Chapter Text
Daisy found something. Please help.
Harry stared at the text.
“What’s that mean?” Teddy asked, peering over Harry’s shoulder.
“Guess we’re about to find out,” Harry said, glancing down at him. “You finished? Want to come?”
“Yes!” Teddy leapt to his feet at once and wiped his hands down the front of his old shirt, smearing clay everywhere. He froze when he caught Harry’s flat stare.
“Andromeda’s going to stop sending you to me if I keep returning you in worse condition,” Harry said mildly.
“I’ll get changed!”
“Good plan,” Harry agreed.
It was nearly Andromeda's birthday, and Teddy had decided she needed a handmade gift. He’d launched into an enthusiastic explanation about how much he loved clay, because he could mould it “just like myself!”
Over the next hour or so, Teddy modelled an impressive bowl-and-cup set, and he had just finished painting it. Harry would help him set it later so it would actually be usable.
On top of that already impressive feat, Teddy, with the help of James (before he had retired for a nap in his blanket fort), had managed to turn the living room into what could only be described as a clay disaster zone.
Lumps of clay on the furniture, fingerprints on every reachable surface.
Harry loved it.
For so long, his world had been nothing but survival. Running. Fighting. Enduring. And now it was this... a house. A family. A child asking for help with a craft project.
Sometimes it felt like Harry would never grow used to it. As though he’d stepped into someone else’s life entirely. And sometimes he worried it was all a dream, one that would vanish the moment he woke up.
When Ginny had first told him they were pregnant with James, Harry had reacted in what could only be described as a very mature and appropriate manner... which is to say, he had completely panicked and shut down.
It had taken a long, kind talk with Mr. Weasley to set him right.
But Harry liked to think he had this whole “dad” thing down by now.
It wasn’t difficult, really.
Teddy. James. And now one more on the way -
Sure, he messed up sometimes. But ultimately, all he had to do was love them. And he did. Effortlessly. It surprised him sometimes - and, if he was honest, it hurt a little too. Because to Harry, it seemed easier to love children than to abandon them.
Had Harry really been so damaged as a child that he’d been unlovable?
Teddy had a way of looking at him that made it almost impossible for Harry not to care, not to want to protect him. Harry loved Teddy as if he were his own, and for a moment he wondered if Sirius had felt the same. That quiet devotion. He must have. Sirius had always been there in ways no one else could, always ready to throw himself into danger or take the blame if it meant keeping Harry safe.
“Gin,” he called.
“Yes?”
“Dudley’s in trouble. Super ambiguous. Teddy and I might need to intervene.”
“Ah. I almost believed that this morning would be quiet and peaceful.”
“Clearly wishful thinking on your part,” Harry said, grinning at her.
“Clearly,” she said, matching his grin.
...
..
Harry arrived to find Dudley’s usually spotless home in absolute chaos. He briefly considered turning around and leaving Dudley to it... but curiosity got the better of him.
The door was unlocked, so Harry walked in, shooting a look at Teddy as he did. Everything was a mess: cupboards gaping open, laundry spilling from the utility room, and family photo frames scattered across the floor.
For a moment, Harry wondered if the apartment had been robbed -- or if Dudley had finally attempted interior decorating without Tilly's help.
“Dudley?” Harry held out a cautious hand and Teddy paused behind him. “I got your text.”
A smash and a clang echoed from deeper in the house, followed by a relieved shout.
“Harry!”
Dudley appeared, looking just as frantic and dishevelled as his home. “It’s a rotten, evil, magic animal. I think,” he said wearily. “Has to be!”
“Harry! Teddy! Look!” Harry glanced over at Daisy, now four, sitting on the couch completely unbothered. She waved them over. “Look at what I found!”
She hurried over, reaching under the cabinets. “Come on out, cutie,” she cooed.
“Don’t call it cute!” Dudley snapped. “We aren’t keeping it!”
Daisy got down on all fours, reaching for something cowering beneath a towering shelving unit.
Harry glanced at his cousin. He didn’t seem too panicked, so it couldn’t be a snake or anything particularly dangerous or terrifying. He raised his eyebrows as a little niffler poked its curious face out from under the cabinet, its beady eyes glinting in the light.
Teddy let out a delighted gasp. “It is cute!”
