concern, Percy," Harry said after a moment's thought, setting down his knife and fork.
"You're welcome, Harry. We're friends, aren't we?" Percy straightened up slightly, a faint flush on his cheeks after such a formal acknowledgment. "I mean, you've got a magical talent most people don't. I still remember what you said in that shaman class… though I'm sorry I couldn't attend your second one."
Percy sighed before continuing.
"You said you wanted to revive the elements, to give wizards a new future… That's really inspiring, Harry," Percy said earnestly. "But if you want your shamanic path to spread from Hogwarts to the wider world, you can't avoid the Ministry's oversight. Let's face it—we need the Ministry. Without it, everything would fall apart."
"And on that basis, if you want to establish a new department—like a Shamanic Office or something—to achieve your goals, you can't afford to antagonize the Ministry. Do you understand what I mean, Harry?"
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