“It’s not,” Dudley blurted out. “It’s a little brown rat thing, and it’s stealing everything.”
“Where’d you find it, Daisy?” Harry asked.
“Outside,” she said happily and almost instantly, the niffler waddled over to Daisy, snuggling into her arms as though it had always belonged there.
Harry grinned.
“It loves her... but hates me,” Dudley whispered, a mixture of fretfulness and exasperation in his voice.
“That’s a Niffler,” Harry said, doing his best to keep a straight face. “They aren’t usually kept as pets. They’re usually a little too cheeky for that.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Dudley muttered. "You hear that, Daisy? Harry said no."
"Harry is not the boss of me."
Dudley turns to Harry desperately. “What do I do with it?”
Harry and Teddy watched as Daisy hugged the niffler like it was the softest teddy bear imaginable.
“They’re usually quite sprightly, so it’s impressive that he’s letting her hold him,” Harry said.
“I want to see!” Teddy bounded forward - and the niffler, spooked by the sudden movement, shot off like a furry bullet.
“No, no, no!” Dudley yelled. The creature zipped around the room, a blur of black fur and gleaming eyes, knocking photographs from the tallest cabinet. Delicate flower arrangements toppled with a crash, petals scattering across the carpet like confetti.
“Don’t touch that!” Dudley howled, and Harry couldn’t help laughing. It was the most animated he had ever seen his cousin.
Not that he had much time to enjoy it. Teddy, determined to “help,” scrambled up the front of the shelving unit - and the whole thing began to tip under his weight.
“Teddy, wait!” Harry flicked his wand sharply. The cabinet paused mid-fall, but everything on the shelves tumbled to the floor with a loud crash.
Teddy dropped to the floor next to Daisy, both of them surrounded by the mess, looking sheepish, while Dudley went pale at the sight of his “sentimental” belongings scattered across the carpet.
Dudley’s hands flew to his head. His stress was at an all-time high.
“Sorry, Mr Dursley,” Teddy muttered.
“We can fix it,” Harry reminded Dudley as he flicked his wand, and the cabinet slotted back against the wall into its original position, seemingly snapping his cousin out of his stress-induced daze.
“Let’s catch the thing first, yeah?”
“All right,” Dudley said, swallowing hard and hitching up his trousers. “Uhm. How do you do that?”
Harry fished a few gold Galleons from his pocket. The niffler’s nose twitched as it sniffed in his direction.
“Has it taken anything of yours?” Harry asked, passing a coin to Daisy.
“Yes. Tilly’s jewellery is all gone. And that silver trinket Mum gave me for Christmas,” Dudley replied, looking a little pale.
Harry swallowed his comment about letting it keep Aunt Petunia’s trinket.
Instead, he dropped his own gold coin onto the table in front of them. Harry stepped back, raising a hand slightly to keep Teddy behind him.
Teddy clutched Harry’s arm, eyes wide with excitement and they watched as the niffler crept forward, low to the ground, its tiny claws clicking faintly against the polished floor. It paused every few inches, glancing up suspiciously before continuing, its nose twitching furiously. The niffler snatched the coin in an instant, and Harry murmured under his breath, “Accio Galleon!”
In the blink of an eye, the coin lifted from the table, and the niffler rose with it.
“Oh. So they’re stupid,” Dudley said, watching the tiny creature glide straight into Harry’s waiting hands.
Harry scoffed. “Look who’s talking-”
“Hey...”
“Sorry, force of habit,” Harry grinned.
The niffler wriggled in Harry’s hands, its tiny claws clutching the coin, and Harry glanced down at Daisy’s wide, eager eyes.
“Why don’t you try giving it that coin, Daisy? See if it’ll give back your mum’s jewellery,” he suggested.
Daisy nodded eagerly and then she held the coin out to the niffler as though she were presenting a royal offering.
“I want to have a go too!” Teddy piped up.
Harry smiled at him. “Let Daisy have a go first, alright?”
They all watched as Daisy extended her golden coin with great concentration, her small hand held carefully open.
“Here you go, Mr Sniffs,” she whispered.
“Don’t name it, Daisy. We cannot keep it,” Dudley begged. “Just listen to Harry and give it the coin.”
The niffler sniffed at the golden coin, its little paws diving strategically into its pouch. After a moment, its paws emerged, proudly carrying a small silver ring. Carefully... it placed the ring into Daisy’s palm before whisking the gold coin from her hand in a lightning-fast swap.
Daisy squealed in delight, clutching Tilly’s ring to her chest.
Teddy's eyes went wide, and he rifled through Harry’s jacket pockets for a gold coin of his own.
“Me now!” he demanded.
“Gentle!” Harry warned, holding the niffler carefully as it wriggled energetically in his hands. “Try the other pocket.”
“Okay,” Teddy said, rummaging through Harry’s other jacket pocket. Harry had to wonder if Teddy and the niffler shared a family tree, judging by the enthusiasm of the search.
"Got it," Teddy said, stepping forward. The niffler regarded him with curious little eyes, tilting its head. Teddy held out his coin just like Daisy had - and this time, the creature produced a small compact mirror, its dull silver surface catching the light as it rested in its paws.
Harry noted the delicate engraving and the slight wear along its edges. It looked like something that would belong to a child. Something he'd gift to Daisy if she were a few years older.
As Teddy took it in his hands, a shiver ran over him. Goosebumps prickled his skin, and for a brief moment, his hair sparked electric yellow, flickering like tiny sparks before settling back into its usual turquoise. He stared at the mirror, wide-eyed.
“Woah.”
“You all right there, Teddy?” Harry asked, frowning at the strange reaction.
“Yeah,” Teddy said, turning the item over slowly in his hands, his fingers tracing the engraved edges. “Is this Tilly’s as well?”
Dudley peered over, squinting at it. “Never seen that before.”
“Looks like a pocket mirror,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “Not Tilly’s, though?”
Harry tucked the niffler carefully under his elbow and held out his hand for the mirror, curiosity getting the better of him for the second time that afternoon.
Teddy passed it to him, and the moment the mirror touched his skin, something magical ignited. A scorching wind tore through the room and surrounded Harry. It yanked him sideways so violently that he gasped and stumbled, his breath knocked clean out of him.
And then it was over.
Harry blinked, disoriented, and dropped whatever object he’d been holding.
Something wriggled against his left arm.
What in the -- ?
Harry looked down.
An odd little creature stared back at him, head tilted. Before he could react, it wriggled free of his grip and shot off with his glasses clutched triumphantly in its paws.
“Hey!” Harry shouted, scrambling after it. “Come back here!”
“Blimey!” exclaimed a voice nearby. “He’s shrunk!”
Harry skidded to a stop.
His eyes darted around the room. Blurry figures moved in the corners of his vision.
I’ve been kidnapped, he thought instantly.
A jolt of panic ran through him as he looked down at himself. His sleeves hung past his hands, and his trousers dragged on the floor. Everything was wrong.
“Harry?”
“Where am I?” he demanded, sounding braver than he felt.
“You-you magic’d yourself!” a man said.
He what?
Oh no. No-no-no.
Harry didn’t wait to think.
He ran. Well, he ran as fast as he could without tripping over the hems of his trousers.
He tore through the house, realising with growing dread that he’d never actually been there before. There were no familiar cupboards, the front door in the wrong place and the hallways were twisting and leading him past doors he didn't have a clue about.
And Harry’s terrible eyesight wasn’t helping him in the slightest.
Footsteps thundered behind him.
Harry bolted up the stairs, breathing fast.
He flung open a nearby door and darted inside, slamming it shut. He could just make out the shape of a small bed in the corner. Harry dived underneath it, feeling the floorboards beneath him - and then his fingers brushed against the edge of a bookshelf behind it.
Even better.
He wriggled onto the lowest shelf, dragging the little bed toward him until it shielded him from sight. Harry pressed himself flat, making himself as small and invisible as possible.
“Harry! Where are you?”
He stayed perfectly still. He’d had plenty of practice hiding lately - especially from Dudley and his stupid friends. Seven years of Dudley-induced beatings had clearly prepared Harry for this... whatever “this” was.
Footsteps creaked on the floor somewhere outside the room.
Unfamiliar voices called his name.
Think, Harry. Think. What happened?
How did he end up in this house?
“You magic’d yourself,” the person had said. Harry shut his eyes. No, no, no. There’s another explanation. There has to be. One that doesn’t get him into trouble.
Think!
Dudley’s eighth birthday flashed through his mind. That had been just yesterday. There had been a tonne of new, shiny presents. One toy had already broken at school that morning, and, of course, Harry had gotten the blame.
There was a broken toy. Dudley had shouted. Harry remembered running.
And now -
Here.
Had he really... "magic’d" himself here?
Had they seen him do it?
Would they tell his Aunt and Uncle?
Would Uncle Vernon...
Focus. Don’t panic.
But how? How do you explain this?
Harry shut his eyes, trying to slow his breathing.
If he’d magic’d himself in, surely he could magic himself out.
“Harry!” The voice definitely didn’t belong to Dudley - or anyone in his gang. “Come out, please!”
Fat chance.
He curled tighter, knees pulled up as far as the enormous trousers would allow. He imagined his cupboard. The cramped, familiar space under the stairs. Please let me end up there. Please let me appear in my cupboard and let this be a dream. Wake up. Wake up.
The bedroom door swung open.
Harry sucked in a breath.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
“Not here. Can you try that room there? I swear I heard a door slam. He’s definitely still in the house.”
“He's not here either!” came a younger voice.
“Who am I supposed to call now that my only reliable emergency contact has gone and vanished?”
The footsteps receded - one set thumping down the corridor, another pattering after it.
Silence.
Harry stayed perfectly still.
Nothing that was said made any sense to Harry.
Maybe this was a nightmare he was having because Dudley and his gang actually caught him and knocked him out?
They’d managed it once before.
There had been a struggle that sent all of them tumbling down the school stairs, bumping into walls and each other. Harry swore he could have avoided getting hurt if Dudley hadn’t been holding onto him the whole way down. He hit the steps hard and blacked out before he even knew what had happened.
He woke to find a furious Aunt Petunia tapping her foot impatiently beside him in the school nursery. The nurse had insisted Petunia take him to the hospital, but his aunt had checked his head herself and declared him perfectly fine.
Carefully, rolling up his baggy sleeves and pant-legs, Harry checked himself over. Head, arms, legs. Nothing hurt. No blood.
He was fine.
Okay, so... if he couldn’t magic himself out (and Harry felt foolish for even thinking of it), then what? Call home? Surely there was a phone somewhere in the house. He could sneak to it, ring his relatives... and then Uncle Vernon would...
Well. His uncle would probably laugh and tell him to stay put.
The thought made Harry’s face prickle and burn red.
No. Harry would have to get back himself. He'd find a way to sneak into his cupboard and pretend none of this ever happened. Uncle Vernon wouldn’t know, and hopefully Harry would avoid any kind of punishment.
He settled into the lower bookshelf, listening for the footsteps to fade. Maybe he’d have to wait until night... And then he could sneak out once his kidnappers (he guessed) were asleep.
He closed his eyes, rubbing at the ache from squinting without his glasses. When he opened them, his hands went rigid - and he froze.
Something small, orange, and very much alive was staring right at him.
Harry blinked.
It purred and rubbed against his leg.
It was a cat!
A very soft fluffy cat!
“Oh... hello,” Harry whispered, reaching out. The cat let out a mighty meow and Harry's whole body felt like ice had been poured over it as his brain short-circuited. “Shh! No. Be quiet. Please be quiet!”
The cat ignored him. It twitched its tail and rubbed against him again, purring.
Harry pushed at it, trying to shoo it away.
It hissed and settled just out of reach.
Then it meowed again.
“Shut up. Please!” Harry whispered desperately. “Go away!”
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Someone was coming closer. Harry pressed himself even tighter into the bookshelf, throwing his hands over his mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly.
“Crookshanks!”
A new voice - a woman’s - called out as her footsteps entered the room.
The traitor cat (Crookshanks?) meowed again from just under the bed, right in front of Harry. He watched in horror as the person crouched down, peering under the bed and into the bottom of the bookshelf.
Harry froze, eyes wide, as the woman gasped.
“Oh. There you are.”
He watched her shift, bringing herself level with him.
“Do you want to come out of there?”
Harry shook his head. No, he didn’t.
“I’m Hermione. I’m a friend,” she said softly. “Do you remember me?”
He shook his head again.
“Okay.” She studied him for a few moments, then asked politely, in a tone that reminded Harry of his favourite teacher, “That must be very confusing. Are you alright?”
Harry nodded.
“Are you sure?”
Harry nodded at her again, unsure what to do next.
“That’s okay. That is fine. You don’t have to talk...” she said quickly (a fraction too quickly) and then smoothed her expression. “Why don’t you come out of there?”
“Is this your house?” Harry said at last. He’d been caught. There was no point hiding now.
“No, it...” she paused, thinking carefully. “It belongs to my friend.”
“Oh.” Harry squinted up at her, trying to make out her features through his terrible eyesight.
The cat sat beside her, purring heavily now (the traitorous traitor). And despite the loud, booming voices still searching the house, Hermione’s voice was calm. Her voice made Harry feel safe. Weirdly safe. Like he could trust her not to yell, or hit, or punish him the way he might have expected.
“Hermione-” A tall, redheaded blur appeared at the doorway. “Oh! You found him!”
Harry stared at the man and then at Hermione, trying to make sense of the situation.
“It’s okay,” Hermione assured Harry. “He’s a friend of mine.”
This lady sure had a lot of friends.
“Bit more than that, I’d say,” the redhead muttered. Hermione shot him a glare.
“His name is Ron.”
“I’m Harry,” he said automatically, still pressed into the small space.
“Were our voices really that squeaky?” Ron asked, moving forward and crouching low next to Hermione. Harry pressed himself back further instinctively, but Ron held something out. “Hey, Harry, do you need these?”
“My glasses!”
Harry reached out automatically, fingers straining - but he pulled back when Ron didn’t hand them over immediately.
Ah, Harry thought glumly, the ‘I’ve got your eyesight hostage’ game. Dudley loved playing that one.
Ron held the glasses in front of him, but not close enough to grab. If Harry wanted them, he’d have to leave his spot. Harry hesitated.
Stay put, he thought. Say no.
But he really did need them.
Tentatively, and giving what he hoped was his best “don’t-mess-with-me-or-you'll-be-sorry” glare, Harry leaned forward and shuffled out from under the bed. Ron held the glasses steady.
Harry grabbed them and immediately slid them onto his nose. Relief washed over him as the world snapped into focus.
The room came into view: a small cot tucked into the corner, soft blankets piled high, and little flowers arranged with careful precision in every corner. This room was clearly made for a baby girl. Then his gaze fell on the two strangers. Harry was face-to-face with two people he didn’t recognise at all.
“Better?” Ron grinned. Then he held up a curious-looking stick Harry had never seen before. “I’ll hang on to this for a bit, eh?” He tucked it into his pocket, like it was a normal place to keep your sticks.
The only thing keeping Harry from completely losing it was the look in their eyes. Whoever they were, they didn’t seem like they were about to scold him. In fact, they looked... friendly. Almost like they actually knew him. Weird. Definitely not normal.
A memory came to Harry - a man in purple had once shaken his hand in a supermarket and claimed to know him. Aunt Petunia had marched him out without buying a thing, muttering the whole way. Somehow... Ron and Hermione had the same quiet, knowing look. They knew him, even though he’d never seen them before.
“I don’t know how I got here,” Harry admitted cautiously. “Where are my aunt and uncle? Do they know I’m here?”
Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Ron. Harry didn’t understand it, but he had the nagging feeling he was missing something important.
“Of course they know...” Ron said, in a way that was surely meant to reassure him.
Harry felt his spirits sink.
“What will you tell them?” he asked, hoping they could avoid as much unnaturalness as possible when explaining to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon how he’d ended up in a stranger’s house.
You magic’d yourself!
Those words still rang in his head. If they said that to Uncle Vernon, he’d be throttled into the next century and Harry might never leave his cupboard for as long as he was alive.
Harry’s gaze flicked between the two adults. Maybe Harry could convince Hermione and Ron to just drop him off at the nearest bus and they could skip the explanations altogether.
“I didn’t mean to show up here... I don’t even know how it happened,” he said honestly, wishing they’d understand. Absolutely nothing weird. Definitely not his fault.
“We’ll have you back to your aunt and uncle in no time,” Ron said, trying for a supportive tone, glancing again at Hermione. “But you can stay with us for a little while first, yeah? How’s that sound?”
Harry frowned at them. That uneasy feeling that he was being kidnapped started to creep back in, but he pushed it down. After all, Hermione and Ron had been kinder to him in the past five minutes than the Dursleys had been in seven years. A strange thought flitted through his head... hadn’t he always wished for some distant relative to come and rescue him from the Dursleys?
Even if this felt a little like a kidnapping, maybe... maybe he could work with it.
“So...” He shifted slightly, trying to keep his voice calm. “You’re not going to...?”
“Not what?”
Harry bit his lip, thinking. Not what? Going to hurt him? Murder him? How could he even say that without sounding completely mad?
Then - CRASH!
A smash and a gasp from downstairs made everyone jump.
A frantic, high-pitched voice boomed through the house. “Mum? Dad!!!”
“Blimey, what now?” Ron muttered.
“That’s my cousin!” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself, eyes wide. What was Dudley doing here? The three of them raced downstairs, Ron leading the way, Hermione and Harry following as best he could.
And in the middle of the room, with a mirror lying at his feet, stood Dudley Dursley. Panic plastered across his face. Baggy clothes swallowing his frame. Eyes like saucers.
Two other kids huddled near the couch - a blue-haired boy and a younger girl. A small pet carrier sat beside them, something inside making a low, unhappy growl. And the traitor cat purred loudly nearby.
Harry felt a flicker of relief; everyone looked just as lost and confused as he did.
“What happened?” Ron demanded sharply.
“The mirror!” the blue-haired boy squeaked, pointing accusingly at Dudley. “He touched it!”
“Why the bloody hell would you do that?” Ron cried, exasperated.
Dudley recoiled from Ron, lip trembling. “I-I didn’t do anything! I just got here!”
“All right,” Hermione cut in sharply. “Teddy - it doesn’t affect you. You hold the mirror. No one else touches it from now on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Teddy said immediately, scooping it up and clutching it to his chest, proud to be able to help in some way.
Dudley’s eyes locked on Harry properly for the first time, and for a split second, terror vanished, replaced by irritation. Harry glared at him, stubbornly, and stayed a careful step back.
“Harry! Where are we?” Dudley demanded.
Good to see that not even a potential kidnapping could stop Dudley from bossing Harry around.
Before Harry could answer, the blue-haired boy leapt forward and planted himself at Harry’s side. “Harry! You’re my age!”
Harry blinked. At the boy. At Dudley. He had no idea which one of them he was supposed to answer - or even if he could answer. Harry’s eyes darted to Hermione and Ron instead because at least they seemed to know what was happening.
“Right, everyone stop panicking for two seconds,” Ron said, holding both hands up. “This is fixable... I think.”
“I want my mother right now!” Dudley demanded, stamping his foot as if that would solve everything in a second.
“Now, Dudley, I know you must be upset, but listen-” Hermione began, choosing her words carefully as Dudley interrupted, his face turning red.
“You can’t keep me here. This is kidnapping!”
“Easy, easy - no one’s kidnapping anyone,” Ron leaned toward Hermione, whispering suddenly. “This isn’t kidnapping, right?”
Dudley whimpered and clutched at his oversized shirt like it was suffocating him. Harry tugged at his own sleeves and suddenly became very aware of the blue-haired boy (Teddy?) still watching him with curiosity. Like Harry was a very interesting bug in a jar.
“Why were you hiding?” Teddy asked quietly. “You don’t have to be scared of me. We’re friends, you know.”
“Harry doesn’t have any friends,” Dudley cut in.
Harry wasn't surprised by this comment. He had concluded a long time ago that Dudley was hardwired to make sure he never had a single friend.
Not that Vernon would have approved of Teddy anyway, what with his bright blue hair.
Teddy looked as if he wanted to bite back, but Ron called him over. Teddy hesitated, giving Harry a bright smile before spinning around to join the whispered conversation with Ron and Hermione.
Harry remained in the middle of the living room, Dudley at his side, the little girl calmly observing from the couch. Slowly, the two boys began to look around properly, taking in the full disarray.
“What happened here?” Dudley muttered, eyes narrowing as they swept over the chaos. “Who made this mess?”
“Mr Sniffs,” the little girl piped up. “My pet did it.”
She pointed, and both boys spotted a tiny creature wedged into a cat carrier, its little paws sorting through a hoard of sparkling objects.
“That thing is your pet?” Harry asked, immediately captivated by the mischievous creature.
“What is it?” Dudley blurted suddenly. “I want one.”
“My dad said no,” she said, looking suddenly glum, her small shoulders drooping.
“Your dad sounds stupid.”
“He is stupid,” the girl agreed, nodding solemnly.
“I could take this one,” Dudley offered, leaning closer to the cat carrier and eyeing the pile of glittering loot. “Does it come with all that?”
“Sorry,” the girl said firmly. “He doesn’t like you. He only likes me! And that means he’s mine.”
“But you just said-” Dudley began, flustered. "You just said your Dad said no!"
While Dudley and the girl bickered over who would keep Mr Sniffs, Harry tried to sneak glances at Teddy, Ron, and Hermione. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he was doing his best to piece it together.
These people seemed to know him. That wasn’t unusual - he’d been recognised before. But Dudley being here... that was strange. Maybe Dudley had been caught up while Harry was “magic-ing” himself here? Harry cast a nervous glance at his cousin, wondering if Dudley had realised yet that it was somehow his fault.
Harry’s eyes drifted to the photos lying scattered across the floor, each one capturing the little girl in different moments of laughter and mischief.
So this must be her house.
Her parents were in the pictures too. There was a bright brunette woman and... Harry leaned closer. The man looked familiar... Was that...
“Dudley...?”
“One niffler, one enchanted mirror, and four kids. Couldn’t imagine a better way to fill an afternoon, really,” Ron said, clapping his hands.
Their secret meeting was apparently over.
Hermione broke free of their huddle and crouched in front of Harry and Dudley.
“We’re going to take you somewhere nicer than this place,” she said softly. “Somewhere safe. And then we’ll figure out how to get you home.”
Dudley crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he announced, horrified by the very idea. “I want Mum to pick me up now.”
Hermione cleared her throat and pasted on a polite smile.
“I know this must be frightening,” she said gently. “We’ll take you to our home, and your aunt and uncle can come for you there. All right?”
Dudley opened his mouth to argue, but Ron lifted a small bowl filled with shimmering green powder.
“Right, listen up. It’s simple. Pay attention - I’m about to blow your tiny little Muggle minds.”
“Muggle?” Harry asked, tilting his head.
“Ron.” Hermione scolded sharply.
“Erm... don’t worry about that right now,” Ron muttered, a little flustered. He turned back to Dudley. “Anyway. You’ve seen magic tricks on the ‘tele-vision,’ yeah? Like rabbit stuff -disappearing coins, that sort of thing?”
Harry and Dudley exchanged a look. They absolutely were not allowed to watch magic tricks on television. In fact, Harry was lucky if he got to watch television at all.
“Then you’ll get a proper kick out of this,” Ron continued, not waiting for a response. “One at a time, you hold my hand, step into the fireplace, say ‘The Burrow,’ and - ”
“I am not getting in an oven!” Dudley yelped, backing straight into Harry and clinging to him. Harry shrugged him off
“It’s a fireplace, not an oven!” Ron said impatiently. “No one’s cooking you!”
Dudley’s eyes darted around the room, panic written all over his face. “I’m calling Mum and Dad. Right now! Give me a phone!”
That seemed fair, Harry thought. Strangers telling you to jump into fire usually ended badly in stories. Gingerbread houses. Witches who baked you into pies.
He’d read about those things at school and at the time, he’d considered them fiction. Not cautionary tales...
Yet here he was, being invited to walk straight into a fire.
And, surprisingly, Harry found himself ready to throw caution out the window.
These people didn’t feel dangerous. Strange, yes. Completely mad, maybe. But not cruel or mean.
Still, calling Uncle Vernon would probably be the right thing to do.
Wouldn’t it?
Then Teddy appeared at Harry’s side, a small hand wrapping confidently around his arm. Harry startled at the contact before realising the boy was just guiding him gently towards the fireplace.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Teddy said earnestly. “Promise. I’ve done it loads of times.”
Hermione nodded, offering a reassuring smile. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Harry swallowed. The Dursleys would never believe this. Not in a million years.
So... he nodded. Just once. Barely.
“Okay.”
Relief washed over Ron’s face. “Excellent.”
“No!” Dudley lunged forward, grabbing Harry’s sleeve and yanking him back harshly. “If you go, you’ll be in so much trouble! Dad will --”
Harry didn’t need to hear the rest. He already knew exactly what Uncle Vernon would do.
He already knew about the punishments that were waiting for him at Privet Drive. He’d be shouted at until his ears were ringing, then manhandled into his cupboard and told to think about what he’d done while the lock clicked shut.
Then he’d be left alone until his hunger pains outweighed the bruises from Vernon’s boots. Shut in for days. Meals skipped. Chores piled so high his arms ached and his hands shook. No television. Only supervised trips to the bathroom if he begged.
Probably banned from school, just for good measure.
Every predictable, miserable punishment, all lined up - ready to make him wish he’d never left the house in the first place.
Yes. He knew exactly what Uncle Vernon would do.
“You can stay,” Harry said quietly, pulling his arm free. His voice was sharp and angry. “I’m going.”
Dudley stared at him as if Harry had grown a second head.
Ron lifted a small bowl of grey-looking powder, the ashy dust shimmering faintly in the low light. The fire crackled, already beginning to respond.
He crouched in front of Harry, lowering his voice and giving him that kind, easy smile.
It was easy to like Ron.
“Alright,” Ron said gently. “A quick practice. Just repeat after me.” He emphasised it carefully: “THE BUR-ROW.”
“The Burrow,” Harry repeated, voice steady.
Ron nodded, then glanced sideways at Dudley. “Your turn.”
Dudley swallowed hard. “The... Burrow,” he muttered, his voice trembling.
“Good enough,” Ron said. “You’ll be fine. It always feels worse than it is. Why don’t you take it away, Teddy!”
Harry watched as Teddy went first. He shouted, “THE BURROW!” and dropped the powder. Green flames roared up instantly with a crackle. Warmth slammed into Harry’s face, and his heart thudded so hard he thought it might explode from his chest.
When his eyes refocused, the firepit was empty and there was no sign of the blue-haired boy anywhere.
“H-he’s gone!” Dudley yelled, his face pale.
A cold dread settled low in Harry’s stomach. He looked at Ron with wide, terrified eyes.
“Dudley, you know how magicians make a rabbit vanish in a hat?” Hermione said, giving him a small, encouraging smile. “It’s exactly like that.”
“I’m not a bloody rabbit!” Dudley protested, his voice cracking.
“No, you’re not,” Ron said. “So it’ll be easier for you.”
Ron grabbed Harry’s arm. Firm. Steady. “We’ll go next. I’ll come back for Dudley here, okay?”
Harry nodded, a thrill shooting through him. He was afraid, of course (fire was fire, after all) but there was something exhilarating about this, like an escape waiting on the other side. Or maybe even answers.
Answers to the questions he’d never been allowed to ask at Number 4, Privet Drive.
Before he could fully step into the flames, a tug on his sleeve stopped him abruptly.
Harry glanced down. Dudley was clutching him, eyes wide. “If he’s going, I’m going too,” Dudley demanded.
Ron paused, weighing it.
“It’s safer with two people,” he said carefully.
“Harry’s not going anywhere without me,” Dudley insisted stubbornly.
“All right, all right. Come on,” Ron relented.
Dudley’s frown melted into something almost gleeful as he shoved himself into the fireplace beside Harry. Curiosity glinted in Dudley’s eyes, but Harry’s rising sense of excitement and adventure shrank, crushed by his cousin’s pushy presence.
Ron gave Harry’s arm a reassuring look before
Harry inhaled sharply, gripping his sleeves. Here goes nothing...
All at once, they called out, “The Burrow!” and Ron dropped a handful of powder into the fire.
The world lurched. Flames wrapped around them, spinning and twisting, roaring in Harry’s ears. His oversized shirt billowed so violently that he half-expected it to carry him off in some random direction, never to be seen again.
He clung tightly to Ron’s hand. Tight.
Then, with a sudden crunch, they landed on warm stone.
Harry hit the kitchen floor, limbs in a jumble, the scent of bread and woodsmoke filling his nose. He lay there for a moment, trying to remember how his lungs were supposed to work.
But hey. He was still alive. That counted for something.
It felt bigger than some simple “rabbit-in-a-hat” trick, like Hermione had told them. Either that, or he was starting to feel a little sorry for the rabbits in those magic tricks on television.
A chair scraped sharply.
Harry looked up.
A plump, red-haired woman whirled around from the stove, eyes widening at the sight of him sprawled out on her rug.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Ronald Weasley, what have you done now?”